Encounterlogs
Edmunds Odd Encounter Sr Aristotle 240610
Edmund, amidst the stifling heat of a rundown trailer in a quiet town, finds himself unexpectedly targeted by a skilled and dangerous member of The Golden Shadow, a group notorious for their ruthless efficiency. The intruder, equipped with a knife and combat-ready attire, introduces himself under the pretense of a visit from the Moores, a supposed local family. Confused and wary, Edmund attempts to defuse the situation with a mix of British politeness and tentative offers of money, hoping to dissuade the assailant from his violent agenda. However, as the confrontation escalates inside the sweltering trailer, Edmund's quick thinking and physical fitness allow him a moment's advantage, enabling him to throw dishes in a makeshift defense and finally escape the assailant's grasp. The timely attention of neighbors, drawn by the commotion and equipped with their phones, ultimately discourages the attacker from continuing his pursuit, forcing him to retreat amidst threats of return. Edmund, left injured but alive, vows to flee towards safety, remarking on the absurdity of his situation as he contemplates his next move.
In a contrasting yet equally bizarre scenario, Iakres deals with the aftermath of a targeted attack on his home, focusing on the mundane yet essential task of organizing medication for his wife, Zoe. The discovery of a mysterious, ancient-looking coin in a drawer interrupts his routine, setting off a series of inexplicable events that lead to Iakres's transformation into an owl. Despite his initial skepticism and attempts to manage the situation through text messages to Zoe and cautious interaction with the enchanted object, Iakres finds himself overwhelmed by a magical force emanating from the coin. The transformation, marked by physical agony and a flood of heightened senses, leaves Iakres in the form of an owl, pondering the implications of the coin's design and the uncertain path ahead in reversing the curse. The stories of Edmund and Iakres, each facing surreal challenges in the face of danger and magic, highlight the unpredictable nature of their world and the resilience required to navigate its trials.
(Edmund's odd encounter(SRAristotle):SRAristotle)
[Sun Jun 9 2024]
In the cramped main room of a Rundown Trailer
The living space of the trailer feels like a jigsaw puzzle forced into alignment. A well-worn sofa bed, unfolded to save space, takes up most of the room, its faded floral pattern clashing with the mismatched cushions. A compact television teeters on a milk crate, flanked by stacks of dog-eared paperbacks and yesterday's mail. The tiny kitchenette encroaches, its cluttered counter spilling over with dishes and assorted knick-knacks. Windows, dressed in thin, sun-bleached curtains, struggle to brighten the space, only to highlight the dance of dust motes in the cramped quarters. Every inch is utilized, leaving breaths and movements measured and deliberate.
It is night, about 86F(30C) degrees, There is a waxing crescent moon.
(The Golden Shadow has been hired to capture your target - they claim it's for a high-paying client, but they won't disclose who. The group is known for their ruthless efficiency and won't stop until they've completed their mission. Your target must evade capture while trying to figure out who wants them and why. This encounter will challenge the characters' ability to think on their feet and test their resourcefulness as they confront the harsh reality of the world they live in.)
OOC: Hello! Thank you for accepting. Go ahead and emote what you were up to and we'll get started! :)
Edmund is in gym wear with a faint sheen of sweat on himself. He's inside arguably the most regretable trailer one might find but he's sitting on the sofa with a phone in hand googling construction companies that might solve this whole trailer situation for him...
The temperature outside is close to suffocating, but inside it is even worse. Summer is in full force in this sleepy, quiet little town, and the interior of this trailer feels like a sauna without any significant kind of air conditioning here. From the trailer park, it's difficult to hear the bustle and tustle of the town. For all it's worth, it's quiet here. Though, the lack of noise is short-lived as a few knocks - which seem unintentional, can be heard by Edmund from outside the trailer. Not the front door, but seemingly around the side.
Edmund puts his phone down on the kitchenette in the depressingly cramped space and rises up. Just from his movements and appearance one might deduce that he isn't the sort to stay in a place like this... the nice suit hanging on the wall beside the sofa bed might also be a clue. "I hope it's not the dogs again." he says in a tired sounding british accent. Front door opened he pokes his head out without fully stepping outside to see what is what... if it is the wild dogs than slam the door shut.
There are no wild dogs out front ready to accost Edmund. No parking. No panting. Nothing of that sort - and yet, that strange thumping and knocking sound continues. When Edmund peeks his head out to look, he does spot something. Or rather, someone. A man, tall - at least, taller than Edmund by an inch or two. His clothing looks combat-ready. A tactical vest with a few pockets and gloves, boots - the works. He holds a knife in his hand, and from where he is leaning against the trailer while knocking against it with his other, he looks in the direction of the open door that Edmund poked his head out of. He doesn't seem surprised to see him. "Edmund, right?" The man asks, voice a bit on the gruff side.
Edmund blinks very slowly and doesn't step out of the safety of the trailer but leaves his head poked out, his palm on the interior wall to support the wait and the sheen of sweat from the sweltering place only worsening. "Oh... Uh." he begins in a demuring british accent, "You're with the Moore's right. Someone mentioned this was their side of the town."
There's a bit of a pause that comes from this man at Edmund's question. Just a beat - not hesitation, but he seems... pleasantly surprised. "...Yes." He answers, nodding at Edmund as he pushes away from the side of the trailer to start his approach. "That's right. The Moores. Figured a... friendly visit was in order, since you're on my side of town." He says. As he steps closer, Edmund can see a little symbol on his vest - a golden dagger plunged through a shadowy globe. He may or may not recognize it, but either way this 'Moore' doesn't seem keen on waiting outside to talk. "We can talk inside." He says. It feels more like a demand and less of a suggestion.
"Honestly mate it's worse in their than it is out here." Edmund suggests as he tries to take a step out of the trailer and loiter on the front lawn with the dangerous looking man. If he presses it the sweaty brit backs up into the trailer, he has a knife afterall. "If you need some money or something, I can do that. I just bought the plot a week ago so I have something set aside." he says with a thumb over his shoulder into the open doorway.
This is certainly something that this man presses. Though the knife doesn't seem targeted at Edmund, the threat is implied. He presses Edmund into the trailer. The words Edmund spoke were ignored - at least for the moment they go unanswered. Until the door closes, that is. The heat inside the trailer is sweltering, but this man doesn't seem to be bothered by it. His eyes, dark and malicious, are set only for Edmund. "As a matter of fact, it /is/ money that I need." He admits. "But not from you, no. Not directly. You're gonna fetch a pretty penny." He stands, no, looms by the door, blocking its exit with his frame as his grip tightens against the knife.
Edmund stares at the armed man blankly it takes a few minutes before he says, "A forty year old... brit... really? Where in the world would I be worth a quid?" and with the outburst done and the reality that he doesn't have a choice he adds, "I don't have any credit cards or anything, but I have access to a fortune five hundred company's books... How about some fraudalent orders for widgets to the tune of a few thousand dollars?"
The man snorts - amused, at Edmund's words. His knife goes sheathed, then, and he adds, "This is going to be easy." The prospect of Edmund's money isn't acknowledged. If anything, this man might choose to rob him regardless. For now, though, he lunches towards Edmund. Large hands moving towards his neck as he makes an attempt to grab at him.
Since that knife got put away Edmund lunges at the dangerous man who is probably a Moore. If it's a choice between getting beaten up and taken that's easy, until it's stabbing. It seems like the gym clothes aren't all for show as he is fit even if he is in his forties and tries to punch the kidnapper in the face even with hands closing around his throat!
It seems they've both lunged at the same time, so it causes a collision between the two, with Edmund's hands punching once at this man's face, and the hands of this 'Moore' colliding against Edmund's clavicle in such a way that pushes him back. In their collision, they both manage to separate from eachother as they collide and essentially push off of eachother. It's rather lucky for Edmund, because it causes this 'Moore' to stumble bac against the trailer door which wasn't locked. He stumbles out of the trailer and down the steps off the porch as he hits the ground with a thud. It pisses him off something fierce, because he's yelling out in anger as he starts to rise to his feet to resume his attempt inside, now.
Edmund grabs a plate from the pile of dishes on the kitchenette, his throat already bruising from the scuffle, and chucks it like a frisbee at the violent man. Then another one... and then he goes for his cellphone that he left on the tabletop likely to call the police!
By the time the first dish is frisbee-flung, the 'Moore' is already back inside. He sees it coming, and he ducks the first one, sending the dish flying outside. The second one is deflected as he raises his hands to absorb the blow. Once he starts reaching for the phone, that knife gets withdrawn once more. It does seem though, that Edmund is able to snag the phone into his hand. With the knife in hand, the assailant charges him, swinging wildly with the blade. He needed him alive, but in his rage it seems he may be forgetting that fact, because that knife is aiming to draw a lot of blood.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Edmund says as the violent would-be Moore rushes him with the knife. This place is basically big enough for two on a good day and the heat it is right now is not a good day. The british man tries to catch the knife hand but given he's not an actual knife fighter the odds of that... Who knows. "I'll surrender... Oi, hey, fuck I surrender!" and if there is any luck... The violent Moore is inside the Trailer and he is on the side with the open door... which he'd definitely just run the fuck out of.
The attempt to catch the knife hand results in Edmund getting cut something awful on the hand. Crimson blood stains his knife at it seems to invigorate the man as they move about the trailer. Edmund was able to reposition them, though, giving himself the open door and the 'Moore' the interior of the trailer. He's able to dart out of the trailer to call out his intent to surrender. He is pursued, and in the process, the man brings that blade of his to his lips to lick the sharp edge, eying Edmund the entire time. "So you're smart." He says. His knife does not go away, though, and it's repositioned in his hand so his grip is better. It can't be trusted that this surrendering won't end with Edmund getting stabbed multiple times in the face. He doesn't notice it though, since his eyes are fixated on Edmund, but it seems the noise drew neighbor attention. Lights are on in some of the trailers now, and a neighbor or two can be seen on their porch with their cell phones to their ears, whispering into the line.
Edmund cradles his sliced hand in the other and up near his chest. There's a look to the left and to the right some onlookers, witnesses... "Call the police!" he calls to the American's who are likely tiktok'ing this entire scenario! Those adrenaline dialeted eyes squint at the 'Moore' and he takes a chance... He turns the fuck around and sees if he can outrun the man. Where to? Whichever neighbor he thinks owns a gun. "The police are comin' fuck off already, christ." he calls out during his potentially suicidal attempt to flee after the false surrender.
The man watches Edmund turn his attention to an onlooker. He glowers. Then he snarls. And when Edmund moves towards one to seek them out, this persistent man follows. "Fine. You both die." He says. Whatever money he was going to get from Edmund's capture seems both unwanted and not worth it, now, as the satisfaction he'd feel from gutting this Brit is more than enough for him right now. This neighbor? Collateral damage. But, in his approach, he takes another glance around and spots a few more onlookers who see him. Phones out. Likely recording him - his face, his clothing... that symbol. He swears under his breath, and his pursuit halts. He takes one step back, blade used to point at Edmund with the threated promise to return, before he departs. It seems the one too many onlooker caught view of him, and he flees.
Edmund looks over his shoulder and presses his hand against his chest again, blood staining the sweaty gym attire. "That's right ya fookin' prick!" and then he runs a bit further away because a brave face and shouting is way less safe than continuing that fleeing bit to somewhere public... like a nearby bar and then a police station... Does Haven even have one of those?
OOC: And that's that! Thanks for accepting the encounter and spending this time with me!
(Your target has been hexed and transformed into an animal against their will. Unable to turn back they need to try to find allies who can understand their problem and find a way to undo the curse.
)
The dark wood flooring, worn and scratched from years of use, creaks beneath Iakres's feet as he moves around the bedroom. With the sun's early rising in summer, the faint light of dawn is just beginning to filter through the stubborn western window. Outside, a gentle breeze carries the distant sounds of the early morning - an owl hooting softly, a wolf howling in the woods in the distance.
The room is bathed in the soft, grey light of early morning, casting long shadows and highlighting the imperfections in the old trailer. The repairs to the trailer have been thorough, but theres only so much that can be done in a day or two since the thrall from New York had gone through it.
On the small wooden dresser, Iakres carefully organizes Zoes pills, methodically placing each bottle in its designated spot. His wife is out for her early morning walk - she needs some routine, out here, to busy her mind and keep her somewhat physically fit, and he knows that she won't be back until well after breakfast. The sorting of pills he's up to has become a practiced act; pick up, read the label, put it in its rightful place. There's a lot to go through, after all the bottles had been destroyed the other day, but it's nothing he can't get through in due time. Pick, read, put, pick, read, put, pick, read, put, close the drawer, open the next drawer-
There's something unfamiliar in the second drawer that Iakres hadn't noticed before - it certainly hadn't been here - or had simply gone unnoticed - when they'd moved in and looked around the place, a coin made of what appears to be gold, just sitting in the drawer as though it's been waiting for someone to happen across it. There's a bit of dirt staining it, covering the inscription that's carved upon the metal. It's certainly not a currency he's familiar with, that's for sure. Perhaps a collector's item the previous resident had forgotten to take with them?
Iakres sighs. He'd only wanted to find somewhere less obvious to keep his wife's medication, after they'd been targeted and destroyed only a little while ago. This probably wasn't Zoe's - she was too used to tidying up the mess left behind by her soil-centric ritualism to have left something like this so dirty. It wouldn't do to leave something dirty with sterile medication, either, so he sets the pill organiser down onto the bed and fishes a handkerchief from his pocket to scoop up the coin-medallion-disc. No point in trying to examine it; he wouldn't admit it to anyone, but his vision had been getting worse the past few weeks. They'd take his license away for real if anyone knew the spectre of blindness trailed after him. With the hanky folded neatly over the coin, he sets it down on top of the dresser, then sits himself down on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair. It had been a stressful few days.
It's unlikely that hiding the medication away in a drawer instead of the top of the dresser would do much to deter a determined thrall from destroying it all again, considering the man had methodically gone through every single bit of smashable furniture he could find to rip apart without a care. The pain from his brand certainly would ensure one is as methodical as humanely possible. Still, perhaps it would buy them some time if it was locked away in the drawer instead of being out in the open, so Iakres surely cannot be blamed for that.
The hand running through his hair would definitely remind him of how thin his hair has grown, from its strong, typically Hellenic thickness to this balding visage that only gets worse with the increasing amount of stress he's under. There's little do be done about that, as there's little to be done about his vision - this is America, after all, and a pair of glasses isn't cheap at all, and the last thing he needs is for a doctor to tell him he's got cataracts that require surgery. They've visited enough hospitals in the last couple of years already, surely. Still, a clear field of vision would be nice to have, wouldn't it...?
Iakres must have ended up placing the handkerchief-covered coin on the very edge of the dresser, because it's only a couple seconds after he sits down, while he's deep in his musings, that both the items end up falling over and down to the ground with a dull noise. The coin lands on its edge, rolling forward with the momentum and leaving its handkerchiefly home behind to end up near Iakres's feet, bumping into the side of his shoes before it finally comes to lie flat upon the dark wood floor.
Well, that didn't bode well at all. Iakres lets his hands fall back into his lap and leans forward to peer down at the fallen coin. He was no mystic, but that only made him /more/ paranoid about the arcane, rather than less. He surmises this may be the reason the thing was shut into a container to begin with. So he leans over to gather his handkerchief back up, scoop up the coin, and take it into the kitchen. He'd trap it under a cup for now. His wife could look at it when she got home - he wasn't going to fuck around with it. What was it with Westhaven and old golden treasures?
What was it with Westhaven and old golden treasures, indeed. The coin doesn't object to being taken to the kitchen - probably because it's an inanimate object incapable of such human emotions, but that's far from the point here. The living room's just barely been put together after the rampage the other day, and most of Zoe's potted plants are yet to have their clay pots replaced after they were so rudely smashed. He should offer to help her out with those later in the morning, for some brownie points (and some brownies).
The lack of his favorite mug in the kitchen after it's untimely death may still sting a little, but there's still a cup or two he can find to hide the coin under. And yes, indeed, there's Zoe's favorite cup, the one with sunflowers painted upon it, and another, less favorite yet still probably high up in the rankings by lieu of being one of the two surviving cups, and he upends one of them - the latter - upon the coin and calls it a day.
Or, Iakres would call it a day, were it not for the fact that as soon as he turns his back to the coin-and-cup, there's a cracking sound and the secondlast cup remaining in this trailer shatters and falls all across the counter in pieces. There goes the second favorite cup, if only by default. Just the one last cup remaining now, unless he wants to try his luck with a bowl or something of the sort. Given how cheeky the coin looks upon that countertop there, it's unlikely to work out any other way. Or perhaps that's just his imagination, as the coin is still an inanimate object incapable of human emotions.
"Fucking bastard asshole wanker coin," Iakres curses to himself in his native Greek, doing the coin the honour of being insulted properly. "Do you know how many magic coins I have come across? I am over seventy years old. I will not touch you." He pulls out his phone - the iPhone 15 Pro Max so many of his much younger peers chose to use - and fires off a text to Zoe:
Iakres: My love, we have magic coin breaking things and following me around. I think he is cursed. Can you look at this when you get home?
He snaps a picture of the thing as an attachment, though whether or not his wife's ancient Nokia would choose to load the image or not was never predictable. For now, he sighs and goes to scoop the thing up in his handkerchief again. "If you keep following me, you little shit," he informs the coin, "I'll toss you into that dream world about the end of the world. Behave yourself. Is there a special container you /want/ to be put into? You are not even legal tender. You should be grateful I am asking." He raises an eyebrow at the cloth-enveloped coin, half-expecting an answer.
Whether or not her phone will behave enough to let his dear wife see the text and the attached image anytime soon is up to the fickle whims of fate - for now, it's just Iakres and the coin, caught up in this epic battle for the ages. Iakres has met many magic coins. The magic coin has, presumably, met many old people. Perhaps it's owing to this - or perhaps it's owing to the fact that all the handkerchiefing has ended up with the soil and dirt and whatever was marring the coil being wiped off the golden surface - that as though in response to his questioning, or maybe in response to his cursing, the coin begins to glow faintly. It's subtle in the beginning, perhaps not able to be picked up with Iakres's poor vision and the early morning sunlight streaming in through the open kitchen window, but it becomes very apparent very fast that there's /something/ going on here, more active than the previously passive behavior of the coin.
And then, more than the coin, it's Iakres who begins to glow faintly - this one is more obvious, when it's the entirety of him that's behaving like Edward Cullen in the sunlight. There's a creaking in his bones, an unfamiliar ache and a heavy weight upon his person that seeks to knock him down to the ground. His vision blurs, an overwhelming dizziness taking over him, and the skin over his arms tingles the same as his bones compress and shift, dark feathers erupting from his flesh, tearing through the skin with a wet, ripping sound. The feathers spread, covering his torso and limbs, his toes elongating and narrowing, his legs cramping and twisting, his muscles bunching and contorting, and his very skull feels as though on fire until he collapses to the ground in a heap of twisted limbs and feathers.
Iakres's senses sharpen to an agonizing degree. Every sound is amplified, every flicker of light blinding. He can hear the frantic beating of his own heart, the rustle of his new feathers, the creak of the floorboards beneath him. The coin, that's been dropped to the ground somewhere during his transformation, lies with its face up towards him, the detail upon it visible with crystal clear acuity. Heads - it's an owl's head. That's him now, undoubtedly, with his chicken feet and the beak that remains annoyingly in his periphery. Perhaps the other side of the coin may have something of import to him.
In a contrasting yet equally bizarre scenario, Iakres deals with the aftermath of a targeted attack on his home, focusing on the mundane yet essential task of organizing medication for his wife, Zoe. The discovery of a mysterious, ancient-looking coin in a drawer interrupts his routine, setting off a series of inexplicable events that lead to Iakres's transformation into an owl. Despite his initial skepticism and attempts to manage the situation through text messages to Zoe and cautious interaction with the enchanted object, Iakres finds himself overwhelmed by a magical force emanating from the coin. The transformation, marked by physical agony and a flood of heightened senses, leaves Iakres in the form of an owl, pondering the implications of the coin's design and the uncertain path ahead in reversing the curse. The stories of Edmund and Iakres, each facing surreal challenges in the face of danger and magic, highlight the unpredictable nature of their world and the resilience required to navigate its trials.
(Edmund's odd encounter(SRAristotle):SRAristotle)
[Sun Jun 9 2024]
In the cramped main room of a Rundown Trailer
The living space of the trailer feels like a jigsaw puzzle forced into alignment. A well-worn sofa bed, unfolded to save space, takes up most of the room, its faded floral pattern clashing with the mismatched cushions. A compact television teeters on a milk crate, flanked by stacks of dog-eared paperbacks and yesterday's mail. The tiny kitchenette encroaches, its cluttered counter spilling over with dishes and assorted knick-knacks. Windows, dressed in thin, sun-bleached curtains, struggle to brighten the space, only to highlight the dance of dust motes in the cramped quarters. Every inch is utilized, leaving breaths and movements measured and deliberate.
It is night, about 86F(30C) degrees, There is a waxing crescent moon.
(The Golden Shadow has been hired to capture your target - they claim it's for a high-paying client, but they won't disclose who. The group is known for their ruthless efficiency and won't stop until they've completed their mission. Your target must evade capture while trying to figure out who wants them and why. This encounter will challenge the characters' ability to think on their feet and test their resourcefulness as they confront the harsh reality of the world they live in.)
OOC: Hello! Thank you for accepting. Go ahead and emote what you were up to and we'll get started! :)
Edmund is in gym wear with a faint sheen of sweat on himself. He's inside arguably the most regretable trailer one might find but he's sitting on the sofa with a phone in hand googling construction companies that might solve this whole trailer situation for him...
The temperature outside is close to suffocating, but inside it is even worse. Summer is in full force in this sleepy, quiet little town, and the interior of this trailer feels like a sauna without any significant kind of air conditioning here. From the trailer park, it's difficult to hear the bustle and tustle of the town. For all it's worth, it's quiet here. Though, the lack of noise is short-lived as a few knocks - which seem unintentional, can be heard by Edmund from outside the trailer. Not the front door, but seemingly around the side.
Edmund puts his phone down on the kitchenette in the depressingly cramped space and rises up. Just from his movements and appearance one might deduce that he isn't the sort to stay in a place like this... the nice suit hanging on the wall beside the sofa bed might also be a clue. "I hope it's not the dogs again." he says in a tired sounding british accent. Front door opened he pokes his head out without fully stepping outside to see what is what... if it is the wild dogs than slam the door shut.
There are no wild dogs out front ready to accost Edmund. No parking. No panting. Nothing of that sort - and yet, that strange thumping and knocking sound continues. When Edmund peeks his head out to look, he does spot something. Or rather, someone. A man, tall - at least, taller than Edmund by an inch or two. His clothing looks combat-ready. A tactical vest with a few pockets and gloves, boots - the works. He holds a knife in his hand, and from where he is leaning against the trailer while knocking against it with his other, he looks in the direction of the open door that Edmund poked his head out of. He doesn't seem surprised to see him. "Edmund, right?" The man asks, voice a bit on the gruff side.
Edmund blinks very slowly and doesn't step out of the safety of the trailer but leaves his head poked out, his palm on the interior wall to support the wait and the sheen of sweat from the sweltering place only worsening. "Oh... Uh." he begins in a demuring british accent, "You're with the Moore's right. Someone mentioned this was their side of the town."
There's a bit of a pause that comes from this man at Edmund's question. Just a beat - not hesitation, but he seems... pleasantly surprised. "...Yes." He answers, nodding at Edmund as he pushes away from the side of the trailer to start his approach. "That's right. The Moores. Figured a... friendly visit was in order, since you're on my side of town." He says. As he steps closer, Edmund can see a little symbol on his vest - a golden dagger plunged through a shadowy globe. He may or may not recognize it, but either way this 'Moore' doesn't seem keen on waiting outside to talk. "We can talk inside." He says. It feels more like a demand and less of a suggestion.
"Honestly mate it's worse in their than it is out here." Edmund suggests as he tries to take a step out of the trailer and loiter on the front lawn with the dangerous looking man. If he presses it the sweaty brit backs up into the trailer, he has a knife afterall. "If you need some money or something, I can do that. I just bought the plot a week ago so I have something set aside." he says with a thumb over his shoulder into the open doorway.
This is certainly something that this man presses. Though the knife doesn't seem targeted at Edmund, the threat is implied. He presses Edmund into the trailer. The words Edmund spoke were ignored - at least for the moment they go unanswered. Until the door closes, that is. The heat inside the trailer is sweltering, but this man doesn't seem to be bothered by it. His eyes, dark and malicious, are set only for Edmund. "As a matter of fact, it /is/ money that I need." He admits. "But not from you, no. Not directly. You're gonna fetch a pretty penny." He stands, no, looms by the door, blocking its exit with his frame as his grip tightens against the knife.
Edmund stares at the armed man blankly it takes a few minutes before he says, "A forty year old... brit... really? Where in the world would I be worth a quid?" and with the outburst done and the reality that he doesn't have a choice he adds, "I don't have any credit cards or anything, but I have access to a fortune five hundred company's books... How about some fraudalent orders for widgets to the tune of a few thousand dollars?"
The man snorts - amused, at Edmund's words. His knife goes sheathed, then, and he adds, "This is going to be easy." The prospect of Edmund's money isn't acknowledged. If anything, this man might choose to rob him regardless. For now, though, he lunches towards Edmund. Large hands moving towards his neck as he makes an attempt to grab at him.
Since that knife got put away Edmund lunges at the dangerous man who is probably a Moore. If it's a choice between getting beaten up and taken that's easy, until it's stabbing. It seems like the gym clothes aren't all for show as he is fit even if he is in his forties and tries to punch the kidnapper in the face even with hands closing around his throat!
It seems they've both lunged at the same time, so it causes a collision between the two, with Edmund's hands punching once at this man's face, and the hands of this 'Moore' colliding against Edmund's clavicle in such a way that pushes him back. In their collision, they both manage to separate from eachother as they collide and essentially push off of eachother. It's rather lucky for Edmund, because it causes this 'Moore' to stumble bac against the trailer door which wasn't locked. He stumbles out of the trailer and down the steps off the porch as he hits the ground with a thud. It pisses him off something fierce, because he's yelling out in anger as he starts to rise to his feet to resume his attempt inside, now.
Edmund grabs a plate from the pile of dishes on the kitchenette, his throat already bruising from the scuffle, and chucks it like a frisbee at the violent man. Then another one... and then he goes for his cellphone that he left on the tabletop likely to call the police!
By the time the first dish is frisbee-flung, the 'Moore' is already back inside. He sees it coming, and he ducks the first one, sending the dish flying outside. The second one is deflected as he raises his hands to absorb the blow. Once he starts reaching for the phone, that knife gets withdrawn once more. It does seem though, that Edmund is able to snag the phone into his hand. With the knife in hand, the assailant charges him, swinging wildly with the blade. He needed him alive, but in his rage it seems he may be forgetting that fact, because that knife is aiming to draw a lot of blood.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Edmund says as the violent would-be Moore rushes him with the knife. This place is basically big enough for two on a good day and the heat it is right now is not a good day. The british man tries to catch the knife hand but given he's not an actual knife fighter the odds of that... Who knows. "I'll surrender... Oi, hey, fuck I surrender!" and if there is any luck... The violent Moore is inside the Trailer and he is on the side with the open door... which he'd definitely just run the fuck out of.
The attempt to catch the knife hand results in Edmund getting cut something awful on the hand. Crimson blood stains his knife at it seems to invigorate the man as they move about the trailer. Edmund was able to reposition them, though, giving himself the open door and the 'Moore' the interior of the trailer. He's able to dart out of the trailer to call out his intent to surrender. He is pursued, and in the process, the man brings that blade of his to his lips to lick the sharp edge, eying Edmund the entire time. "So you're smart." He says. His knife does not go away, though, and it's repositioned in his hand so his grip is better. It can't be trusted that this surrendering won't end with Edmund getting stabbed multiple times in the face. He doesn't notice it though, since his eyes are fixated on Edmund, but it seems the noise drew neighbor attention. Lights are on in some of the trailers now, and a neighbor or two can be seen on their porch with their cell phones to their ears, whispering into the line.
Edmund cradles his sliced hand in the other and up near his chest. There's a look to the left and to the right some onlookers, witnesses... "Call the police!" he calls to the American's who are likely tiktok'ing this entire scenario! Those adrenaline dialeted eyes squint at the 'Moore' and he takes a chance... He turns the fuck around and sees if he can outrun the man. Where to? Whichever neighbor he thinks owns a gun. "The police are comin' fuck off already, christ." he calls out during his potentially suicidal attempt to flee after the false surrender.
The man watches Edmund turn his attention to an onlooker. He glowers. Then he snarls. And when Edmund moves towards one to seek them out, this persistent man follows. "Fine. You both die." He says. Whatever money he was going to get from Edmund's capture seems both unwanted and not worth it, now, as the satisfaction he'd feel from gutting this Brit is more than enough for him right now. This neighbor? Collateral damage. But, in his approach, he takes another glance around and spots a few more onlookers who see him. Phones out. Likely recording him - his face, his clothing... that symbol. He swears under his breath, and his pursuit halts. He takes one step back, blade used to point at Edmund with the threated promise to return, before he departs. It seems the one too many onlooker caught view of him, and he flees.
Edmund looks over his shoulder and presses his hand against his chest again, blood staining the sweaty gym attire. "That's right ya fookin' prick!" and then he runs a bit further away because a brave face and shouting is way less safe than continuing that fleeing bit to somewhere public... like a nearby bar and then a police station... Does Haven even have one of those?
OOC: And that's that! Thanks for accepting the encounter and spending this time with me!
(Your target has been hexed and transformed into an animal against their will. Unable to turn back they need to try to find allies who can understand their problem and find a way to undo the curse.
)
The dark wood flooring, worn and scratched from years of use, creaks beneath Iakres's feet as he moves around the bedroom. With the sun's early rising in summer, the faint light of dawn is just beginning to filter through the stubborn western window. Outside, a gentle breeze carries the distant sounds of the early morning - an owl hooting softly, a wolf howling in the woods in the distance.
The room is bathed in the soft, grey light of early morning, casting long shadows and highlighting the imperfections in the old trailer. The repairs to the trailer have been thorough, but theres only so much that can be done in a day or two since the thrall from New York had gone through it.
On the small wooden dresser, Iakres carefully organizes Zoes pills, methodically placing each bottle in its designated spot. His wife is out for her early morning walk - she needs some routine, out here, to busy her mind and keep her somewhat physically fit, and he knows that she won't be back until well after breakfast. The sorting of pills he's up to has become a practiced act; pick up, read the label, put it in its rightful place. There's a lot to go through, after all the bottles had been destroyed the other day, but it's nothing he can't get through in due time. Pick, read, put, pick, read, put, pick, read, put, close the drawer, open the next drawer-
There's something unfamiliar in the second drawer that Iakres hadn't noticed before - it certainly hadn't been here - or had simply gone unnoticed - when they'd moved in and looked around the place, a coin made of what appears to be gold, just sitting in the drawer as though it's been waiting for someone to happen across it. There's a bit of dirt staining it, covering the inscription that's carved upon the metal. It's certainly not a currency he's familiar with, that's for sure. Perhaps a collector's item the previous resident had forgotten to take with them?
Iakres sighs. He'd only wanted to find somewhere less obvious to keep his wife's medication, after they'd been targeted and destroyed only a little while ago. This probably wasn't Zoe's - she was too used to tidying up the mess left behind by her soil-centric ritualism to have left something like this so dirty. It wouldn't do to leave something dirty with sterile medication, either, so he sets the pill organiser down onto the bed and fishes a handkerchief from his pocket to scoop up the coin-medallion-disc. No point in trying to examine it; he wouldn't admit it to anyone, but his vision had been getting worse the past few weeks. They'd take his license away for real if anyone knew the spectre of blindness trailed after him. With the hanky folded neatly over the coin, he sets it down on top of the dresser, then sits himself down on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair. It had been a stressful few days.
It's unlikely that hiding the medication away in a drawer instead of the top of the dresser would do much to deter a determined thrall from destroying it all again, considering the man had methodically gone through every single bit of smashable furniture he could find to rip apart without a care. The pain from his brand certainly would ensure one is as methodical as humanely possible. Still, perhaps it would buy them some time if it was locked away in the drawer instead of being out in the open, so Iakres surely cannot be blamed for that.
The hand running through his hair would definitely remind him of how thin his hair has grown, from its strong, typically Hellenic thickness to this balding visage that only gets worse with the increasing amount of stress he's under. There's little do be done about that, as there's little to be done about his vision - this is America, after all, and a pair of glasses isn't cheap at all, and the last thing he needs is for a doctor to tell him he's got cataracts that require surgery. They've visited enough hospitals in the last couple of years already, surely. Still, a clear field of vision would be nice to have, wouldn't it...?
Iakres must have ended up placing the handkerchief-covered coin on the very edge of the dresser, because it's only a couple seconds after he sits down, while he's deep in his musings, that both the items end up falling over and down to the ground with a dull noise. The coin lands on its edge, rolling forward with the momentum and leaving its handkerchiefly home behind to end up near Iakres's feet, bumping into the side of his shoes before it finally comes to lie flat upon the dark wood floor.
Well, that didn't bode well at all. Iakres lets his hands fall back into his lap and leans forward to peer down at the fallen coin. He was no mystic, but that only made him /more/ paranoid about the arcane, rather than less. He surmises this may be the reason the thing was shut into a container to begin with. So he leans over to gather his handkerchief back up, scoop up the coin, and take it into the kitchen. He'd trap it under a cup for now. His wife could look at it when she got home - he wasn't going to fuck around with it. What was it with Westhaven and old golden treasures?
What was it with Westhaven and old golden treasures, indeed. The coin doesn't object to being taken to the kitchen - probably because it's an inanimate object incapable of such human emotions, but that's far from the point here. The living room's just barely been put together after the rampage the other day, and most of Zoe's potted plants are yet to have their clay pots replaced after they were so rudely smashed. He should offer to help her out with those later in the morning, for some brownie points (and some brownies).
The lack of his favorite mug in the kitchen after it's untimely death may still sting a little, but there's still a cup or two he can find to hide the coin under. And yes, indeed, there's Zoe's favorite cup, the one with sunflowers painted upon it, and another, less favorite yet still probably high up in the rankings by lieu of being one of the two surviving cups, and he upends one of them - the latter - upon the coin and calls it a day.
Or, Iakres would call it a day, were it not for the fact that as soon as he turns his back to the coin-and-cup, there's a cracking sound and the secondlast cup remaining in this trailer shatters and falls all across the counter in pieces. There goes the second favorite cup, if only by default. Just the one last cup remaining now, unless he wants to try his luck with a bowl or something of the sort. Given how cheeky the coin looks upon that countertop there, it's unlikely to work out any other way. Or perhaps that's just his imagination, as the coin is still an inanimate object incapable of human emotions.
"Fucking bastard asshole wanker coin," Iakres curses to himself in his native Greek, doing the coin the honour of being insulted properly. "Do you know how many magic coins I have come across? I am over seventy years old. I will not touch you." He pulls out his phone - the iPhone 15 Pro Max so many of his much younger peers chose to use - and fires off a text to Zoe:
Iakres: My love, we have magic coin breaking things and following me around. I think he is cursed. Can you look at this when you get home?
He snaps a picture of the thing as an attachment, though whether or not his wife's ancient Nokia would choose to load the image or not was never predictable. For now, he sighs and goes to scoop the thing up in his handkerchief again. "If you keep following me, you little shit," he informs the coin, "I'll toss you into that dream world about the end of the world. Behave yourself. Is there a special container you /want/ to be put into? You are not even legal tender. You should be grateful I am asking." He raises an eyebrow at the cloth-enveloped coin, half-expecting an answer.
Whether or not her phone will behave enough to let his dear wife see the text and the attached image anytime soon is up to the fickle whims of fate - for now, it's just Iakres and the coin, caught up in this epic battle for the ages. Iakres has met many magic coins. The magic coin has, presumably, met many old people. Perhaps it's owing to this - or perhaps it's owing to the fact that all the handkerchiefing has ended up with the soil and dirt and whatever was marring the coil being wiped off the golden surface - that as though in response to his questioning, or maybe in response to his cursing, the coin begins to glow faintly. It's subtle in the beginning, perhaps not able to be picked up with Iakres's poor vision and the early morning sunlight streaming in through the open kitchen window, but it becomes very apparent very fast that there's /something/ going on here, more active than the previously passive behavior of the coin.
And then, more than the coin, it's Iakres who begins to glow faintly - this one is more obvious, when it's the entirety of him that's behaving like Edward Cullen in the sunlight. There's a creaking in his bones, an unfamiliar ache and a heavy weight upon his person that seeks to knock him down to the ground. His vision blurs, an overwhelming dizziness taking over him, and the skin over his arms tingles the same as his bones compress and shift, dark feathers erupting from his flesh, tearing through the skin with a wet, ripping sound. The feathers spread, covering his torso and limbs, his toes elongating and narrowing, his legs cramping and twisting, his muscles bunching and contorting, and his very skull feels as though on fire until he collapses to the ground in a heap of twisted limbs and feathers.
Iakres's senses sharpen to an agonizing degree. Every sound is amplified, every flicker of light blinding. He can hear the frantic beating of his own heart, the rustle of his new feathers, the creak of the floorboards beneath him. The coin, that's been dropped to the ground somewhere during his transformation, lies with its face up towards him, the detail upon it visible with crystal clear acuity. Heads - it's an owl's head. That's him now, undoubtedly, with his chicken feet and the beak that remains annoyingly in his periphery. Perhaps the other side of the coin may have something of import to him.