Encounterlogs
Irmas Odd Encounter Sr Legion 240623
In the eerie quiet of a dimly lit pool area, the serene night is punctuated by an unexpected encounter between Irma, an ordinary swimmer, and Adam, a ghost manifested from years past. As Irma is engrossed in her swimming laps, the ghost of Adam, dressed in his jogging attire from the late '90s, materializes near the pool, his presence marked by a somber curiosity and a heavy air of longing. Despite the initial fear and confusion, a dialogue forms between the two, revealing Adam's tragic confusion over the time of his death, mistaking the current year for 1998. He shares his last memory of a morning run gone awry, leading to his untimely demise, possibly at the claws of a werewolf. His revelation casts a chilling atmosphere over the pool, intensifying the surreal and haunted ambiance as Irma empathizes with his tragic fate before Adam dissipates into the night, leaving her alone.
Meanwhile, on a different scene, the narrative shifts to Ginger, who finds herself frantically navigating the streets of Haven as sirens wail behind her. Mistakenly profiled and pursued by state police, her erratic flight through alleys and past obstacles highlights her desperation and fear of wrongful accusation. Her flight is abruptly interrupted by a collision with a police car, a struggle for breath, and a subsequent rescue by Abigail Winters of the Temple, who clarifies the misunderstanding. Despite the mistaken identity and intense chase, the encounter ends in an unexpected introduction, marking Ginger's uneasy assimilation into the undercurrents of Haven's power dynamics. Abigail's cryptic warning about "lines you musn't cross" leaves Ginger unsettled, tying her personal struggle into the larger, mysterious fabric of Haven's secretive society.
(Irma's odd encounter(SRLegion):SRLegion)
[Sat Jun 22 2024]
In the pool
It is night, about 83F(28C) degrees, There is a waning gibbous moon.
("The Haven's Haunting")
Irma swims laps in the pool, pausing every lap or two to check her phone. As she does, she tugs down her swimsuit, a little self-conscious about its coverage.
The dimly lit indoor pool at the apartment complex is quiet. The only sound is the gentle lapping of water against the tiles. Soft underwater lights cast rippling reflections on the walls. The smell of chlorine hangs in the air, mingling with distant city sounds outside.
Suddenly, a shimmering, translucent figure materializes at one end of the pool. It emerges through the solid wall effortlessly. The ghost of a jogger, dressed in ethereal running gear, glides forward, flickering like a fading memory. His features are faint but clear: a determined expression, short-cropped hair, and the outline of a fitness tracker on his wrist.
He stops at the edge of the pool, eyes widening slightly at the sight before him. In the water, Irma moves with mixed grace, each stroke breaking the surface with a soft splash. The swimmer is unaware of the ghost watching from the side.
The jogger's ghost hovers, his spectral breath forming no mist in the cool air. His translucent eyes follow the swimmer's movements, showing a mix of curiosity and longing. The water ripples and distorts the light, creating a surreal atmosphere around the ghost.
For a moment, the jogger's ghost reaches out, hand stretching toward the water. He pulls back, remembering the boundary between his world and the living. The swimmer, oblivious to the ghostly visitor, continues their laps, each stroke contrasting with the still, silent figure at the pool's edge.
Finally the ghost clears a spectral throat. "Hello?" he asks Irma.
Irma startles where she swims, and when she sees the ghost she panics. "Hello!" she says, swimming suddenly back hard towards the edge of the pool. "Um ... hi?" the nurse asks, trying to brush her hair back. "Can, can, can I help you?"
The ghost remains silent, its translucent form shimmering softly in the dim light.
The jogger's ghost tilts his head slightly, as if contemplating the surroundings, but makes no move to respond. His eyes remain fixed on the space around him, filled with a mixture of curiosity and sadness.
The ghost takes a small step forward, his form flickering slightly.
The underwater lights cast an ethereal glow on the scene, the water rippling gently.
The ghost's mouth opens as if to speak, but no sound comes out. Instead, he simply stands there, a silent, sorrowful presence, the faint light creating an almost surreal, haunting atmosphere in the quiet pool area.
The ghost's eyes continue to scan the room, his gaze lingering on the reflections dancing on the water's surface and the faint steam rising from the pool.
The air feels heavier, colder, as his presence remains, an unspoken sorrow emanating from his ghostly form.
Slowly, the ghost drifts closer -- it walks on water, as if Jesus -- and then it stands looking down at Irma. "What's your name?" he asks. "I am Adam."
"Uh ..." Irma freezes. She panics, really, some kind of sudden worried chaos. "Uh." It's a breath, almost hyperventilated, as she feels her whole body go clammy. "Uh. Uh. Uh ... I'm ... I'm Irma," she says. Fear transfixes her features as she looks up at the ghost. "Adam?" she says. "Please ... please don't hurt me."
The ghost's eyes flicker with a sudden recognition at the sound of his name.
He steps closer, his form becoming more defined as he approaches.
The ghost, Adam, raises a hand, his expression softening as if trying to communicate something important.
The air grows even colder, the lights dimming slightly as his presence intensifies.
The ghost's mouth opens again, but only a faint, ethereal sound escapes, like a distant echo.
His hand lowers, pointing towards something unseen in the pool's depths.
The ghostly figure speaks. "What -- what year is it, Irma?" His voice has a kind of rasp to it, the sort of thing that suggests it has been very long unused. "Is it 1998 yet?"
(re) The ghost's eyes flicker with a sudden recognition at the sound of his name.
He steps closer, his form becoming more defined as he approaches.
The ghost, Adam, raises a hand, his expression softening as if trying to communicate something important.
The air grows even colder, the lights dimming slightly as his presence intensifies.
The ghost's mouth opens again, but only a faint, ethereal sound escapes, like a distant echo.
His hand lowers, pointing towards something unseen in the pool's depths.
The ghostly figure speaks. "What -- what year is it, Irma?" His voice has a kind of rasp to it, the sort of thing that suggests it has been very long unused. "Is it 1998 yet?"
"No," Irma says. "No, it's 2024." Now she seems to getting hold of herself, as she moves to the steps, sitting on the edge of the pool. "What is the last thing you remember, Adam?" she asks the ghost.
Adam -- this ghost, this ethereal figure in jogging gear -- bobs his head, and sadness hits his eyes. "2024," he says. "I. Well," he says. "I thought it was 1997." He pauses, shifting, and as he does the 'White Oak' logo shows on his jogging gear. "I was out for a morning run," he explains, explaining perhaps the last thing he remembers.
A chilling mist begins to seep through the cracks in the walls, curling around the edges of the pool and casting an otherworldly glow in the dim light. The water's surface ripples unnaturally, as if disturbed by an unseen force. Shadows stretch and dance across the tiles, creating eerie, shifting shapes that seem to move with a life of their own. The air grows heavy and oppressive, filled with a palpable sense of dread that seeps into every corner of the room. The faint scent of ozone lingers, mingling with the sharp tang of chlorine, while the ghostly figure of Adam stands as a silent sentinel, his presence a haunting reminder of the boundary between the living and the dead.
With an ethereal look of sadness, the jogger looks at Irma. "I remember..." He shakes his head, as if trying to catch a memory.
Irma asks quietly, "What do you remember?" Compassion flares in the woman as she leans in, now, her eyes on the jogger, the former student.
"I was jogging," the ghost, Adam, repeats to Irma. "And I heard some growl, some terrible growl, and I saw..." His eyes widen with memory.
The room's temperature plummets further, causing the walls to glisten with a thin layer of frost. The lights flicker, casting erratic shadows that morph into grotesque, fleeting images. The gentle lapping of the pool water turns sinister, each splash echoing like a distant, mournful wail. A barely perceptible whisper fills the air, like countless voices murmuring secrets from the abyss. The heavy scent of decay permeates the space, mingling with the chlorine, creating an unsettling mix that makes the air feel thick and stifling. The mist thickens, swirling around Adam's spectral form, amplifying his ghostly glow and casting a faint, eerie light that makes the water shimmer with an unnatural luminescence. Every breath taken in this haunted ambiance feels labored, as if the very air resists the presence of the living.
At the chill, Irma shivers, wrapping her arms around her heavy breasts. She bites her lip. "Oh ..." the nurse says. "Oh." She breathes in, her nostrils flaring, and then says, "A werewolf." She breathes in again. "I'm sorry, Adam," she says. "I'm sorry."
Now the ghost nods, as memories flood Adam's mind. "A werewolf," he agrees. "You know -- I thought I'd be turned," he tells Irma. "But I wasn't, was I?" he says. "I was. I guess this happened." He looks at himself. "I guess this happened." He repeats it. "I guess this happened," he repeats again, like a record skipping.
Irma says "I guess it did."
Irma looks up at the ghost, some tears of sadness in her eyes.
The eerie glow of the underwater lights flickers intermittently, casting long, sinister shadows that creep along the walls. The mist, now denser, curls and coils around the pool's edge, its tendrils reaching out like ghostly fingers. The once-clear water has taken on a dark, murky hue, as if tainted by an unseen malevolence. An oppressive silence blankets the room, broken only by the occasional, unnerving drip of water echoing from the ceiling. The air is thick with a cold, damp chill, and an inexplicable sense of foreboding hangs heavily, pressing down on everything within. The faint scent of mold and decay grows stronger, seeping into every breath and leaving a metallic tang on the tongue. The spectral form of Adam looms larger, his presence almost tangible, as if the boundary between the living and the dead is thinning, the atmosphere charged with an electric, otherworldly tension.
As the mists seems to close in, Adam seems to get less and less substantial, his eyes on Irma. "I guess this happened," he repeats, and it's as if he cannot confront the reality, the awful reality of what happened to him -- of what the werewolf did to him twenty-five years ago.
Irma whispers as the Mists close, "I'm sorry." Tears stand in her eyes as she looks up at the ghost.
Then -- like that -- the ghost is gone. The mist, chilled, curls around Irma, and then it, too, fades away, leaving her alone in the pool.
(Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.
)
Ginger has just come out of Narnia. Her brisk pace sets her dreadlocks bouncing and jiggling, and she keeps an armful of clothes hugged to her chest. She checks the time and sighs, muttering to herself. "I'm late, I was supposed to check in for my key an hour ago!"
It's a LOVELY day to be wandering about Haven. Well, night. The moon hangs in waning gibbous, a present bright pulse in the night sky harolding the end of a lovely full moon. There is a faint bit of mist on the ground, hardly troubling but enough to put those aware a little more on edge, a little more guarded.
The sound comes like a little tremor down Ginger's spine. Sirens, approaching.
Ginger tenses up once she notices the mist, and even more at the sound of the sirens. "Oh hell no, I gotta go!" Innocence was never a good enough excuse for the police to leave a person alone.
SRMeridith there's a sound of tires screeching as a nearby police officer pulls to a stop nearby, and a police officer shouts from a window. "Freeze!" They bellow in command. Ginger is pretty confident she could make a break down an alley and lose them.
There's a sound of tires screeching as a nearby police officer pulls to a stop nearby, and a police officer shouts from a window. "Freeze!" They bellow in command. Ginger is pretty confident she could make a break down an alley and lose them.
"Damn!", Ginger mutters, seeing the car pull up to the curb. The cop shouts freeze, and the hairs on the back of the jock'sneck stand up. Confident she could make it, the teen takes off at a full sprint.
There's a sound of cursing and warning from the officer as the car zips around, heading off in a direction, likely hopeful to catch Ginger, trying to cut her off somewhere. Still, there's other officers in the area, and she's gotta get off the streets. Does she have a destination in mind? A way to dodge those eyes?
The officer curses and hollers at Ginger as the car zips around, heading off in a direction, likely hopeful to catch Ginger, trying to cut her off somewhere. Still, there's other officers in the area, and she's gotta get off the streets. Does she have a destination in mind? A way to dodge those eyes? (fix't)
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Ginger says, coming to a stop against the alley wall at the corner. She dips left and takes off down the other corridor, not even thinking about it. She checks over her shoulder and gets set to make a left out the other side of the alley. "Oh fuck this is bullshit! Fuck did I do?"
Ginger's luck seems to run out as a cruises pulls up at the front of the alleyway. She realizes the car is marked with state PD, not local. That's...probably bad? Maybe. If she pivots to try the way back she sees an officer rushing. Seems she might be trapped, but hey, she could probably force her way out of here.
Ginger skids to a stop right in front of the state PD car, and her gasp is interrupted by a coughing fit. She turns and turns and tries to force the coughs out faster, hocking a wad of mucus out onto the concrete. Desperate to catch her breath now, and seeing how close the running officer has gotten, she takes off toward the car and tries to go over the trunk!
There's a sudden tightness, burning in Ginger's chest. She struggles to catch her breath, the officer holds out a hand as he approaches, slowing down. "Listen, we just need to-" Then, the moment their guard lowers she books it. The officers in the car remained put, perhaps to avoid spooking them. She slides across the hood of the car and nearly tumbles on the other side.
Ginger staggers after the landing, turning so her back hits the light pole. That burning in her chest has her clutching slightly with her left hand again after reaching the other side. She spends a few more seconds panting and coughing, and she starts off toward the Lodge, but stumbles after a few steps, crashing to her knees in another coughing fit.
A sharp crash against the ground and it seems Ginger's body has just had enough. Her throat burns harshly, full of phlegm enough to almost be choking. She's sure the PD would be on her, but in the safety of the Lodge? So close.
Someone grabs Ginger's hand and hauls her roughly to her feet. "Come on, let's go."
Only, it isn't Massachusetts PD. It's a woman with long raven black hair and a sharp professional attire. "With me," she insists. Trying to haul Ginger to the Lodge.
Ginger is still trying to catch her breath when the raven-haired woman hauls her to her feet. Not even a look back at the cops, she pants and wheezes, but does her best to stay close to the suited up woman. "Fuck..."
She pulls Ginger inside shooting a glance towards the PD legging behind. She drags Ginger along into the Lodge, flicking a hand to a nearby table and a chair in the lobby. "Sit, get your breath," she notes and moves back to the door to exit, perhaps to speak to the cops outside. If she wanted to slip away...now might be the time.
Ginger comes right along to the table and sits fast and rough, still panting in the aftermath of her run. "Oh wow thank you." she murmurs, soon back to her panting. Her eyes stay on the woman for as long as they can. She keeps her new clothes hugged close and tries to steady her breathing.
The woman strides back in moments latter, the window closes quicker than perhaps Ginger might have expected. "Abigail Winters," she informs her. "Of the Temple." She speaks, gazing upon Ginger for a moment, taking her in.
The name barely registers with Ginger, but the faction gets her to gasp and give Winters her full attention. She whispers, "Fuck!", and tenses in her seat, looking like she might be about to bolt. "What did I do?"
"Nothing, it turns out," Abigail says plainly, striding over. "You're not our..." She pauses. "Woman. But you fit the profile until new information came in. Still." She pauses studying Ginger closely. "Good to make introductions, no?" She pauses and considers her. "You know the lines you musn't cross, yes?"
"Introductions? You about gave me a heart attack with all that." Ginger says, gesturing at the window. She takes a deep breath and moans, stretching a little. "Um, so I got transferred to White Oak from New York. Dad's job is workin on gettin records released, I dunno, it's a thing." She rubs at the back of her neck and sighs. "I know, I know, gotta keep myself..." Looking down at her lap, she sighs and shrugs. "Just relax, alright? I got this."
Meanwhile, on a different scene, the narrative shifts to Ginger, who finds herself frantically navigating the streets of Haven as sirens wail behind her. Mistakenly profiled and pursued by state police, her erratic flight through alleys and past obstacles highlights her desperation and fear of wrongful accusation. Her flight is abruptly interrupted by a collision with a police car, a struggle for breath, and a subsequent rescue by Abigail Winters of the Temple, who clarifies the misunderstanding. Despite the mistaken identity and intense chase, the encounter ends in an unexpected introduction, marking Ginger's uneasy assimilation into the undercurrents of Haven's power dynamics. Abigail's cryptic warning about "lines you musn't cross" leaves Ginger unsettled, tying her personal struggle into the larger, mysterious fabric of Haven's secretive society.
(Irma's odd encounter(SRLegion):SRLegion)
[Sat Jun 22 2024]
In the pool
It is night, about 83F(28C) degrees, There is a waning gibbous moon.
("The Haven's Haunting")
Irma swims laps in the pool, pausing every lap or two to check her phone. As she does, she tugs down her swimsuit, a little self-conscious about its coverage.
The dimly lit indoor pool at the apartment complex is quiet. The only sound is the gentle lapping of water against the tiles. Soft underwater lights cast rippling reflections on the walls. The smell of chlorine hangs in the air, mingling with distant city sounds outside.
Suddenly, a shimmering, translucent figure materializes at one end of the pool. It emerges through the solid wall effortlessly. The ghost of a jogger, dressed in ethereal running gear, glides forward, flickering like a fading memory. His features are faint but clear: a determined expression, short-cropped hair, and the outline of a fitness tracker on his wrist.
He stops at the edge of the pool, eyes widening slightly at the sight before him. In the water, Irma moves with mixed grace, each stroke breaking the surface with a soft splash. The swimmer is unaware of the ghost watching from the side.
The jogger's ghost hovers, his spectral breath forming no mist in the cool air. His translucent eyes follow the swimmer's movements, showing a mix of curiosity and longing. The water ripples and distorts the light, creating a surreal atmosphere around the ghost.
For a moment, the jogger's ghost reaches out, hand stretching toward the water. He pulls back, remembering the boundary between his world and the living. The swimmer, oblivious to the ghostly visitor, continues their laps, each stroke contrasting with the still, silent figure at the pool's edge.
Finally the ghost clears a spectral throat. "Hello?" he asks Irma.
Irma startles where she swims, and when she sees the ghost she panics. "Hello!" she says, swimming suddenly back hard towards the edge of the pool. "Um ... hi?" the nurse asks, trying to brush her hair back. "Can, can, can I help you?"
The ghost remains silent, its translucent form shimmering softly in the dim light.
The jogger's ghost tilts his head slightly, as if contemplating the surroundings, but makes no move to respond. His eyes remain fixed on the space around him, filled with a mixture of curiosity and sadness.
The ghost takes a small step forward, his form flickering slightly.
The underwater lights cast an ethereal glow on the scene, the water rippling gently.
The ghost's mouth opens as if to speak, but no sound comes out. Instead, he simply stands there, a silent, sorrowful presence, the faint light creating an almost surreal, haunting atmosphere in the quiet pool area.
The ghost's eyes continue to scan the room, his gaze lingering on the reflections dancing on the water's surface and the faint steam rising from the pool.
The air feels heavier, colder, as his presence remains, an unspoken sorrow emanating from his ghostly form.
Slowly, the ghost drifts closer -- it walks on water, as if Jesus -- and then it stands looking down at Irma. "What's your name?" he asks. "I am Adam."
"Uh ..." Irma freezes. She panics, really, some kind of sudden worried chaos. "Uh." It's a breath, almost hyperventilated, as she feels her whole body go clammy. "Uh. Uh. Uh ... I'm ... I'm Irma," she says. Fear transfixes her features as she looks up at the ghost. "Adam?" she says. "Please ... please don't hurt me."
The ghost's eyes flicker with a sudden recognition at the sound of his name.
He steps closer, his form becoming more defined as he approaches.
The ghost, Adam, raises a hand, his expression softening as if trying to communicate something important.
The air grows even colder, the lights dimming slightly as his presence intensifies.
The ghost's mouth opens again, but only a faint, ethereal sound escapes, like a distant echo.
His hand lowers, pointing towards something unseen in the pool's depths.
The ghostly figure speaks. "What -- what year is it, Irma?" His voice has a kind of rasp to it, the sort of thing that suggests it has been very long unused. "Is it 1998 yet?"
(re) The ghost's eyes flicker with a sudden recognition at the sound of his name.
He steps closer, his form becoming more defined as he approaches.
The ghost, Adam, raises a hand, his expression softening as if trying to communicate something important.
The air grows even colder, the lights dimming slightly as his presence intensifies.
The ghost's mouth opens again, but only a faint, ethereal sound escapes, like a distant echo.
His hand lowers, pointing towards something unseen in the pool's depths.
The ghostly figure speaks. "What -- what year is it, Irma?" His voice has a kind of rasp to it, the sort of thing that suggests it has been very long unused. "Is it 1998 yet?"
"No," Irma says. "No, it's 2024." Now she seems to getting hold of herself, as she moves to the steps, sitting on the edge of the pool. "What is the last thing you remember, Adam?" she asks the ghost.
Adam -- this ghost, this ethereal figure in jogging gear -- bobs his head, and sadness hits his eyes. "2024," he says. "I. Well," he says. "I thought it was 1997." He pauses, shifting, and as he does the 'White Oak' logo shows on his jogging gear. "I was out for a morning run," he explains, explaining perhaps the last thing he remembers.
A chilling mist begins to seep through the cracks in the walls, curling around the edges of the pool and casting an otherworldly glow in the dim light. The water's surface ripples unnaturally, as if disturbed by an unseen force. Shadows stretch and dance across the tiles, creating eerie, shifting shapes that seem to move with a life of their own. The air grows heavy and oppressive, filled with a palpable sense of dread that seeps into every corner of the room. The faint scent of ozone lingers, mingling with the sharp tang of chlorine, while the ghostly figure of Adam stands as a silent sentinel, his presence a haunting reminder of the boundary between the living and the dead.
With an ethereal look of sadness, the jogger looks at Irma. "I remember..." He shakes his head, as if trying to catch a memory.
Irma asks quietly, "What do you remember?" Compassion flares in the woman as she leans in, now, her eyes on the jogger, the former student.
"I was jogging," the ghost, Adam, repeats to Irma. "And I heard some growl, some terrible growl, and I saw..." His eyes widen with memory.
The room's temperature plummets further, causing the walls to glisten with a thin layer of frost. The lights flicker, casting erratic shadows that morph into grotesque, fleeting images. The gentle lapping of the pool water turns sinister, each splash echoing like a distant, mournful wail. A barely perceptible whisper fills the air, like countless voices murmuring secrets from the abyss. The heavy scent of decay permeates the space, mingling with the chlorine, creating an unsettling mix that makes the air feel thick and stifling. The mist thickens, swirling around Adam's spectral form, amplifying his ghostly glow and casting a faint, eerie light that makes the water shimmer with an unnatural luminescence. Every breath taken in this haunted ambiance feels labored, as if the very air resists the presence of the living.
At the chill, Irma shivers, wrapping her arms around her heavy breasts. She bites her lip. "Oh ..." the nurse says. "Oh." She breathes in, her nostrils flaring, and then says, "A werewolf." She breathes in again. "I'm sorry, Adam," she says. "I'm sorry."
Now the ghost nods, as memories flood Adam's mind. "A werewolf," he agrees. "You know -- I thought I'd be turned," he tells Irma. "But I wasn't, was I?" he says. "I was. I guess this happened." He looks at himself. "I guess this happened." He repeats it. "I guess this happened," he repeats again, like a record skipping.
Irma says "I guess it did."
Irma looks up at the ghost, some tears of sadness in her eyes.
The eerie glow of the underwater lights flickers intermittently, casting long, sinister shadows that creep along the walls. The mist, now denser, curls and coils around the pool's edge, its tendrils reaching out like ghostly fingers. The once-clear water has taken on a dark, murky hue, as if tainted by an unseen malevolence. An oppressive silence blankets the room, broken only by the occasional, unnerving drip of water echoing from the ceiling. The air is thick with a cold, damp chill, and an inexplicable sense of foreboding hangs heavily, pressing down on everything within. The faint scent of mold and decay grows stronger, seeping into every breath and leaving a metallic tang on the tongue. The spectral form of Adam looms larger, his presence almost tangible, as if the boundary between the living and the dead is thinning, the atmosphere charged with an electric, otherworldly tension.
As the mists seems to close in, Adam seems to get less and less substantial, his eyes on Irma. "I guess this happened," he repeats, and it's as if he cannot confront the reality, the awful reality of what happened to him -- of what the werewolf did to him twenty-five years ago.
Irma whispers as the Mists close, "I'm sorry." Tears stand in her eyes as she looks up at the ghost.
Then -- like that -- the ghost is gone. The mist, chilled, curls around Irma, and then it, too, fades away, leaving her alone in the pool.
(Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.
)
Ginger has just come out of Narnia. Her brisk pace sets her dreadlocks bouncing and jiggling, and she keeps an armful of clothes hugged to her chest. She checks the time and sighs, muttering to herself. "I'm late, I was supposed to check in for my key an hour ago!"
It's a LOVELY day to be wandering about Haven. Well, night. The moon hangs in waning gibbous, a present bright pulse in the night sky harolding the end of a lovely full moon. There is a faint bit of mist on the ground, hardly troubling but enough to put those aware a little more on edge, a little more guarded.
The sound comes like a little tremor down Ginger's spine. Sirens, approaching.
Ginger tenses up once she notices the mist, and even more at the sound of the sirens. "Oh hell no, I gotta go!" Innocence was never a good enough excuse for the police to leave a person alone.
SRMeridith there's a sound of tires screeching as a nearby police officer pulls to a stop nearby, and a police officer shouts from a window. "Freeze!" They bellow in command. Ginger is pretty confident she could make a break down an alley and lose them.
There's a sound of tires screeching as a nearby police officer pulls to a stop nearby, and a police officer shouts from a window. "Freeze!" They bellow in command. Ginger is pretty confident she could make a break down an alley and lose them.
"Damn!", Ginger mutters, seeing the car pull up to the curb. The cop shouts freeze, and the hairs on the back of the jock'sneck stand up. Confident she could make it, the teen takes off at a full sprint.
There's a sound of cursing and warning from the officer as the car zips around, heading off in a direction, likely hopeful to catch Ginger, trying to cut her off somewhere. Still, there's other officers in the area, and she's gotta get off the streets. Does she have a destination in mind? A way to dodge those eyes?
The officer curses and hollers at Ginger as the car zips around, heading off in a direction, likely hopeful to catch Ginger, trying to cut her off somewhere. Still, there's other officers in the area, and she's gotta get off the streets. Does she have a destination in mind? A way to dodge those eyes? (fix't)
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Ginger says, coming to a stop against the alley wall at the corner. She dips left and takes off down the other corridor, not even thinking about it. She checks over her shoulder and gets set to make a left out the other side of the alley. "Oh fuck this is bullshit! Fuck did I do?"
Ginger's luck seems to run out as a cruises pulls up at the front of the alleyway. She realizes the car is marked with state PD, not local. That's...probably bad? Maybe. If she pivots to try the way back she sees an officer rushing. Seems she might be trapped, but hey, she could probably force her way out of here.
Ginger skids to a stop right in front of the state PD car, and her gasp is interrupted by a coughing fit. She turns and turns and tries to force the coughs out faster, hocking a wad of mucus out onto the concrete. Desperate to catch her breath now, and seeing how close the running officer has gotten, she takes off toward the car and tries to go over the trunk!
There's a sudden tightness, burning in Ginger's chest. She struggles to catch her breath, the officer holds out a hand as he approaches, slowing down. "Listen, we just need to-" Then, the moment their guard lowers she books it. The officers in the car remained put, perhaps to avoid spooking them. She slides across the hood of the car and nearly tumbles on the other side.
Ginger staggers after the landing, turning so her back hits the light pole. That burning in her chest has her clutching slightly with her left hand again after reaching the other side. She spends a few more seconds panting and coughing, and she starts off toward the Lodge, but stumbles after a few steps, crashing to her knees in another coughing fit.
A sharp crash against the ground and it seems Ginger's body has just had enough. Her throat burns harshly, full of phlegm enough to almost be choking. She's sure the PD would be on her, but in the safety of the Lodge? So close.
Someone grabs Ginger's hand and hauls her roughly to her feet. "Come on, let's go."
Only, it isn't Massachusetts PD. It's a woman with long raven black hair and a sharp professional attire. "With me," she insists. Trying to haul Ginger to the Lodge.
Ginger is still trying to catch her breath when the raven-haired woman hauls her to her feet. Not even a look back at the cops, she pants and wheezes, but does her best to stay close to the suited up woman. "Fuck..."
She pulls Ginger inside shooting a glance towards the PD legging behind. She drags Ginger along into the Lodge, flicking a hand to a nearby table and a chair in the lobby. "Sit, get your breath," she notes and moves back to the door to exit, perhaps to speak to the cops outside. If she wanted to slip away...now might be the time.
Ginger comes right along to the table and sits fast and rough, still panting in the aftermath of her run. "Oh wow thank you." she murmurs, soon back to her panting. Her eyes stay on the woman for as long as they can. She keeps her new clothes hugged close and tries to steady her breathing.
The woman strides back in moments latter, the window closes quicker than perhaps Ginger might have expected. "Abigail Winters," she informs her. "Of the Temple." She speaks, gazing upon Ginger for a moment, taking her in.
The name barely registers with Ginger, but the faction gets her to gasp and give Winters her full attention. She whispers, "Fuck!", and tenses in her seat, looking like she might be about to bolt. "What did I do?"
"Nothing, it turns out," Abigail says plainly, striding over. "You're not our..." She pauses. "Woman. But you fit the profile until new information came in. Still." She pauses studying Ginger closely. "Good to make introductions, no?" She pauses and considers her. "You know the lines you musn't cross, yes?"
"Introductions? You about gave me a heart attack with all that." Ginger says, gesturing at the window. She takes a deep breath and moans, stretching a little. "Um, so I got transferred to White Oak from New York. Dad's job is workin on gettin records released, I dunno, it's a thing." She rubs at the back of her neck and sighs. "I know, I know, gotta keep myself..." Looking down at her lap, she sighs and shrugs. "Just relax, alright? I got this."