Encounterlogs
Laurens Odd Encounter Sr Rachel 240414
In a rather unexpected turn of early morning events, Lauren finds herself embroiled in the task of rescuing a distressed grandmother's beloved cat, Charlie, trapped up in the branches of a towering tree. Initially caught off-guard by the grandmother's sudden appearance and plea for help, Lauren's sarcastic and somewhat grudging assistance kickstarts a humorous yet heartfelt endeavor to reunite the pet with its owner. Despite her initial reluctance, characterized by humorous attempts to avoid getting too involved, Lauren is eventually swayed by the old woman's tears and desperation—showing a glimmer of compassion beneath her rugged exterior. As she attempts to coax the cat down with a feather, a plan that momentarily succeeds, Lauren showcases a begrudging commitment to the cause.
The story culminates in a series of unfortunate, albeit comedic, events as Lauren decides to physically rescue the cat by climbing the tree herself. This decision leads to a sequence of slapstick mishaps involving a precarious climb, an unexpected cat pounce that sends Lauren reeling, and ultimately, a rather undignified fall from the tree. Despite the hardships and a potential injury, the mission is a success: Charlie is safe in the grandmother's arms, much to her overwhelming joy and gratitude. However, the tale doesn't end on an entirely pain-free note for Lauren, who finds herself on the ground, nursing a possibly sprained arm and swearing off any future acts of heroism—all while the grandmother, blissfully unaware of Lauren's plight, dials for emergency services, causing Lauren to hastily retreat under the guise of being a mere figment of imagination. Through this chaotic and comical adventure, Lauren unwittingly becomes the day's hero, albeit at the cost of her Saturday morning tranquility and, possibly, her insurance deductible.
(Lauren's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Sat Apr 13 2024]
On Fairway Drive
This road is paved, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the rugged beauty
of the surrounding forest. The asphalt stretches out before the traveler, a
ribbon of black cutting through the lush green of the trees. The road is
lined with towering oaks and maples, their branches reaching out over the
pavement, creating a canopy of dappled sunlight. In the fall, the leaves turn
a brilliant array of reds, oranges, and yellows, creating a stunning display
of color that is breathtaking to behold. The road is narrow, with gentle
curves that follow the natural contours of the land. It rises and falls with
the hills, offering glimpses of the surrounding countryside through breaks in
the trees. To the east, the road leads to Haven, its buildings and houses
visible in the distance. To the west, the road continues on towards Fairfax
Manor, the impressive stone structure with towering North and South wings
slowly coming into view as one approaches.
It is morning, about 48F(8C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target has been flagged down by someone who wants their help getting their cat down from a tree.
)
Birdsong weaves in and out of the trees. There's the flutter of wings, the chitter of a squirrel, the faraway lap of water against the shoreline. Wispy clouds sponge across the canvas of the grey-blue sky, sparse here, and thicker in the distance.
There's no sign of people until, faraway...
Patter, patter, patter. It's quiet.
Patter, patter, patter. Louder.
Patter, patter, patter, patter. Shoes on asphalt. A pudgy woman round the corner of the road, a nimbus of grey hair around her face. Her big eyes, behind round-rimmed spectacles, shine with frantic tears. "Oh thank God, a *person*." She's talking a mile-a-minute. "Have you seen a little orange tabby?" Her hands space over a foot apart.
Lauren is barely awake and still-yawning while she leans against her car in the driveway, scrolling through her phone, a hand lifted to cover her mouth so some fly doesn't take the opportunity to buzz in there. She doesn't seem to have been expecting company right now, and there's a clueless blink offered to the woman who trudges into view. "Wuh." me says, which is more than what can be expected of her, considering she's still half asleep. She takes another moment to think about what she's heard, then tries to form actual words again, "No. Unless it climbed under the hood of my car." she eyes it for a second, contemplating whether she can be bothered to open it up, then reaches out with her hand in a fist. SMACK. Cat?
Worry lines etch deeper on the woman's face. "Oh dear," she says, wringing her hands. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." She just about bursts into tears when Lauren smacks the car - as if her cat had, in fact, been in there and subjected to the terror of a rattling cage. Although, actually...
Plaintive, and oh-so-quiet...
Meow.
"Charlie? Oh my Lord, Charlie!" She plasters her right ear to the hood of the car.
The two of them are greeted with a sullen silence. "I think he's in there," she tells Lauren, grey eyebrows knitting upward and together. "Hold on, darling." Her ear's back against metal, and her arms splayed over the car, hugging as if to a lifebuoy.
Aw, goddammit. There's an answering smack of the back of Lauren's head against the car when she hears the quiet little meow, exhaling out a sigh. "Alright, fine, fine. Look for someone else's car to climb into next time, cat," she grumbles, mostly to herself as she reaches in through the open window of her driver's side to pull the hood release latch, then shoves her phone in her pocket so she can make her way over to the front of the vehicle, opening up the bonnet to take a look inside. Is her car truly the chosen one?
The hood pops open, releasing the smell of metal and oil, but alas - no cat. The woman's voice quavers. "I could've sworn..." Remember - this isn't just any old lady. She's adorable. The kind of grandma you'd want to visit every weekend. She'd open her door and tell you how grown up you've become. You'd come in -- her house always smells like freshly baked bread -- and she'd offer you a piece of candy out of a round-lipped tin that once housed shortbread cookies. You'd sit with her on a chintzy armchair, the TV playing Jeopardy in the background, and tell her about the new boy you're crushing on in class. She'd listen, too, and offer terrible, terrible advice.
So, when again there's an agitated "Meow" in the distance, and this lovely, wrinkled woman starts crying in earnest, it begs the question...
How heartless is Lauren?
Lauren peers into the interior machinery of her car for a few long seconds, squinting, then leans in further to squint even better. "Huh," comes the mumble. Then, a shrug. "Nope, not here," she tells the woman, letting the hood back down with a clunk of old metal, and then taking a seat right on top of the bonnet. "Should be careful about lettin' your pets wander off into the woods though, never know what's lurking out there," she says, and then pauses when the woman starts sobbing in earnest. There's a grimace on Lauren's face. "Uhhhhh. I mean. I'm sure Harley's fine. Cats are pretty resilient. Just, uh, put out his favorite cat treats or something outside and he'll come running."
There's another meow in the distance. More crying. Lauren's grimace grimaces further. Her shoulders slump. "... I think I heard something over here..." she sighs out, trudging off into the distance where the meowing had sounded from.
"Charlie," she wails. "His name's Charlie." It'd be funny if it weren't heartbreaking. The point of her nose is red. Her puffy eyes are red.
But when Lauren offers to help, she lights up like a Christmas tree. Her eyes go big, like saucers. "You're an angel. Thank you, thank you, thank you." She curls her hand, just-so, and touches her forehead, her chest, her shoulders, signing a cross.
A little shuffle, as she hobbles along after Lauren. "I always keep him inside. Always!" Except right now, when he's, well, definitively outside. "I've had him since he was just this itty bitty thing. They found him with his mom, but she died, and - and - oh dear, he's never had to make it by himself before. What'll he do without his bedtime lullabies and his breakfast tuna and his favorite chair and h-his..." She sniffles.
There -- above. High, high above, a puffy speck of orange.
"Right, that's what I said. Charlie," Lauren claims, though she can't bring herself to really make it any louder than a mumble when she's faced with crying, cookie-baking grandma. The discomfort upon Lauren's face would be comical, almost, to those who know her normally, and there's an arching of her eyebrows upon being called an angel. "CHARLIE is going to be fine," she says, lifting a hand, very, very carefully, to pat at the woman's shoulder, and pulling away just as quickly as though the crying habits are contagious and going to be transferred to Lauren if she maintains contact for more than a split second. "I'm sure he's just waiting for his breakfast tuna and he's gonna appear aaaaaany second now..." her words trail off as the flash of orange catches her eye in the treetops, and Lauren slumps, yet again. "Of fuc-- fudgin' course," she sighs out, then rolls up her sleeves. She knows what to do next.
"Pspspspspspspspspspsps..."
The cat hangs precariously on the uppermost branch. It's nestled against the trunk -- but then, against all logic, decides to inch its way farther, farther, farther. Its claws, luckily, find purchase, but the bough bends beneath his considerable weight. Too much tuna, perhaps.
He spots the two of them. Meow.
His muscles bunch; his hind legs tense. He looks like he's about to launch -- but he loses his nerve. The little puffball (or the big one, as it were) hangs, miserable, for dear life. Next to Lauren the old woman has her hands over her mouth. "My *baby*," she cries, unhelpful. It's between her and Lauren. One of them is climbing this tree.
"Welp," Lauren says, hands on her hips once her plan proves to be less than successful. "That's it, then, I guess. He'll learn to climb down, this is a teaching moment," she tells the woman, very wisely. "It's like when your parents leave you in the middle of a grocery store when you're seven and you have to find out where to go yourself. Just like that." There's a momentary pause while she watches the cat inch farther upon the branch he's stuck on. "Hey, is this the part where people call firefighters?" she questions the woman idly, squinting up into the branches. "Do we /have/ firefighters in Haven? We've gotta, right?" Clearly, she doesn't think herself climbing-capable.
"I tried calling," the woman says. "And no one answered." She blinks her big, round eyes -- immediately, they water again. A bird lands on a lower branch. The cat chitters. He lowers his head, peering. Again, though, there's no follow-up. "Please."
The woman clings to the sleeve of Lauren's turtleneck, threatening to stretch it out. "I'll pay you anything. Please. He's all I've got."
Of course, it doesn't matter how much she pays Lauren if Lauren ends up in an ambulance. American insurance only goes so far.
Touchy-feely by crying old lady? No thank you. Lauren attempts to back away, and to wrest herself free of the woman's clingy grasp without making her cry more, and only ends up shuffling closer to the tree the cat's up in. "Lady, do I look like I know how to climb a tree?" comes the question, and Lauren's hands go to perch upon her hips, another big sigh exhaled as though this is truly the worst inconvenience to grace her Saturday morning. "Okay, fine, fine, I'll try." That's honestly probably just so the woman can stop looking at her with those big round teary eyes. "Just- please stop crying. He's /fine/. Cats can fall from waaaay up high so he'll totally be fine even if he falls."
She shuffles closer to the tree, tilting her head back to peer aaaaall the way up. Her hands lift, as though trying to get into optimal tree-climbing position. They lower again. Lauren stares some more at the cat up there. Time to employ the second tactic.
In the corner of Charlie's vision, a feather appears, twitching back and forth, just so, so very tempting as it dances closer to the main trunk of the tree and away from the drop that's sure to come if the cat keeps clinging to that bending branch.
The woman is effusive with her gratitude. "Thank you!" She relinquishes her hold on Lauren, only to wrap her in a warm hug. "Thank you, thank you." And then she steps aside. Her hands clasp together, curling beneath her chin as she looks on. Thoughts and prayers.
Luckily for Lauren, it seems that little (big) Charlie isn't the brightest. The motion of the feather catches his eye. He slinks back across the branch, low, and quick as can be. He chitters again, mimicking birdsong.
His paw lifts. It bats - at thin air. He keeps trying, one snappy motion after another, as if he means to deal a killing blow.
The feather's slipping away, dear Charlie. Away and down, better put those claws to good use and grab it before it flies away. For now, it's slowly making its way doooown the tree.
Lauren, down below, is still reeling from the hug. The grimace is not going away. It is simply... there to stay. She's going to end up with her face stuck like that, and it will be the fault of snotty old woman who doesn't know the meaning of boundaries. If Lauren was a better person, she'd learn something from this. She doesn't.
"Oh, look, Archie's coming down," she says, deadpan, as though she's got nothing to do with it. There's a sideways glance at the woman, just in case she's going to be accosted with another hug, and the lapse in concentration is enough to make the feather poof away into thin air. Whoops.
Charlie assesses his path downward. He dips his tiny head down, looking past branches and foliage to where that snotty old woman and Lauren continue to stand. There must, in fact, be a safe path to sturdy ground, for he reaches out with his back paws. His claws sink into bark. He lowers himself, front paws chasing his back, tail held out straight for counterbalance. That means when the feather vanishes, he doesn't notice. Not at first. Not until he's midway to the final destination and looks.
He sits back on his haunches. No feather, no Charlie. He's lost interest in the journey.
"Goddammit Marley." Lauren snaps. "Fuc- fudging /fine/. Fine, if you're going to be like this." There's nothing to it, then. She takes a second to mentally brace herself, then backs up a few steps for momentum and runs towards the tree. A jump, and her hands connect with the lowermost branch. Success!
... Lauren is now hanging from a tree branch. She wiggles her legs, and then strains to climb on top of the branch, which is definitely starting to bow, not strong enough to carry her entire weight. Clearly, nobody's taught her how to climb trees before. First time for everything, right? "Oh my God, if I break a leg I'm going to--" she doesn't finish the sentence; there's just an alarmed squeak when her grip starts slipping. Her efforts to climb on top of the branch double.
Lauren better hope Charlie isn't Marley. Marley dies in the movie. That'd entail an endlessly weeping old lady -- and it wouldn't be a bad guess to assume that she's now attached to Lauren. "Be careful!" That's a big help.
The tree branch creaaaaaks. But no, there's no sound of splintering, no imminent CRASH. The cat looks on, imperious. It isn't so difficult, climbing up. What a silly human.
Also lucky for Lauren, when she scrambles for a new hold, she makes contact with something sticky. With all luck, it's sap. Anyway, whatever it is, it helps secure her grip.
"Stupid fuckin' Barney," now that Lauren's out of the immediate earshot of the woman, she's free to curse the cat all she likes under her breath, and so that is indeed the first thing she sees to doing. "Last time I ever loiter around in the driveway. Fuckin' huggy grandmas... dumbass cats and their BrEaKfAsT tUnAs..." It's neverending, really, the stream of complaints, which may be because keeping her mind on complaining is the only thing keeping her from freaking the fuck out entirely at what she's up to. Grip secured, she does her best monkey impersonation and finally, somehow, through a stroke of luck, manages to climb up onto the tree branch, after which her first course of action is to cling to the trunk as though it's her only lifeline. After she's figured out what's on her hand, of course. Hopefully it's nothing gross.
Charlie -- his name is Charlie, Lauren -- simply sits there. His tail flicks back and forth, languid, until she's close enough. Then, there's that telltale scrunching of his body that warns of an impending jump. A jump? As our dear old grandma would say, 'oh dear.'
Charlie comes sailing across the air. Our tabby wants o-f-f the tree. His paws contact Lauren. He's not trying to harm her, but there are pinprick stabs into her shoulder where his claws seek purchase.
"Oh my FUCK--" There go all of Lauren's attempts to keep the swearing to a minimum where grandma can hear her, as Marnie jumps down onto her shoulder and ends up imbalancing her. That there was a very loud 'fuck'. Hands scramble to grab hold of the cat, and loud yelping ensues as Lauren narrowly - /very/ narrowly - keeps herself from toppling right over. It's a close one.
A single, deep breath, and Lauren warns, "I'm throwing this cat down." Right before she does just that and, well, throws that cat down. It's not /that/ far from the ground, it can surely land on its feet properly. Any self-respecting cat could.
Oh, the cat goes down. He lands, docile as can be, by grandma's feet. He doesn't even run when she gathers him up in her arms, squishing tight. "Oh, my *baby*," she croons. "Don't ever run away from me again."
But when the cat goes down, so too does Lauren, soon after. There's an inopportune gust of wind; the crack of the branch she's on. And then gravity takes her into the network of leaves and branches between her and the ground. It's like she's in a pinball machine. Whap-whap-whap.
But hey -- don't worry, her arm breaks her fall.
It's like a pinball machine only if pinball machines usually have screaming in the background. Whap-whap-AAAAAAAAAAAH-whap. Lauren's landing could use some work, for sure. "Owwwww," she's groaning as she gathers up her poor, injured arm close to her chest and curls up into a ball as though getting her arm mildly sprained is going to kill her. "Devil fuckin' cat, I knew it- goddammit, last time I do something nice," She's just saying that, surely. Surely. At least her arm doesn't seem broken, she determines after some poking and prodding. "Thanks Lauren," comes the sassy little grumble while she watches the woman baby the cat from her spot on the ground, no attempts made to sit up. She's just going to lie down here forever, thank you. "For risking your life for my sweet little demon Barley."
All that sass skips right by the old woman's sweet, unsuspecting ears. She's too happy, her beloved CHARLIE in her arms, purring. "Oh no," she worries. She leans over Lauren. "Let me..." One hand holds the cat, tight, the other going for a phone. 9-1-1 is called for Lauren, with or without her consent -- let's hope Lauren had the forethought and the funding to purchase insurance. Although, even so, she might be ringing up a big bill for an ambulance.
"Hello?" she asks, continuing to watch Lauren. "Yes, I have a young lady here. She fell out of a tree--" A pause while, presumably, the operator asks her questions. "No, she's responsive. I think she hurt her arm."
"Um. No, I don't have a driver's license. Can you send someone to pick her up? She probably won't make it on her own."
"I'm not DYING," Lauren claims, loud enough in hopes that whoever's on the other end of the phone can hear her. The threat of ambulancery has her climbing to her feet in an instant. "I'm totally fine, see? I don't have fuckin' health insurance, please don't call the ambulance. In fact, I'm not even here." Yes, this seems a reasonable conclusion now that the cat has been rescued. "Yeah, not here. I'm just a figment of your imagination. You got Chelsey out of the tree all on your own, good fuckin' job, lady. Great imagination. Keep it up." A few more mumbo-jumbo mumbling and Lauren decides she's just going to disappear into thin air instead. Anything to keep the lady from following through with the ambulance or, even worse, trying to hug her again.
The story culminates in a series of unfortunate, albeit comedic, events as Lauren decides to physically rescue the cat by climbing the tree herself. This decision leads to a sequence of slapstick mishaps involving a precarious climb, an unexpected cat pounce that sends Lauren reeling, and ultimately, a rather undignified fall from the tree. Despite the hardships and a potential injury, the mission is a success: Charlie is safe in the grandmother's arms, much to her overwhelming joy and gratitude. However, the tale doesn't end on an entirely pain-free note for Lauren, who finds herself on the ground, nursing a possibly sprained arm and swearing off any future acts of heroism—all while the grandmother, blissfully unaware of Lauren's plight, dials for emergency services, causing Lauren to hastily retreat under the guise of being a mere figment of imagination. Through this chaotic and comical adventure, Lauren unwittingly becomes the day's hero, albeit at the cost of her Saturday morning tranquility and, possibly, her insurance deductible.
(Lauren's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Sat Apr 13 2024]
On Fairway Drive
This road is paved, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the rugged beauty
of the surrounding forest. The asphalt stretches out before the traveler, a
ribbon of black cutting through the lush green of the trees. The road is
lined with towering oaks and maples, their branches reaching out over the
pavement, creating a canopy of dappled sunlight. In the fall, the leaves turn
a brilliant array of reds, oranges, and yellows, creating a stunning display
of color that is breathtaking to behold. The road is narrow, with gentle
curves that follow the natural contours of the land. It rises and falls with
the hills, offering glimpses of the surrounding countryside through breaks in
the trees. To the east, the road leads to Haven, its buildings and houses
visible in the distance. To the west, the road continues on towards Fairfax
Manor, the impressive stone structure with towering North and South wings
slowly coming into view as one approaches.
It is morning, about 48F(8C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target has been flagged down by someone who wants their help getting their cat down from a tree.
)
Birdsong weaves in and out of the trees. There's the flutter of wings, the chitter of a squirrel, the faraway lap of water against the shoreline. Wispy clouds sponge across the canvas of the grey-blue sky, sparse here, and thicker in the distance.
There's no sign of people until, faraway...
Patter, patter, patter. It's quiet.
Patter, patter, patter. Louder.
Patter, patter, patter, patter. Shoes on asphalt. A pudgy woman round the corner of the road, a nimbus of grey hair around her face. Her big eyes, behind round-rimmed spectacles, shine with frantic tears. "Oh thank God, a *person*." She's talking a mile-a-minute. "Have you seen a little orange tabby?" Her hands space over a foot apart.
Lauren is barely awake and still-yawning while she leans against her car in the driveway, scrolling through her phone, a hand lifted to cover her mouth so some fly doesn't take the opportunity to buzz in there. She doesn't seem to have been expecting company right now, and there's a clueless blink offered to the woman who trudges into view. "Wuh." me says, which is more than what can be expected of her, considering she's still half asleep. She takes another moment to think about what she's heard, then tries to form actual words again, "No. Unless it climbed under the hood of my car." she eyes it for a second, contemplating whether she can be bothered to open it up, then reaches out with her hand in a fist. SMACK. Cat?
Worry lines etch deeper on the woman's face. "Oh dear," she says, wringing her hands. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." She just about bursts into tears when Lauren smacks the car - as if her cat had, in fact, been in there and subjected to the terror of a rattling cage. Although, actually...
Plaintive, and oh-so-quiet...
Meow.
"Charlie? Oh my Lord, Charlie!" She plasters her right ear to the hood of the car.
The two of them are greeted with a sullen silence. "I think he's in there," she tells Lauren, grey eyebrows knitting upward and together. "Hold on, darling." Her ear's back against metal, and her arms splayed over the car, hugging as if to a lifebuoy.
Aw, goddammit. There's an answering smack of the back of Lauren's head against the car when she hears the quiet little meow, exhaling out a sigh. "Alright, fine, fine. Look for someone else's car to climb into next time, cat," she grumbles, mostly to herself as she reaches in through the open window of her driver's side to pull the hood release latch, then shoves her phone in her pocket so she can make her way over to the front of the vehicle, opening up the bonnet to take a look inside. Is her car truly the chosen one?
The hood pops open, releasing the smell of metal and oil, but alas - no cat. The woman's voice quavers. "I could've sworn..." Remember - this isn't just any old lady. She's adorable. The kind of grandma you'd want to visit every weekend. She'd open her door and tell you how grown up you've become. You'd come in -- her house always smells like freshly baked bread -- and she'd offer you a piece of candy out of a round-lipped tin that once housed shortbread cookies. You'd sit with her on a chintzy armchair, the TV playing Jeopardy in the background, and tell her about the new boy you're crushing on in class. She'd listen, too, and offer terrible, terrible advice.
So, when again there's an agitated "Meow" in the distance, and this lovely, wrinkled woman starts crying in earnest, it begs the question...
How heartless is Lauren?
Lauren peers into the interior machinery of her car for a few long seconds, squinting, then leans in further to squint even better. "Huh," comes the mumble. Then, a shrug. "Nope, not here," she tells the woman, letting the hood back down with a clunk of old metal, and then taking a seat right on top of the bonnet. "Should be careful about lettin' your pets wander off into the woods though, never know what's lurking out there," she says, and then pauses when the woman starts sobbing in earnest. There's a grimace on Lauren's face. "Uhhhhh. I mean. I'm sure Harley's fine. Cats are pretty resilient. Just, uh, put out his favorite cat treats or something outside and he'll come running."
There's another meow in the distance. More crying. Lauren's grimace grimaces further. Her shoulders slump. "... I think I heard something over here..." she sighs out, trudging off into the distance where the meowing had sounded from.
"Charlie," she wails. "His name's Charlie." It'd be funny if it weren't heartbreaking. The point of her nose is red. Her puffy eyes are red.
But when Lauren offers to help, she lights up like a Christmas tree. Her eyes go big, like saucers. "You're an angel. Thank you, thank you, thank you." She curls her hand, just-so, and touches her forehead, her chest, her shoulders, signing a cross.
A little shuffle, as she hobbles along after Lauren. "I always keep him inside. Always!" Except right now, when he's, well, definitively outside. "I've had him since he was just this itty bitty thing. They found him with his mom, but she died, and - and - oh dear, he's never had to make it by himself before. What'll he do without his bedtime lullabies and his breakfast tuna and his favorite chair and h-his..." She sniffles.
There -- above. High, high above, a puffy speck of orange.
"Right, that's what I said. Charlie," Lauren claims, though she can't bring herself to really make it any louder than a mumble when she's faced with crying, cookie-baking grandma. The discomfort upon Lauren's face would be comical, almost, to those who know her normally, and there's an arching of her eyebrows upon being called an angel. "CHARLIE is going to be fine," she says, lifting a hand, very, very carefully, to pat at the woman's shoulder, and pulling away just as quickly as though the crying habits are contagious and going to be transferred to Lauren if she maintains contact for more than a split second. "I'm sure he's just waiting for his breakfast tuna and he's gonna appear aaaaaany second now..." her words trail off as the flash of orange catches her eye in the treetops, and Lauren slumps, yet again. "Of fuc-- fudgin' course," she sighs out, then rolls up her sleeves. She knows what to do next.
"Pspspspspspspspspspsps..."
The cat hangs precariously on the uppermost branch. It's nestled against the trunk -- but then, against all logic, decides to inch its way farther, farther, farther. Its claws, luckily, find purchase, but the bough bends beneath his considerable weight. Too much tuna, perhaps.
He spots the two of them. Meow.
His muscles bunch; his hind legs tense. He looks like he's about to launch -- but he loses his nerve. The little puffball (or the big one, as it were) hangs, miserable, for dear life. Next to Lauren the old woman has her hands over her mouth. "My *baby*," she cries, unhelpful. It's between her and Lauren. One of them is climbing this tree.
"Welp," Lauren says, hands on her hips once her plan proves to be less than successful. "That's it, then, I guess. He'll learn to climb down, this is a teaching moment," she tells the woman, very wisely. "It's like when your parents leave you in the middle of a grocery store when you're seven and you have to find out where to go yourself. Just like that." There's a momentary pause while she watches the cat inch farther upon the branch he's stuck on. "Hey, is this the part where people call firefighters?" she questions the woman idly, squinting up into the branches. "Do we /have/ firefighters in Haven? We've gotta, right?" Clearly, she doesn't think herself climbing-capable.
"I tried calling," the woman says. "And no one answered." She blinks her big, round eyes -- immediately, they water again. A bird lands on a lower branch. The cat chitters. He lowers his head, peering. Again, though, there's no follow-up. "Please."
The woman clings to the sleeve of Lauren's turtleneck, threatening to stretch it out. "I'll pay you anything. Please. He's all I've got."
Of course, it doesn't matter how much she pays Lauren if Lauren ends up in an ambulance. American insurance only goes so far.
Touchy-feely by crying old lady? No thank you. Lauren attempts to back away, and to wrest herself free of the woman's clingy grasp without making her cry more, and only ends up shuffling closer to the tree the cat's up in. "Lady, do I look like I know how to climb a tree?" comes the question, and Lauren's hands go to perch upon her hips, another big sigh exhaled as though this is truly the worst inconvenience to grace her Saturday morning. "Okay, fine, fine, I'll try." That's honestly probably just so the woman can stop looking at her with those big round teary eyes. "Just- please stop crying. He's /fine/. Cats can fall from waaaay up high so he'll totally be fine even if he falls."
She shuffles closer to the tree, tilting her head back to peer aaaaall the way up. Her hands lift, as though trying to get into optimal tree-climbing position. They lower again. Lauren stares some more at the cat up there. Time to employ the second tactic.
In the corner of Charlie's vision, a feather appears, twitching back and forth, just so, so very tempting as it dances closer to the main trunk of the tree and away from the drop that's sure to come if the cat keeps clinging to that bending branch.
The woman is effusive with her gratitude. "Thank you!" She relinquishes her hold on Lauren, only to wrap her in a warm hug. "Thank you, thank you." And then she steps aside. Her hands clasp together, curling beneath her chin as she looks on. Thoughts and prayers.
Luckily for Lauren, it seems that little (big) Charlie isn't the brightest. The motion of the feather catches his eye. He slinks back across the branch, low, and quick as can be. He chitters again, mimicking birdsong.
His paw lifts. It bats - at thin air. He keeps trying, one snappy motion after another, as if he means to deal a killing blow.
The feather's slipping away, dear Charlie. Away and down, better put those claws to good use and grab it before it flies away. For now, it's slowly making its way doooown the tree.
Lauren, down below, is still reeling from the hug. The grimace is not going away. It is simply... there to stay. She's going to end up with her face stuck like that, and it will be the fault of snotty old woman who doesn't know the meaning of boundaries. If Lauren was a better person, she'd learn something from this. She doesn't.
"Oh, look, Archie's coming down," she says, deadpan, as though she's got nothing to do with it. There's a sideways glance at the woman, just in case she's going to be accosted with another hug, and the lapse in concentration is enough to make the feather poof away into thin air. Whoops.
Charlie assesses his path downward. He dips his tiny head down, looking past branches and foliage to where that snotty old woman and Lauren continue to stand. There must, in fact, be a safe path to sturdy ground, for he reaches out with his back paws. His claws sink into bark. He lowers himself, front paws chasing his back, tail held out straight for counterbalance. That means when the feather vanishes, he doesn't notice. Not at first. Not until he's midway to the final destination and looks.
He sits back on his haunches. No feather, no Charlie. He's lost interest in the journey.
"Goddammit Marley." Lauren snaps. "Fuc- fudging /fine/. Fine, if you're going to be like this." There's nothing to it, then. She takes a second to mentally brace herself, then backs up a few steps for momentum and runs towards the tree. A jump, and her hands connect with the lowermost branch. Success!
... Lauren is now hanging from a tree branch. She wiggles her legs, and then strains to climb on top of the branch, which is definitely starting to bow, not strong enough to carry her entire weight. Clearly, nobody's taught her how to climb trees before. First time for everything, right? "Oh my God, if I break a leg I'm going to--" she doesn't finish the sentence; there's just an alarmed squeak when her grip starts slipping. Her efforts to climb on top of the branch double.
Lauren better hope Charlie isn't Marley. Marley dies in the movie. That'd entail an endlessly weeping old lady -- and it wouldn't be a bad guess to assume that she's now attached to Lauren. "Be careful!" That's a big help.
The tree branch creaaaaaks. But no, there's no sound of splintering, no imminent CRASH. The cat looks on, imperious. It isn't so difficult, climbing up. What a silly human.
Also lucky for Lauren, when she scrambles for a new hold, she makes contact with something sticky. With all luck, it's sap. Anyway, whatever it is, it helps secure her grip.
"Stupid fuckin' Barney," now that Lauren's out of the immediate earshot of the woman, she's free to curse the cat all she likes under her breath, and so that is indeed the first thing she sees to doing. "Last time I ever loiter around in the driveway. Fuckin' huggy grandmas... dumbass cats and their BrEaKfAsT tUnAs..." It's neverending, really, the stream of complaints, which may be because keeping her mind on complaining is the only thing keeping her from freaking the fuck out entirely at what she's up to. Grip secured, she does her best monkey impersonation and finally, somehow, through a stroke of luck, manages to climb up onto the tree branch, after which her first course of action is to cling to the trunk as though it's her only lifeline. After she's figured out what's on her hand, of course. Hopefully it's nothing gross.
Charlie -- his name is Charlie, Lauren -- simply sits there. His tail flicks back and forth, languid, until she's close enough. Then, there's that telltale scrunching of his body that warns of an impending jump. A jump? As our dear old grandma would say, 'oh dear.'
Charlie comes sailing across the air. Our tabby wants o-f-f the tree. His paws contact Lauren. He's not trying to harm her, but there are pinprick stabs into her shoulder where his claws seek purchase.
"Oh my FUCK--" There go all of Lauren's attempts to keep the swearing to a minimum where grandma can hear her, as Marnie jumps down onto her shoulder and ends up imbalancing her. That there was a very loud 'fuck'. Hands scramble to grab hold of the cat, and loud yelping ensues as Lauren narrowly - /very/ narrowly - keeps herself from toppling right over. It's a close one.
A single, deep breath, and Lauren warns, "I'm throwing this cat down." Right before she does just that and, well, throws that cat down. It's not /that/ far from the ground, it can surely land on its feet properly. Any self-respecting cat could.
Oh, the cat goes down. He lands, docile as can be, by grandma's feet. He doesn't even run when she gathers him up in her arms, squishing tight. "Oh, my *baby*," she croons. "Don't ever run away from me again."
But when the cat goes down, so too does Lauren, soon after. There's an inopportune gust of wind; the crack of the branch she's on. And then gravity takes her into the network of leaves and branches between her and the ground. It's like she's in a pinball machine. Whap-whap-whap.
But hey -- don't worry, her arm breaks her fall.
It's like a pinball machine only if pinball machines usually have screaming in the background. Whap-whap-AAAAAAAAAAAH-whap. Lauren's landing could use some work, for sure. "Owwwww," she's groaning as she gathers up her poor, injured arm close to her chest and curls up into a ball as though getting her arm mildly sprained is going to kill her. "Devil fuckin' cat, I knew it- goddammit, last time I do something nice," She's just saying that, surely. Surely. At least her arm doesn't seem broken, she determines after some poking and prodding. "Thanks Lauren," comes the sassy little grumble while she watches the woman baby the cat from her spot on the ground, no attempts made to sit up. She's just going to lie down here forever, thank you. "For risking your life for my sweet little demon Barley."
All that sass skips right by the old woman's sweet, unsuspecting ears. She's too happy, her beloved CHARLIE in her arms, purring. "Oh no," she worries. She leans over Lauren. "Let me..." One hand holds the cat, tight, the other going for a phone. 9-1-1 is called for Lauren, with or without her consent -- let's hope Lauren had the forethought and the funding to purchase insurance. Although, even so, she might be ringing up a big bill for an ambulance.
"Hello?" she asks, continuing to watch Lauren. "Yes, I have a young lady here. She fell out of a tree--" A pause while, presumably, the operator asks her questions. "No, she's responsive. I think she hurt her arm."
"Um. No, I don't have a driver's license. Can you send someone to pick her up? She probably won't make it on her own."
"I'm not DYING," Lauren claims, loud enough in hopes that whoever's on the other end of the phone can hear her. The threat of ambulancery has her climbing to her feet in an instant. "I'm totally fine, see? I don't have fuckin' health insurance, please don't call the ambulance. In fact, I'm not even here." Yes, this seems a reasonable conclusion now that the cat has been rescued. "Yeah, not here. I'm just a figment of your imagination. You got Chelsey out of the tree all on your own, good fuckin' job, lady. Great imagination. Keep it up." A few more mumbo-jumbo mumbling and Lauren decides she's just going to disappear into thin air instead. Anything to keep the lady from following through with the ambulance or, even worse, trying to hug her again.