Encounterlogs
Sarahs Odd Encounter Sr Deacon
Savannah and Sarah, braving the chill of a snow-dusted coastline at night, find themselves bearing offerings for a spectral vessel heard laughing in the distance. They launch a raft laden with goods into the bay, hoping to appease the restless spirits that have been disrupting the town's power. With a lighter and a firestarter, Savannah sets the raft ablaze, the fiery beacon drifting out to sea. Sarah, grumbling about spirit nonsense, reveals her past affliction by a curse, expressing her intent to negotiate with the entities. Their newly-kindled pyre burns bright but sinks unnaturally fast, stirring a sense of completion to their ritual -- yet their night is far from over.
As the flames extinguish beneath the waves, the silhouette of a two-masted ship turns ominously toward shore, launching a rowboat that approaches Sarah and Savannah with surreal autonomy. Its passenger, Agwe — the Sovereign of the Seas — arrives as a doppelgänger of an acquaintance, bearing both command and charisma. Upon Agwe's rowboat, they negotiate with the potent loa, Sarah offering humble deference while Savannah exudes respectful determination. After shared laughter implying a deal struck, Agwe demands a token of remembrance: a fine coat for cold shores, to be honored at the next town celebration. With a sense of wary gratitude, Sarah and Savannah agree, securing a reprieve from the supernatural disturbances in exchange for a forthcoming tribute.
Meanwhile, Owen, suffering a spiritual hangryness, encounters a seemingly lost and desperate vampire thrall named Eva. Desiring to reunite with her master, whom she describes with distinct dreadlocks, she offers her blood in exchange for aid. Owen, dubious yet intrigued, offers the creature a ride — an encounter ripe with tension, as Ava's frantic outbursts and sudden attack send Owen's vehicle swerving dangerously. Ultimately, after a physical struggle where Owen enforces his will with brutal resolve, Ava is left unconscious, murmuring for her master — a desperate thrall's bond laid bare in vulnerability and need.
(Savannah's odd encounter(SRDeacon):SRDeacon)
[Thu Dec 7 2023]
At the coast
It is night, about 33F(0C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing. There is a waning crescent moon.
Sarah nods to Savannah, grimacing at the boat, "She's been all tuckered out. Likely, she undercooling wore her out." Or, you know, the torture. She approaches the raft as it arrives, looking it over. Sacks of sugar, fish, a few bottles of champagne but not many. And no sheep. "Well, worst case we can make something sheep-like." Sarah murmurs as she looks side to Savannah. "Did you bring a lighter?"
Sarah and Savannah find themselves on the coast, a bitter night wind carrying a crisp chill through the air with a clean if salty edge to the air coming in from over-sea. As the two prepare things on the coast-line itself the dark shape of a two-masted ship can be seen almost anchoring off of the deepest waters of the Bay ... perhaps half a mile out into the waters. The sound of racous laughter comes floating on the breeze, like the sound of some distant ship's crew.
"I suppose I will see her when she's recovered," Savannah says to Sarah now, looking towards the boat as well, sans sheep. She shakes her head side to side, "I don't know if we are able to just make things that are sheep-like, but perhaps this will be enough? I assume we're making an offering out to this boat in the bay?" She steps closer to the woman now, closing her coat tightly against herself to buffet against some of the wind before she nods her head, "I have a lighter with me, and if that does not work, a firestarter kit I carry, especially in the winter."
Sarah nods distractedly to Savannah, shivering as the laughter rings in her ears. "I despite this spirit nonsense." The woman - who lives with them of all things - complains. "Light the raft up then, if you will. I am sure it will be satisfied and if not..." She clacks her teeth. "Well, we'll see then. I have ways of dealing with these problematic things..." Or does she? She doesn't seem so confident. Partially wishful thinking, at least, as she closes down her own lab coat as if by cue. "One of us might find themselves... Possessed..." She shares a little late as she steps onto the wet sand. "Keep your feet wet, apparently it matters..."
She tilts her head, "I wonder how they come up with these rituals..."
Sarah depises, not despites.
As one of the two women makes to light the baroque raft, they'll have to give the thing a shove-off with their foot to set it out toward the waters of the Bay. The timing seems fortiuitous for the sound of cannons a-fire across the Bay ring out almost in time with the flashes of firelight that begin to slowly creep their way along the outside of the box as it makes it was out there in sacrifice. Watching, it's not unlike something like a viking funeral of a sort or similar. The box begins to alight in full now, it's own little bonfire bobbing and floating and bringing the smell of acrid alcohol and burnt sugar drifting on the wind now to blend with the tinge of gunfire and cannon smoke. Rather suddenly, the box begins to sink and those with any knoweldge of physics or etcetera might denote that it seems a bit fast, even for something already on fire.
"I don't really know, myself, not an expert on rituals and witchcraft, just know enough," Savannah says to Sarah as she walks over towards the wooden boat, filled with things. She steps her boots into the water some, just to keep them wet after saying, "One of us might find ourselves possessed? Already dealt with that once recently, not myself, but another. I'd rather... not." She chuckles softly as she crouches down now and reaches into one of her interior coat pockets to pull out a little kit. She withdraws a tin container and out comes some tinder, fluffy, likely oiled soaked material is then pressed towards the boat prepared to be set ablaze. She lights it, sparks flying, little flame beginning and then does definitely kick it out into the bay as it heads out into that sacrifice to the water, or whichever things might need such sacrifices like sugar and the variety of items within. She stands up, looking aside to Sarah and moving to the woman once more, packing away her items before watching the fire burn in the distance.
Sarah folds her arms, "Supposedly this one is meant to be reasonable. So if we politely ask them to get lost, they should... Well. Get lost." Sarah explains with a glance towards the floating raft, the fire growing, burning bright. "The sign to look for is the raft being pulled under water." She glances at her phone for a moment, "...Otherwise, well, I suppose..." She trails off, leaving the rest unsaid before letting out a sigh. "...Trust me, I am not looking forwards to this either. I was cursed by spirits not too long ago, it was a real ordeal. I /still/ haven't completely recovered my abilities."
The raft does seem to disappear underneath the waves at that, the faint light of the fire burning winking out of existence underneath the starry blanket of the water's reflective surface. That seems to be a good sign, based on what Sarah's been told at least. Wiki and Google in general will seem to agree as well. It could be just the shadows across the night or the mind playing tricks on the eye, but that ships' silouhette seems to turn and float closer toward the shore. Soon after something else can be spotted - something moving on the surface of the water ... a rowboat? It's a honest-to-god row-boat no doubt hoisted down from that god-forsaken ship in the distance. It drifts closer slowly, and as it draws nearer the shadow of a person can be seen standing ease as they please in the center. Not rowing the boat mind, it makes steady progress on its own.
Savannah lingers near Sarah now, watching that fire begin to wink out of existence and sink. She points with a gesture out into the bay, "That might mean it is a good sign, right?" She looks aside to the woman now, tucking her hands into her coat pockets to shelter from the cold, "Did you? Might have to tell me about that here in the future. I have been involved in a lot of things over my time here, but I've not been directly cursed that I know about, but then again, do you really know sometimes?" Then she turns to watch that silhouette in the distance, the rowboat just making steady progress towards them and she leans in to nudge Sarah, gesturing with an upnod, "Look, we might be having a visitor."
Sarah nods, "Hopefully, that or the raft was too poor in quality." She grimaces. "I should have arranged an actual boat, but that's harder to do quickly." she explains with a shake of her head. She looks Savannah over after, "You probably attract a lot less ghosts than I do. Aside from maybe of people you shot on duty." A shrug is given, then she looks at the rowboat. "I don't think I've ever heard of one of these entities using - or needing - a rowbow." Sarah mutters as she squints her eyes, trying to get a better look at it, "Can't say I like it..."
Approaching closer, it's Savannah that's getting the attention it seems like as she's the one who stepped forward, ankle-deep in the waters that ebb and flow to lap at the sand or drawe back to leave that wet line along the shoreline of the beach. "Who calls the Soverign of the Seas to the shore?" The voice that calls out is warm, friendly sounding even. HUMAN sounding. The boat floats slowly until it beaches itself in the most shallow of the waters and the man himself does not move. It's uncanny how similar this man looks to someone the two women know. A tall, mulatto man with an attractive face, light skin and bright green eyes. The features of his face are more ageless however, making it impossible in some way to really place an age on the man. "Drink and sweet spices can only mean you wish to share a meal and conversation! I accept." These two words, of them all - they sound like the boom of the cannon that suddenly fire off in the distance. They carry WEIGHT.
"I don't know if I attract as many ghosts, but I sure do try to get rid of them when they show up, malicious things, cause a lot of damage," Savannah says to Sarah now as she watches that approaching figure on that row boat. She points towards herself now, questioningly as it seems to approach her and give her the attention before glancing aside to Sarah with a shrug of her shoulders before she says to the figure, "My name is Savannah Bailey, Deputy of the Haven's Sheriff Department and this is..." She gestures to Sarah to allow her to introduce herself, "It seems that we do accept conversation!" She tries to make her voice project as well, though she does not quite have the weight of cannon-fire.
Sarah grimaces, visibly shrinking back as that cannon joins the man's voice. A sovereign. She doesn't seem fond of that. Not one bit. She takes a small step forwards, taking care to remain behind Savannah. After all, if things go south, why should she be the one targeted first? She forces an awkward smile on her face. "Sarah Wilson, President of the Haven Chapter of the Hand." she introduces herself, her tone notably less powerful, not trying to project it. "Remember that we have a /request/ to make beyond conversation. Lest he show us a good night and continues to merrily disturb our power grid. It would be very interesting for us, to be sure, but not very effective."
Ahh ... Savannah and Sarah both have come prepared it seems at least in mindset to deal with the type of spirits and beings that deal with trickery and bargains. But not a Demon or a Farie is this man, here. "Alas, there is no mutton so we cannot feast" the man agrees, with a sense to his manner that the woman has taken one point for herself here. The same applies as Sarah makes introductions and reiterates her business here beyond their invitation for hospitality. "So you can bend a knee, if you must." Again the cannon matches his voice perfectly and this time it's like the boom of laughter. "You've called with the best repsect you can muster, and I see you. Come. We will speak and enjoy each other's company. Your Safe passage and back to the shore is assured." While offering a gift of his own of sorts, those words bring the sound of pealed thunder. To whatever or whomever he speaks (To the Sea itself?) it knows the consequence of making a liar of Him. "Agwe at your service." He sits at last, gesturing to the bench opposite him on the row boat. He pronounces the name "Ah-gee-way"
Savannah gives a side-eye look towards Sarah at the mention of a lack of mutton before turning back towards the man there now, and she does not bend a knee, but does hold a respect in her tone as she says, "That is true, Agwe, we have tried to muster forth our best respect, and I see you, as well." She glances towards Sarah to see if the woman is also going, the Safe Passage promised at least as she steps forward, but clearly waits for the Wilson to also come along before journeying on her own into this rowboat of his, wincing sometimes when the peals of thunder or cannons shoot off into the distance.
It's likely that Agwe meant this term as a reference to both Savannah and moreso Sarah modulating her tone to be less than their own sense of self worrth or self-importance.
Sarah does not hesitate, bending a knee immediately once offered. She doesn't do it with pleasure, no. There's clear discomfort on her face, but she knows better than to deny any one of her bloodline any shot at playing God. Literally or figuratively. She knows her own reactions to that, after all. She stays like this for a while, staring at the sand beneath the waves before drawing herself up, wading through the water and climbing - quite wet, in a less than fun way - onto the boat, taking a seat across the man with a small, respectful nod. "Thank you for providing safe passage." she manages in that same soft tone. Careful, this one. Kno
Sarah does not hesitate, bending a knee immediately once offered. She doesn't do it with pleasure, no. There's clear discomfort on her face, but she knows better than to deny any one of her bloodline any shot at playing God. Literally or figuratively. She knows her own reactions to that, after all. She stays like this for a while, staring at the sand beneath the waves before drawing herself up, wading through the water and climbing - quite wet, in a less than fun way - onto the boat, taking a seat across the man with a small, respectful nod. "Thank you for providing safe passage." she manages in that same soft tone. Careful, this one. Knowing, intimately, the wiles of higher beings. (fix)
Savannah seems to follow Sarah's lead with bending the knee, perhaps it was required, but she defers to the other woman and also lowers down before entering that boat with her, now definitely quite wet along with the woman, "Yes, thank you for safe passage." She climbs into the boat if able.
The fact that Sarah DOES bend a literal knee seems to impress the man. As the two women come out to the boat, the water will reach almost to their knees but when they climb aboard the boat will be as steady as if it were cemented in place. Climbing in, the tall man waits at a causal ease. This close, he's dressed with several earrings, peircings ... a strange-looking dead sea creature of some kind strung from cord around his neck and the waves of the sea tattooed across his skin the entire breadth of his face.
It's to them to make their pleas though as far as the man is concerned they can sit out here on the boat until the sun rises in the east with an equal amount of pleasure and enjoyment for their company as he has for the sea.
Sarah stares at the sea creature, seeming strangely intoxicated with that. "Extinct?" Sarah wonders distractedly, then shaking it off. She puts her hands down on her knees, nodding to herself as she looks towards the man's neck. Avoiding eye contact - it works on dogs and other predators, right? "Ag.." She starts off almost pronouncing it wrong, then correcting herself, "Agwe, Sovereign of the Seas. We would like to make a request of you." Sarah says softly, "While your presence brings honor to our town, it has also come to disturb our... amenities. To put it differently, we have found ourselves unable to make merriment on the shore, to properly cook our fish or to oversee the distillation of our wines." She tries that angle - he seems to like that sort of thing, after all. "Would it be possible for you to... Do so elsewhere? Perhaps extend invitations? We would be... most appreciative."
Savannah steps onto the boat now with the creature, moving to flank Sarah as she waits to listen to the woman begin to speak now, backup perhaps in the moment. She folds her hands in front of herself, nodding along with some of the words, as if this is a joint agreement with what they wish from Agwe. It seems like she has nothing verbal to add at the moment, but certainly does seem to agree with what is being said, giving a couple nods to Sarah afterwards and glancing towards Agwe, but perhaps keeping that deferential gaze towards the creature's lower portions.
Laughter, dark and genuine from this man's mouth. "Ah. You are very good" he says to Sarah before turning his eyes toward Savannah. One does the talking but the other takes all of the man's attention and for the time being it seems to be a good combination. "You would deny a grandfather's grandfather's grandfather the pleasure of doting upon his family?" A dramatic sigh, and the affectation of being put upon are played to with perfection, and another cannon booms. The smoke seems close now, rolling with mist aroudn the rowboat until ... the shore ony a few scant steps away can't be seen. The mind says that it's just over there an arm's length away but it creates a sense of isolation to the rest of the world around them. "You agree?" Directly asked to Savannah this time, before his hand comes to lovingly stroke at the creature. Dead? No, far from it. It squirms from it's prison (now revealed as such) being tied around his neck, with a skittering screech that sounds like something no human should ever hear. "Just very very far from home."
Savannah squints some to look towards the creature when it is stroked, hearing those cannons, the smoke, it does confuse the senses. The woman eventually nods her head, "I agree that she is very good, but also, with the sentiment." She gestures behind herself, where they might have come from, hard to tell at this point, "There are families within the town as well, all of which are going to be coming into their own celebrations soon, visiting from afar, perhaps such as yourself. But, with the disruption to some of the amenities, it will make it so if they do have honored guests, they will not be able to feast. Their music may not be able to be listened to and they may not be able to find the laughter they require to bring in their new year." She eyes the squirming creature now, lips thinning briefly.
Sarah looks down at the bottom of the boat as the man talks of denial, then nodding along with Savannah's explanation before biting her bottom lip, thoughtful. "Perhaps.. If I may be so forwards, you should instead invite Mr. Herveaux, have him come visit you for merriment, experience the adventurous journey and the pleasures that come with it?" She suggests, "Celebrate for days and nights once he is there, whilst others commit to merriment here?" She looks up, hopeful. "I would, personally, love an invitation to visit my own ancestor." And she seems to mean that, genuinely. Though whether she knows who her ancestor is - may be a very different matter. But the attempt is made, she glances at Savannah, then at the sea. Surely the smoke isn't underwater. An escape, at least.
"Now is not the time for that" This man says to Sarah plainy though he does grow quiet for a time at the pleas by these women. "Well. These people are of the sea, but they have forgotten how to honor the sea, yes?" Another almost affectionate stroking of the creature that protests and it looks like a cross between some kind of starfish and a Face-Hugger. "Very well. But've left me without a meal and this has left me peckish. You have merriment enjoyment parties to celebrate the next year? You will honor me? A fine coat for the cold weathers of these shores? Yes, a fine coat. As pure as the driven snow." Ahh the bargain, now. Lacking the sheep for sacrifice, it seems this Loa will offer respite in exchange for remembrance - a moment of honor for him with a gift during their next event of celebration or recognition.
OOC: Basically the next time Savannah or Sarah goes to an event, calendar thing w/e they should take a moment to honor the Loa and offer him the coat (burn it)
It seems without mutton, an alternative needs to be offered, and Savannah nods her head after listening to Sarah and Agwe now. She looks beside herself towards the woman, but seems confident enough to agree as she says, "We do have merriment and enjoyment parties to celebrate the next year. We will honor you, a fine coat for the cold weathers of these shores, pure as the driven now." She nods several more times, giving a gesdture in front of herself with a slight lean over as if accepting the offer in both words and physical meaning.
Sarah puts a hand to her chest, lowering her head obediently. "But of course. A coat will be provided, you have my word." And she seems to have no intention of breaking it. Who would after all? If there's one thing known to cause trouble with higher beings... Her eyes flit up, hesitantly, lingering on that strange creature, taking in its biology, staring at its 'face' before she glances aside to Savannah once more. Seems they survived, this time.
(Your target and their allies encounter the former thrall of a vampire who has been discarded by their previous owner, likely mind controlled into complete devotion the thrall wants nothing more than to return. It is up to the characters to either help them return, or stop them from doing so.
)
Owen happens to be slow riding in circles, but it's really more of a forking path, from Devilwood, to Sidney. He's looking for something of interest. Anything of interest. He's tired, and ... hangry, on a spiritual level. Something's getting to him. He's smoked like seven cigarettes in fourty five minutes.
It's a cold night tonight, with snow drifting down from the dark skies, pelting against the windshield of Owen's shitty Prius and making it hard to see in front of himself. It's so bad that he might nearly miss the five foot tall humanoid figure drifting across the road in front of his car, stopping directly in front of it. Arms flailing, flagging him to stop the vehicle. What the fuck?
If somebody's about to jump Owen's vehicle, he's going to hit them. It's really that simple. The front of a Prius can take a surprisingly large human to the fender, but thankfully, he slows down to a graceful 16-18 miles before potential impact, giving the guy, or gal... theoretical time to get out of the way. They could be dangerous, after all! Best to check afterward.
Owen would find the vehicle rolling to stop faster than he'd anticipated, perhaps by supernatural means, maybe that figure he's about to slam into has something to do with it. The vehicle barely bumps into the figure, and he can see what it is after a few wipes of his windshield wipers against the glass, it's a woman. A red headed woman, with her bright hair in a plait on the side, sticking out of the hooded cloak she wears. She's dressed like she's from the medieval era, underneath that green hooded cloak, a brown and black frock, cinched at the waist with a braided rope belt to show off a waifish figure, almost too skinny. Almost malnourished looking. Her eyes are a a piercing green shade, and they lay sight on Owen, her thin lips curve into a friendly smile. A little too friendly, and too convenient.
SKRRRRTTT. Owen forces the vehicle to accelerate, but it's not doing a whole lot. So there's another sound. A vrrrrmmm of his window lowering. "I'm about to play shoot a bitch! Are you the police?" Demands the crackish figure, noticing only now that he's out've wiper fluid.
It's hard to tell if the woman is a cosplayer, or what she is, as she rounds the edge of the vehicle to approach the window that Owen rolled down. The windshield wipers stop wiping away the snow right after he realizes he's out of fluid.
"Don't shoot! I'm not the police," the woman promises Owen in a British accent, and she she comes up on the window she starts to explain herself, "I'm looking for my master, have you seen him? I've been looking for so long... has he forgotten me?" she frets, chewing her bottom lip. It's at that point Owen can see the tiny baby fangs where her eye teeth should be on the top row.
Ca-CACK. Owen definitely just racked a slide back on someyhing or another, cop or not. "Nope. Unless this's another one of those Howl deals, but that weirdo's easy to find."
"How the fuck should I know? Why do I care? Who is you?" The gun's ambivalently pointed out the window now, but still inside the car. He doesn't like this much.
"Howl... what?" The woman asks Owen, stammering and waving her hands in front of her, "Don't shoot, I beg you! I'm just trying to find my master, he drives a car like this one," she points to the Prius, "Please, you must help me!" she's practically begging at his car window, so close to Owen, it would be so easy to shoot her point blank in the head. Her green eyes sparkle with tears as she turns on the waterworks. Those tears stained pink.
Owen waves the big-ass gat around in a couple've circles, sneering a bit. "You already look choked out, whaddoya got for me?" One would assume the thinness of her features would be from a lack of current spiritual value. "You have money? Possession? Somethin'? I don't like those teeth."
The woman doesn't look any older than 20, but that's no indication of anything in the town of Haven. She searches her person briefly, then shakes her head, "I can offer some of my blood," she offers her left wrist into the window, "Please, I must find him! He's 6 feet tall with gray eyes and dark dreadlocks, you have to have seen him!" she implores.
With the way she offers a morsel of her blood, and her bloody tears and fangs, Owen would have no trouble telling what she is. A vampire childe, looking for her sire.
"He sounds like a fuckin' slob, dude, a white guy with dreadlocks AND a vampire?" Owen shrugs, but rather than taking the girl's wrist, he pops his glovebox and pulls out an IV bag with a pull needle on it, trying to force it into the grasp of her hand. "Passenger door's unlocked. Get in, mook."
Owen says "What's your name?"
"Eva." the woman introduces herself to Owen as she wraps her hand around the IV bag and needle, dramatically hiding them under her long, flowing cloak. She practicallly floats around the car to the passengers side, poppimg the door open with a little struggle and sliding into the seat. "And yourself? What shall I call the man who will reunite me with my master?"
Owen just sorta hits the gas to cruise, heading vaguely north. There's plenty of evil shit in the Elm woods, it can't possibly hurt! "Owen," He offers simply, kicking a little more gas as they pass a station stop. "You know what we're looking for, here?"
"A tall man with grey eyes and black dreadlocks, as I said." Eva tells Owen confidently. It's worth noting that if he's wearing a charm, he'll notice she's got a bright red aura. She doesn't appear bothered with the speed of his vehicle, settled into the seat as she unsheathes the iv bag needle and sticks herself with it. Trying to be careful not to spill a single droplet.
He's circling awful close to the Clinical Ward, if she has any wits about her. To do this, it's a bigger circle - to the access road, from the north side. Uh oh.
Apparently he isn't much for conversation, at least with her commitment to one-tricking this particular journey. What a douchebag. Owen isn't even flinching.
The little emaciated redhead starts flipping the fuck out as Owen get closer and closer to the Clinic, a look fo fright on her face, as she rips the IV needle out of her wrist and tosses it at him, hitting him with the bag of blood it's attached to. That place frightens her for some reason, that's pretty clear in her behavior. "No, where are you going!?" she demands, reaching over to grab the wheel and yank on it, making the wheels veer to the opposite side of the street, nearly ramming head first into a book store across the road. "You can't take me there! Take me to my master. Right this instant!" she's yells at the top of her lungs at this point, her British accent getting really screechy.
It turns out, Owen has a pretty stiff grip on the wheel, and-- even more inconveniently, there's that gun again, shoved into Ava's neck, right at the base of the spine. "Shut the fuck up! I'm just trying to see if he's there, get the fuck offa the wheel!" He's not, in fact, trying to see if the weird creepy vampire molestor guy is there.
Eva calms down pretty reluctantly, even with that gun shoved against her neck, she slowly lets go of the wheel and starts begging Owen, "Please, help me find him, I'll give you more blood, I have to find him, I feel like I'll die without him..." It's a whole pathetic display of a bond between sire and childe, something Owen never has to worry about for himself. The woman starts crying again, bawling her eyes out, rubbing her fists against her eyes. "Please... the southern woods, near Guardian Lane." she begs.
"That's like ... is that even a road? Wherever it is, it's too fuckin' far away," Owen speeds back up from the tactical suspension of the pedal in the minor hijynx, now dual-focusing between splattering her presumably undead brains into his wall, and driving toward the clinical wing's secondary entrance. "Detox should do solid. You'll figure it out! I'll come back for you in like two weeks and everything if you don't fuckin' kill yourself. I've seen this go down before, it's too much work for home-shop."
"No! No no no no no!" The woman screams at Owen like a misbehaving child having a tantrum over sharing their favorite toy, but then he'll find himself lifted up out his seat and slammed against the drivers side door, head smacking the window glass, "I refuse to go there! You can't make me! Take me top my master!!!" she gets more and more demanding as time goes on, stomping her foot against the floor of the car.
Inasmuch as Owen has to slam the breaks, he also ends up trying to slam Eva, or whatever her name had been, in the side of the head with a couple points of steel. Twice. Three times -- no, no, he goes for four! It's utterly merciless, and completely irrelevantizes the gender pay gap theory as far as combat sports would go. "Shut the fuck UP! I will fucking KILL you." Pretty simple point, compared to rehab.
The woman gets knocked in the side of the head with Owen's gun several times, causing her to go limp in the passenger's seat. There's a steady stream of blood trickling down her face, and she's completely out of it. She does mutter in her unconcious state, "Master..."
As the flames extinguish beneath the waves, the silhouette of a two-masted ship turns ominously toward shore, launching a rowboat that approaches Sarah and Savannah with surreal autonomy. Its passenger, Agwe — the Sovereign of the Seas — arrives as a doppelgänger of an acquaintance, bearing both command and charisma. Upon Agwe's rowboat, they negotiate with the potent loa, Sarah offering humble deference while Savannah exudes respectful determination. After shared laughter implying a deal struck, Agwe demands a token of remembrance: a fine coat for cold shores, to be honored at the next town celebration. With a sense of wary gratitude, Sarah and Savannah agree, securing a reprieve from the supernatural disturbances in exchange for a forthcoming tribute.
Meanwhile, Owen, suffering a spiritual hangryness, encounters a seemingly lost and desperate vampire thrall named Eva. Desiring to reunite with her master, whom she describes with distinct dreadlocks, she offers her blood in exchange for aid. Owen, dubious yet intrigued, offers the creature a ride — an encounter ripe with tension, as Ava's frantic outbursts and sudden attack send Owen's vehicle swerving dangerously. Ultimately, after a physical struggle where Owen enforces his will with brutal resolve, Ava is left unconscious, murmuring for her master — a desperate thrall's bond laid bare in vulnerability and need.
(Savannah's odd encounter(SRDeacon):SRDeacon)
[Thu Dec 7 2023]
At the coast
It is night, about 33F(0C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing. There is a waning crescent moon.
Sarah nods to Savannah, grimacing at the boat, "She's been all tuckered out. Likely, she undercooling wore her out." Or, you know, the torture. She approaches the raft as it arrives, looking it over. Sacks of sugar, fish, a few bottles of champagne but not many. And no sheep. "Well, worst case we can make something sheep-like." Sarah murmurs as she looks side to Savannah. "Did you bring a lighter?"
Sarah and Savannah find themselves on the coast, a bitter night wind carrying a crisp chill through the air with a clean if salty edge to the air coming in from over-sea. As the two prepare things on the coast-line itself the dark shape of a two-masted ship can be seen almost anchoring off of the deepest waters of the Bay ... perhaps half a mile out into the waters. The sound of racous laughter comes floating on the breeze, like the sound of some distant ship's crew.
"I suppose I will see her when she's recovered," Savannah says to Sarah now, looking towards the boat as well, sans sheep. She shakes her head side to side, "I don't know if we are able to just make things that are sheep-like, but perhaps this will be enough? I assume we're making an offering out to this boat in the bay?" She steps closer to the woman now, closing her coat tightly against herself to buffet against some of the wind before she nods her head, "I have a lighter with me, and if that does not work, a firestarter kit I carry, especially in the winter."
Sarah nods distractedly to Savannah, shivering as the laughter rings in her ears. "I despite this spirit nonsense." The woman - who lives with them of all things - complains. "Light the raft up then, if you will. I am sure it will be satisfied and if not..." She clacks her teeth. "Well, we'll see then. I have ways of dealing with these problematic things..." Or does she? She doesn't seem so confident. Partially wishful thinking, at least, as she closes down her own lab coat as if by cue. "One of us might find themselves... Possessed..." She shares a little late as she steps onto the wet sand. "Keep your feet wet, apparently it matters..."
She tilts her head, "I wonder how they come up with these rituals..."
Sarah depises, not despites.
As one of the two women makes to light the baroque raft, they'll have to give the thing a shove-off with their foot to set it out toward the waters of the Bay. The timing seems fortiuitous for the sound of cannons a-fire across the Bay ring out almost in time with the flashes of firelight that begin to slowly creep their way along the outside of the box as it makes it was out there in sacrifice. Watching, it's not unlike something like a viking funeral of a sort or similar. The box begins to alight in full now, it's own little bonfire bobbing and floating and bringing the smell of acrid alcohol and burnt sugar drifting on the wind now to blend with the tinge of gunfire and cannon smoke. Rather suddenly, the box begins to sink and those with any knoweldge of physics or etcetera might denote that it seems a bit fast, even for something already on fire.
"I don't really know, myself, not an expert on rituals and witchcraft, just know enough," Savannah says to Sarah as she walks over towards the wooden boat, filled with things. She steps her boots into the water some, just to keep them wet after saying, "One of us might find ourselves possessed? Already dealt with that once recently, not myself, but another. I'd rather... not." She chuckles softly as she crouches down now and reaches into one of her interior coat pockets to pull out a little kit. She withdraws a tin container and out comes some tinder, fluffy, likely oiled soaked material is then pressed towards the boat prepared to be set ablaze. She lights it, sparks flying, little flame beginning and then does definitely kick it out into the bay as it heads out into that sacrifice to the water, or whichever things might need such sacrifices like sugar and the variety of items within. She stands up, looking aside to Sarah and moving to the woman once more, packing away her items before watching the fire burn in the distance.
Sarah folds her arms, "Supposedly this one is meant to be reasonable. So if we politely ask them to get lost, they should... Well. Get lost." Sarah explains with a glance towards the floating raft, the fire growing, burning bright. "The sign to look for is the raft being pulled under water." She glances at her phone for a moment, "...Otherwise, well, I suppose..." She trails off, leaving the rest unsaid before letting out a sigh. "...Trust me, I am not looking forwards to this either. I was cursed by spirits not too long ago, it was a real ordeal. I /still/ haven't completely recovered my abilities."
The raft does seem to disappear underneath the waves at that, the faint light of the fire burning winking out of existence underneath the starry blanket of the water's reflective surface. That seems to be a good sign, based on what Sarah's been told at least. Wiki and Google in general will seem to agree as well. It could be just the shadows across the night or the mind playing tricks on the eye, but that ships' silouhette seems to turn and float closer toward the shore. Soon after something else can be spotted - something moving on the surface of the water ... a rowboat? It's a honest-to-god row-boat no doubt hoisted down from that god-forsaken ship in the distance. It drifts closer slowly, and as it draws nearer the shadow of a person can be seen standing ease as they please in the center. Not rowing the boat mind, it makes steady progress on its own.
Savannah lingers near Sarah now, watching that fire begin to wink out of existence and sink. She points with a gesture out into the bay, "That might mean it is a good sign, right?" She looks aside to the woman now, tucking her hands into her coat pockets to shelter from the cold, "Did you? Might have to tell me about that here in the future. I have been involved in a lot of things over my time here, but I've not been directly cursed that I know about, but then again, do you really know sometimes?" Then she turns to watch that silhouette in the distance, the rowboat just making steady progress towards them and she leans in to nudge Sarah, gesturing with an upnod, "Look, we might be having a visitor."
Sarah nods, "Hopefully, that or the raft was too poor in quality." She grimaces. "I should have arranged an actual boat, but that's harder to do quickly." she explains with a shake of her head. She looks Savannah over after, "You probably attract a lot less ghosts than I do. Aside from maybe of people you shot on duty." A shrug is given, then she looks at the rowboat. "I don't think I've ever heard of one of these entities using - or needing - a rowbow." Sarah mutters as she squints her eyes, trying to get a better look at it, "Can't say I like it..."
Approaching closer, it's Savannah that's getting the attention it seems like as she's the one who stepped forward, ankle-deep in the waters that ebb and flow to lap at the sand or drawe back to leave that wet line along the shoreline of the beach. "Who calls the Soverign of the Seas to the shore?" The voice that calls out is warm, friendly sounding even. HUMAN sounding. The boat floats slowly until it beaches itself in the most shallow of the waters and the man himself does not move. It's uncanny how similar this man looks to someone the two women know. A tall, mulatto man with an attractive face, light skin and bright green eyes. The features of his face are more ageless however, making it impossible in some way to really place an age on the man. "Drink and sweet spices can only mean you wish to share a meal and conversation! I accept." These two words, of them all - they sound like the boom of the cannon that suddenly fire off in the distance. They carry WEIGHT.
"I don't know if I attract as many ghosts, but I sure do try to get rid of them when they show up, malicious things, cause a lot of damage," Savannah says to Sarah now as she watches that approaching figure on that row boat. She points towards herself now, questioningly as it seems to approach her and give her the attention before glancing aside to Sarah with a shrug of her shoulders before she says to the figure, "My name is Savannah Bailey, Deputy of the Haven's Sheriff Department and this is..." She gestures to Sarah to allow her to introduce herself, "It seems that we do accept conversation!" She tries to make her voice project as well, though she does not quite have the weight of cannon-fire.
Sarah grimaces, visibly shrinking back as that cannon joins the man's voice. A sovereign. She doesn't seem fond of that. Not one bit. She takes a small step forwards, taking care to remain behind Savannah. After all, if things go south, why should she be the one targeted first? She forces an awkward smile on her face. "Sarah Wilson, President of the Haven Chapter of the Hand." she introduces herself, her tone notably less powerful, not trying to project it. "Remember that we have a /request/ to make beyond conversation. Lest he show us a good night and continues to merrily disturb our power grid. It would be very interesting for us, to be sure, but not very effective."
Ahh ... Savannah and Sarah both have come prepared it seems at least in mindset to deal with the type of spirits and beings that deal with trickery and bargains. But not a Demon or a Farie is this man, here. "Alas, there is no mutton so we cannot feast" the man agrees, with a sense to his manner that the woman has taken one point for herself here. The same applies as Sarah makes introductions and reiterates her business here beyond their invitation for hospitality. "So you can bend a knee, if you must." Again the cannon matches his voice perfectly and this time it's like the boom of laughter. "You've called with the best repsect you can muster, and I see you. Come. We will speak and enjoy each other's company. Your Safe passage and back to the shore is assured." While offering a gift of his own of sorts, those words bring the sound of pealed thunder. To whatever or whomever he speaks (To the Sea itself?) it knows the consequence of making a liar of Him. "Agwe at your service." He sits at last, gesturing to the bench opposite him on the row boat. He pronounces the name "Ah-gee-way"
Savannah gives a side-eye look towards Sarah at the mention of a lack of mutton before turning back towards the man there now, and she does not bend a knee, but does hold a respect in her tone as she says, "That is true, Agwe, we have tried to muster forth our best respect, and I see you, as well." She glances towards Sarah to see if the woman is also going, the Safe Passage promised at least as she steps forward, but clearly waits for the Wilson to also come along before journeying on her own into this rowboat of his, wincing sometimes when the peals of thunder or cannons shoot off into the distance.
It's likely that Agwe meant this term as a reference to both Savannah and moreso Sarah modulating her tone to be less than their own sense of self worrth or self-importance.
Sarah does not hesitate, bending a knee immediately once offered. She doesn't do it with pleasure, no. There's clear discomfort on her face, but she knows better than to deny any one of her bloodline any shot at playing God. Literally or figuratively. She knows her own reactions to that, after all. She stays like this for a while, staring at the sand beneath the waves before drawing herself up, wading through the water and climbing - quite wet, in a less than fun way - onto the boat, taking a seat across the man with a small, respectful nod. "Thank you for providing safe passage." she manages in that same soft tone. Careful, this one. Kno
Sarah does not hesitate, bending a knee immediately once offered. She doesn't do it with pleasure, no. There's clear discomfort on her face, but she knows better than to deny any one of her bloodline any shot at playing God. Literally or figuratively. She knows her own reactions to that, after all. She stays like this for a while, staring at the sand beneath the waves before drawing herself up, wading through the water and climbing - quite wet, in a less than fun way - onto the boat, taking a seat across the man with a small, respectful nod. "Thank you for providing safe passage." she manages in that same soft tone. Careful, this one. Knowing, intimately, the wiles of higher beings. (fix)
Savannah seems to follow Sarah's lead with bending the knee, perhaps it was required, but she defers to the other woman and also lowers down before entering that boat with her, now definitely quite wet along with the woman, "Yes, thank you for safe passage." She climbs into the boat if able.
The fact that Sarah DOES bend a literal knee seems to impress the man. As the two women come out to the boat, the water will reach almost to their knees but when they climb aboard the boat will be as steady as if it were cemented in place. Climbing in, the tall man waits at a causal ease. This close, he's dressed with several earrings, peircings ... a strange-looking dead sea creature of some kind strung from cord around his neck and the waves of the sea tattooed across his skin the entire breadth of his face.
It's to them to make their pleas though as far as the man is concerned they can sit out here on the boat until the sun rises in the east with an equal amount of pleasure and enjoyment for their company as he has for the sea.
Sarah stares at the sea creature, seeming strangely intoxicated with that. "Extinct?" Sarah wonders distractedly, then shaking it off. She puts her hands down on her knees, nodding to herself as she looks towards the man's neck. Avoiding eye contact - it works on dogs and other predators, right? "Ag.." She starts off almost pronouncing it wrong, then correcting herself, "Agwe, Sovereign of the Seas. We would like to make a request of you." Sarah says softly, "While your presence brings honor to our town, it has also come to disturb our... amenities. To put it differently, we have found ourselves unable to make merriment on the shore, to properly cook our fish or to oversee the distillation of our wines." She tries that angle - he seems to like that sort of thing, after all. "Would it be possible for you to... Do so elsewhere? Perhaps extend invitations? We would be... most appreciative."
Savannah steps onto the boat now with the creature, moving to flank Sarah as she waits to listen to the woman begin to speak now, backup perhaps in the moment. She folds her hands in front of herself, nodding along with some of the words, as if this is a joint agreement with what they wish from Agwe. It seems like she has nothing verbal to add at the moment, but certainly does seem to agree with what is being said, giving a couple nods to Sarah afterwards and glancing towards Agwe, but perhaps keeping that deferential gaze towards the creature's lower portions.
Laughter, dark and genuine from this man's mouth. "Ah. You are very good" he says to Sarah before turning his eyes toward Savannah. One does the talking but the other takes all of the man's attention and for the time being it seems to be a good combination. "You would deny a grandfather's grandfather's grandfather the pleasure of doting upon his family?" A dramatic sigh, and the affectation of being put upon are played to with perfection, and another cannon booms. The smoke seems close now, rolling with mist aroudn the rowboat until ... the shore ony a few scant steps away can't be seen. The mind says that it's just over there an arm's length away but it creates a sense of isolation to the rest of the world around them. "You agree?" Directly asked to Savannah this time, before his hand comes to lovingly stroke at the creature. Dead? No, far from it. It squirms from it's prison (now revealed as such) being tied around his neck, with a skittering screech that sounds like something no human should ever hear. "Just very very far from home."
Savannah squints some to look towards the creature when it is stroked, hearing those cannons, the smoke, it does confuse the senses. The woman eventually nods her head, "I agree that she is very good, but also, with the sentiment." She gestures behind herself, where they might have come from, hard to tell at this point, "There are families within the town as well, all of which are going to be coming into their own celebrations soon, visiting from afar, perhaps such as yourself. But, with the disruption to some of the amenities, it will make it so if they do have honored guests, they will not be able to feast. Their music may not be able to be listened to and they may not be able to find the laughter they require to bring in their new year." She eyes the squirming creature now, lips thinning briefly.
Sarah looks down at the bottom of the boat as the man talks of denial, then nodding along with Savannah's explanation before biting her bottom lip, thoughtful. "Perhaps.. If I may be so forwards, you should instead invite Mr. Herveaux, have him come visit you for merriment, experience the adventurous journey and the pleasures that come with it?" She suggests, "Celebrate for days and nights once he is there, whilst others commit to merriment here?" She looks up, hopeful. "I would, personally, love an invitation to visit my own ancestor." And she seems to mean that, genuinely. Though whether she knows who her ancestor is - may be a very different matter. But the attempt is made, she glances at Savannah, then at the sea. Surely the smoke isn't underwater. An escape, at least.
"Now is not the time for that" This man says to Sarah plainy though he does grow quiet for a time at the pleas by these women. "Well. These people are of the sea, but they have forgotten how to honor the sea, yes?" Another almost affectionate stroking of the creature that protests and it looks like a cross between some kind of starfish and a Face-Hugger. "Very well. But've left me without a meal and this has left me peckish. You have merriment enjoyment parties to celebrate the next year? You will honor me? A fine coat for the cold weathers of these shores? Yes, a fine coat. As pure as the driven snow." Ahh the bargain, now. Lacking the sheep for sacrifice, it seems this Loa will offer respite in exchange for remembrance - a moment of honor for him with a gift during their next event of celebration or recognition.
OOC: Basically the next time Savannah or Sarah goes to an event, calendar thing w/e they should take a moment to honor the Loa and offer him the coat (burn it)
It seems without mutton, an alternative needs to be offered, and Savannah nods her head after listening to Sarah and Agwe now. She looks beside herself towards the woman, but seems confident enough to agree as she says, "We do have merriment and enjoyment parties to celebrate the next year. We will honor you, a fine coat for the cold weathers of these shores, pure as the driven now." She nods several more times, giving a gesdture in front of herself with a slight lean over as if accepting the offer in both words and physical meaning.
Sarah puts a hand to her chest, lowering her head obediently. "But of course. A coat will be provided, you have my word." And she seems to have no intention of breaking it. Who would after all? If there's one thing known to cause trouble with higher beings... Her eyes flit up, hesitantly, lingering on that strange creature, taking in its biology, staring at its 'face' before she glances aside to Savannah once more. Seems they survived, this time.
(Your target and their allies encounter the former thrall of a vampire who has been discarded by their previous owner, likely mind controlled into complete devotion the thrall wants nothing more than to return. It is up to the characters to either help them return, or stop them from doing so.
)
Owen happens to be slow riding in circles, but it's really more of a forking path, from Devilwood, to Sidney. He's looking for something of interest. Anything of interest. He's tired, and ... hangry, on a spiritual level. Something's getting to him. He's smoked like seven cigarettes in fourty five minutes.
It's a cold night tonight, with snow drifting down from the dark skies, pelting against the windshield of Owen's shitty Prius and making it hard to see in front of himself. It's so bad that he might nearly miss the five foot tall humanoid figure drifting across the road in front of his car, stopping directly in front of it. Arms flailing, flagging him to stop the vehicle. What the fuck?
If somebody's about to jump Owen's vehicle, he's going to hit them. It's really that simple. The front of a Prius can take a surprisingly large human to the fender, but thankfully, he slows down to a graceful 16-18 miles before potential impact, giving the guy, or gal... theoretical time to get out of the way. They could be dangerous, after all! Best to check afterward.
Owen would find the vehicle rolling to stop faster than he'd anticipated, perhaps by supernatural means, maybe that figure he's about to slam into has something to do with it. The vehicle barely bumps into the figure, and he can see what it is after a few wipes of his windshield wipers against the glass, it's a woman. A red headed woman, with her bright hair in a plait on the side, sticking out of the hooded cloak she wears. She's dressed like she's from the medieval era, underneath that green hooded cloak, a brown and black frock, cinched at the waist with a braided rope belt to show off a waifish figure, almost too skinny. Almost malnourished looking. Her eyes are a a piercing green shade, and they lay sight on Owen, her thin lips curve into a friendly smile. A little too friendly, and too convenient.
SKRRRRTTT. Owen forces the vehicle to accelerate, but it's not doing a whole lot. So there's another sound. A vrrrrmmm of his window lowering. "I'm about to play shoot a bitch! Are you the police?" Demands the crackish figure, noticing only now that he's out've wiper fluid.
It's hard to tell if the woman is a cosplayer, or what she is, as she rounds the edge of the vehicle to approach the window that Owen rolled down. The windshield wipers stop wiping away the snow right after he realizes he's out of fluid.
"Don't shoot! I'm not the police," the woman promises Owen in a British accent, and she she comes up on the window she starts to explain herself, "I'm looking for my master, have you seen him? I've been looking for so long... has he forgotten me?" she frets, chewing her bottom lip. It's at that point Owen can see the tiny baby fangs where her eye teeth should be on the top row.
Ca-CACK. Owen definitely just racked a slide back on someyhing or another, cop or not. "Nope. Unless this's another one of those Howl deals, but that weirdo's easy to find."
"How the fuck should I know? Why do I care? Who is you?" The gun's ambivalently pointed out the window now, but still inside the car. He doesn't like this much.
"Howl... what?" The woman asks Owen, stammering and waving her hands in front of her, "Don't shoot, I beg you! I'm just trying to find my master, he drives a car like this one," she points to the Prius, "Please, you must help me!" she's practically begging at his car window, so close to Owen, it would be so easy to shoot her point blank in the head. Her green eyes sparkle with tears as she turns on the waterworks. Those tears stained pink.
Owen waves the big-ass gat around in a couple've circles, sneering a bit. "You already look choked out, whaddoya got for me?" One would assume the thinness of her features would be from a lack of current spiritual value. "You have money? Possession? Somethin'? I don't like those teeth."
The woman doesn't look any older than 20, but that's no indication of anything in the town of Haven. She searches her person briefly, then shakes her head, "I can offer some of my blood," she offers her left wrist into the window, "Please, I must find him! He's 6 feet tall with gray eyes and dark dreadlocks, you have to have seen him!" she implores.
With the way she offers a morsel of her blood, and her bloody tears and fangs, Owen would have no trouble telling what she is. A vampire childe, looking for her sire.
"He sounds like a fuckin' slob, dude, a white guy with dreadlocks AND a vampire?" Owen shrugs, but rather than taking the girl's wrist, he pops his glovebox and pulls out an IV bag with a pull needle on it, trying to force it into the grasp of her hand. "Passenger door's unlocked. Get in, mook."
Owen says "What's your name?"
"Eva." the woman introduces herself to Owen as she wraps her hand around the IV bag and needle, dramatically hiding them under her long, flowing cloak. She practicallly floats around the car to the passengers side, poppimg the door open with a little struggle and sliding into the seat. "And yourself? What shall I call the man who will reunite me with my master?"
Owen just sorta hits the gas to cruise, heading vaguely north. There's plenty of evil shit in the Elm woods, it can't possibly hurt! "Owen," He offers simply, kicking a little more gas as they pass a station stop. "You know what we're looking for, here?"
"A tall man with grey eyes and black dreadlocks, as I said." Eva tells Owen confidently. It's worth noting that if he's wearing a charm, he'll notice she's got a bright red aura. She doesn't appear bothered with the speed of his vehicle, settled into the seat as she unsheathes the iv bag needle and sticks herself with it. Trying to be careful not to spill a single droplet.
He's circling awful close to the Clinical Ward, if she has any wits about her. To do this, it's a bigger circle - to the access road, from the north side. Uh oh.
Apparently he isn't much for conversation, at least with her commitment to one-tricking this particular journey. What a douchebag. Owen isn't even flinching.
The little emaciated redhead starts flipping the fuck out as Owen get closer and closer to the Clinic, a look fo fright on her face, as she rips the IV needle out of her wrist and tosses it at him, hitting him with the bag of blood it's attached to. That place frightens her for some reason, that's pretty clear in her behavior. "No, where are you going!?" she demands, reaching over to grab the wheel and yank on it, making the wheels veer to the opposite side of the street, nearly ramming head first into a book store across the road. "You can't take me there! Take me to my master. Right this instant!" she's yells at the top of her lungs at this point, her British accent getting really screechy.
It turns out, Owen has a pretty stiff grip on the wheel, and-- even more inconveniently, there's that gun again, shoved into Ava's neck, right at the base of the spine. "Shut the fuck up! I'm just trying to see if he's there, get the fuck offa the wheel!" He's not, in fact, trying to see if the weird creepy vampire molestor guy is there.
Eva calms down pretty reluctantly, even with that gun shoved against her neck, she slowly lets go of the wheel and starts begging Owen, "Please, help me find him, I'll give you more blood, I have to find him, I feel like I'll die without him..." It's a whole pathetic display of a bond between sire and childe, something Owen never has to worry about for himself. The woman starts crying again, bawling her eyes out, rubbing her fists against her eyes. "Please... the southern woods, near Guardian Lane." she begs.
"That's like ... is that even a road? Wherever it is, it's too fuckin' far away," Owen speeds back up from the tactical suspension of the pedal in the minor hijynx, now dual-focusing between splattering her presumably undead brains into his wall, and driving toward the clinical wing's secondary entrance. "Detox should do solid. You'll figure it out! I'll come back for you in like two weeks and everything if you don't fuckin' kill yourself. I've seen this go down before, it's too much work for home-shop."
"No! No no no no no!" The woman screams at Owen like a misbehaving child having a tantrum over sharing their favorite toy, but then he'll find himself lifted up out his seat and slammed against the drivers side door, head smacking the window glass, "I refuse to go there! You can't make me! Take me top my master!!!" she gets more and more demanding as time goes on, stomping her foot against the floor of the car.
Inasmuch as Owen has to slam the breaks, he also ends up trying to slam Eva, or whatever her name had been, in the side of the head with a couple points of steel. Twice. Three times -- no, no, he goes for four! It's utterly merciless, and completely irrelevantizes the gender pay gap theory as far as combat sports would go. "Shut the fuck UP! I will fucking KILL you." Pretty simple point, compared to rehab.
The woman gets knocked in the side of the head with Owen's gun several times, causing her to go limp in the passenger's seat. There's a steady stream of blood trickling down her face, and she's completely out of it. She does mutter in her unconcious state, "Master..."