Encounterlogs
Yasmins Odd Encounter Sr Bjarne 240302
In the pre-dawn chill of a town plagued by gate magic-induced darkness, Tomas and Yasmin find themselves in a quandary over the non-functioning electricity in Haven. The duo, grumbling about the lack of comforts such as hot showers and charged phones, decide to investigate the local power station, suspecting a werewolf named Bjarne and his odd affinity for magic to be at the root of their woes. Despite Yasmin's skepticism of Tomas's electrical expertise and her own grumbles about magic and poor town infrastructure, they load up and head to the auxiliary power station, plotting to confront the issue head-on, armed with Tomas's questionable repair plans and Yasmin's moral support—alongside her duffel of dangerous, possibly unnecessary equipment.
Upon arrival at the station, the scene is chaotic, with clearly overextended workers and no formal check-ins. Tomas confidently, if somewhat foolishly, declares their intention to fix the power, garnering the dubious attention of the workers who insist they don safety vests. As Tomas engages with a tradesman about the dire state of the repair efforts—all components replaced yet no success—Yasmin is momentarily distracted by the availability of much-needed caffeine. Despite a worker's patronizing remark about her entering a trade, she pushes on, following Tomas deeper into the heart of the station. The situation quickly unfolds into a comedic but earnest attempt by the two outsiders to tackle an issue far out of their depth, hinting at a possibly transformative encounter with Haven's peculiarly magic-infused infrastructure, overseen by the weary eyes of the town's weary workers.
(Tomas's odd encounter(SRBjarne):SRBjarne)
[Fri Mar 1 2024]
At an alley
It is dawn, about 18F(-7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Morning is breaking, as it often does, with the sky sending tendrils of light across the pre-dawn sky. The night was dark, and full of terror - perhaps more terror than usual, given the gate magic working upon the town of Haven. Starved of the comfort of their homes, and the light provided by technology, citizens were forced into the cold, vulnerable dark.
Staring up at the three-storey apartment complex with a little scowl on his features, Tomas straightens himself up from where he'd been leaning against his van. "I don't think our fuckin' electrician's on the job," he confers with Yasmin. "I mean, I haven't seen Kylia around in ages, and she worked for the town. Reckon we should go see whatever the fuckin' wolf did. You reckon he just pissed off a transformer and blew the lot?" He grins, then shakes out what little frost had managed to accrued on his bomber. "I want a fuckin' shower. And I want hot water to be ready by the time the magic's gone. So: fix the electricity, then go and wake up one of the arcanists to actually do somethin' useful?"
Tomas says "Pissed /on/ a transformer, I mean. Not gettin' in a fist fight with Optimus Prime."
"I want tea." Yasmin is decidedly grumpy, and very caffeine-free. It is not a good combination. "This town needs better electricity. There are blackouts /every day/." That there may be a mild exaggeration; she doesn't seem to care much right now. "And my phone is almost dead, and the stupid monster is around again." There's more mumbling under her breath about a stupid wolf that may or may not have pissed over a transformer, but she straightens up from her own lean against the van to nod her head at Tomas. She's not done complaining though, oh no. "And I haven't had a proper shower, even a cold one, because I /keep wandering out/."
"I hate magic."
And then, finally, does Yasmin get to the actual topic: "Yes. Father Jack said he got a Shaman to cast a spell or something? Stupid magicians... aren't werewolves supposed to hate magic?" There's plenty more where that's coming from. The complaints are never-ending.
No doubt the werewolf in question would already be dealt with if he had pissed on Optimus Prime. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be the case. Whether the electricians are on the job or not, it's readily apparent that the problem hasn't been fixed yet. Maybe it needs a little something-something that a bunch of mundies can't provide.
The auxillary powerstation that powers the seaside community isn't too far away, a good few minutes by car. Just long enough to finally settle upon a song to listen to before you've gotta pull over and get out.
Yasmin isn't wrong though, werewolves are supposed to hate magic. Yet, they are at their essence magical beings - given their curse. It's a strange situation. Perhaps that will justify why you may see wolves flying around in the sky from time to time. That, or it's the drugs.
"Bjarne probably does hate magic, but he strikes me as the right blend of, you know, screw-loose as to get a witch to do their thing in order to give him more people to bite." Tomas opens the door and slips into the driver's seat, clambering over the center console to get the passenger door open for Yasmin, who probably could've handled it herself, but no longer has to. "Got the fuckin' gearstick up my solar plexus," the Inigo scowls - and then the pair are off, their headlights thin and pale against the dawning sun's rays - but still better than the unpowered headlights. "Nice thing about small towns is everything's nearby, I guess," he muses. "Boston's a fuckin' nightmare."
In this matchbox-sized town, /everything/ is a good few minutes away by car from everywhere else. "Thank you," she tells Tomas for his brave sacrifice in opening the door for her. "Where /is/ Miss Kylia anyway? This would be fixed already if she was around," Yasmin does seem to have a lot of faith. The car drive is just long enough for her to get a couple more complaints in - something something power something something stubbing her toe on the leg of her coffee table - and she waits for the power station to come into view before she's asking Tomas, "You will be doing your thing, right?" Knowing the man, his thing ranges anywhere from namedropping his Inigoness to extreme acts of violence. Sometimes both and also everything in between, at the same time. Those poor electricians don't know what's coming for 'em. Yasmin's just here for moral support, of course. And to look threatening in her pint-sizedness. Surely she can pull a little threatening off.
There's several workman's vans parked around and about the station as the pair bear down upon it. Suggesting that the folks inside have called in the cavalry for assistance. Some of them aren't even state based works, but rather private contractors brought in for a second, or third eye. The gates remain open, and there isn't even anyone checking to see who is coming in and out. It's appears the due process is falling by the wayside as the problem goes on and on.
Fortunately, there's even a space that Tomas could park his van - it'd probably trap someone else from being able to leave, but fuck 'em, right?
"We did electrical sciences in my sophomore year," Tomas replies offhandedly, rapidly approaching thirty years old. "We probably just have to plug it back in, switch it back on. Maybe solder something. I think I actually have some solder in here from the Boston jobs." He is not a man to be trusted with important electrical equipment, but it looks like there are people here already. More's the pity. "Fuck, there's a good spot," he says, noting a parking spot he could totally trap someone else in with. Just what he wanted. He crunches his gearstick back into park - there was probably a peanut or something stuck in the machinery of the gearbox, that's all - and steps out of the car, raising his voice for all the tradesmen to hear. "Fucking hell! What's the hold up?" He's moving ahead regardless of how quickly Yasmin can get free - he parked annoyingly close to another car, so she'd have to be careful opening up her door to not ding someone else's property. Heh, heh. Two birds, one stone.
Yasmin looks increasingly dubious at Tomas's proclaimed electrical prowess, and there's a long, long pause as she tries to open her door to step out, almost bangs it into the nearest car, changes her mind, and then it's her turn to climb over the center console instead and step out from the driver's side of the van. Take /that/, Tomas. There has been a single thwarting here already, even if it's not the one they came here for.
And then there's the rush to catch up to the Inigo who's rapidly disappearing into the depths of the station; Yasmin eyes her duffel bag of deadly equipment that she should definitely not be carrying anywhere there's 'official business' going on. Back towards the Inigo, down to her bag, and then she decides on just slinging it over her shoulder and sprinting after the Inigo in what can only be described as a 'fuck it, we ball' moment. Moral support, here she comes. With a sword hidden away, if it's needed.
Usually these sorts of sites at least have some sort of challenge involved, to get in, I mean. Like, a sign-in sheet, or something to that effect. But it's pretty clear these blokes have been at this for days straight, and all that important foreman work is sliding off to the side. The pair skitter past a rest station near the front of the site, a large hot water tank set up with coffee, and tea. Not to mention bagels.
Just as they're passing by there's a shout from a larger fellow, who steps in their way somewhat, "Oi." He drawls out, and jabs his thumb at a sign. It reads PPE required. "Put yer fucking vest on. We're workin' here." The man huffs out. Wouldn't you know it? There happen to be two spare lingering by the hot bean water station. One looks like it'd fit Tomas nicely. The other looks like it'd fit Yasmin like a stable stall fits a horse. Roomy.
Behind those hastily, oh-fuck-my-eyes-aren't-human-anymore adorned glasses, Tomas must be deciding whether to deck the sparkie or play along - and, it would turn out, the masculine urge to sneak in to dangerous worksites without proper clearance, protective equipment or understanding of electricity /can/ be stronger than the call to violence. The fluorescent vests are snatched up and split between the demon and the angel, and the Inigo replies, "Just got back on-site, don't mind us. So what's the latest? We any closer to getting this shit running again?"
There it is. The manna from the Gods. The ambrosial nectar. The source of all that is good and pure and holy in the world.
Caffeine.
Yasmin is brought to an abrupt halt - sorry Tomas, you'll have to go on without her, because she's in the process of figuring out whether she can nab a cup for herself without anyone noticing that she doesn't actually work here and- oh, there's a vest being thrust upon her, whether she wants it or not. Yasmin sniffs at it, makes up a face, and then follows the Inigo's cue and dons it with much reluctance. Her eyes are still on the tea, though. She may no longer be listening to whatever conversation is going on.
"Always nice to see a little lady taking up a trade." Another fellow comments as he glances up from his phone, flicking a look up and down Yasmin before returning to the business of trying to figure out crypto. In 2024? Old fella missed the bus on that one.
The larger fellow, who'd addressed the pair and was now addressed in turn, shakes his head toward Tomas, and huffs under his breath. "Shit's fucked, mate." It's clear that this person must be from the southern hemisphere, and judging by the size of the lad? He's probably from New Zealand. "They've been swapping parts out alright. It's like the ship of theories, you know?" The ship of Theseus, most likely. "I don't reckon there's a single thing in there that hasn't been replaced, and we're still up shit creek. We can't even rub all that graffiti shit off." He huffs out, shaking his head.
Apart from the earlier comment from the late bloomer crypto-bro, Yasmin's attempts to restore equilibrium to her body chemisty go unchallenged. The hot bean water, and the hot weed water are both available for her perusual. Terrible, and cheap - but warm, and full of caffeine.
Oversized Maori - or just Kiwi - tradesmen and filling in hours on-site with work going nowhere? Tomas grins a little, then frowns. Technically, he wasn't opposed to the idea on principle, but it was his family footing the bill here. Unless Granddad had managed to get Patricia to foot the bill...
The Inigo sighs a little, then pulls out his little thermos flask of tea - mandrake tea, not that the sparkies had to know - and downs what's rest, nodding his head. "Shit's fucked," he echoes dully. "I'll get the apprentice to go take a look." He hesitates, then mentions sidelong to the shorter electrician, "I hear you can make a killing by investing in Tether," he murmurs - and then he's moving onwards, whistling for Yasmin to follow him like a dog. It's all a part of playing the tradie-and-apprentice act, of course...
Upon arrival at the station, the scene is chaotic, with clearly overextended workers and no formal check-ins. Tomas confidently, if somewhat foolishly, declares their intention to fix the power, garnering the dubious attention of the workers who insist they don safety vests. As Tomas engages with a tradesman about the dire state of the repair efforts—all components replaced yet no success—Yasmin is momentarily distracted by the availability of much-needed caffeine. Despite a worker's patronizing remark about her entering a trade, she pushes on, following Tomas deeper into the heart of the station. The situation quickly unfolds into a comedic but earnest attempt by the two outsiders to tackle an issue far out of their depth, hinting at a possibly transformative encounter with Haven's peculiarly magic-infused infrastructure, overseen by the weary eyes of the town's weary workers.
(Tomas's odd encounter(SRBjarne):SRBjarne)
[Fri Mar 1 2024]
At an alley
It is dawn, about 18F(-7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Morning is breaking, as it often does, with the sky sending tendrils of light across the pre-dawn sky. The night was dark, and full of terror - perhaps more terror than usual, given the gate magic working upon the town of Haven. Starved of the comfort of their homes, and the light provided by technology, citizens were forced into the cold, vulnerable dark.
Staring up at the three-storey apartment complex with a little scowl on his features, Tomas straightens himself up from where he'd been leaning against his van. "I don't think our fuckin' electrician's on the job," he confers with Yasmin. "I mean, I haven't seen Kylia around in ages, and she worked for the town. Reckon we should go see whatever the fuckin' wolf did. You reckon he just pissed off a transformer and blew the lot?" He grins, then shakes out what little frost had managed to accrued on his bomber. "I want a fuckin' shower. And I want hot water to be ready by the time the magic's gone. So: fix the electricity, then go and wake up one of the arcanists to actually do somethin' useful?"
Tomas says "Pissed /on/ a transformer, I mean. Not gettin' in a fist fight with Optimus Prime."
"I want tea." Yasmin is decidedly grumpy, and very caffeine-free. It is not a good combination. "This town needs better electricity. There are blackouts /every day/." That there may be a mild exaggeration; she doesn't seem to care much right now. "And my phone is almost dead, and the stupid monster is around again." There's more mumbling under her breath about a stupid wolf that may or may not have pissed over a transformer, but she straightens up from her own lean against the van to nod her head at Tomas. She's not done complaining though, oh no. "And I haven't had a proper shower, even a cold one, because I /keep wandering out/."
"I hate magic."
And then, finally, does Yasmin get to the actual topic: "Yes. Father Jack said he got a Shaman to cast a spell or something? Stupid magicians... aren't werewolves supposed to hate magic?" There's plenty more where that's coming from. The complaints are never-ending.
No doubt the werewolf in question would already be dealt with if he had pissed on Optimus Prime. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be the case. Whether the electricians are on the job or not, it's readily apparent that the problem hasn't been fixed yet. Maybe it needs a little something-something that a bunch of mundies can't provide.
The auxillary powerstation that powers the seaside community isn't too far away, a good few minutes by car. Just long enough to finally settle upon a song to listen to before you've gotta pull over and get out.
Yasmin isn't wrong though, werewolves are supposed to hate magic. Yet, they are at their essence magical beings - given their curse. It's a strange situation. Perhaps that will justify why you may see wolves flying around in the sky from time to time. That, or it's the drugs.
"Bjarne probably does hate magic, but he strikes me as the right blend of, you know, screw-loose as to get a witch to do their thing in order to give him more people to bite." Tomas opens the door and slips into the driver's seat, clambering over the center console to get the passenger door open for Yasmin, who probably could've handled it herself, but no longer has to. "Got the fuckin' gearstick up my solar plexus," the Inigo scowls - and then the pair are off, their headlights thin and pale against the dawning sun's rays - but still better than the unpowered headlights. "Nice thing about small towns is everything's nearby, I guess," he muses. "Boston's a fuckin' nightmare."
In this matchbox-sized town, /everything/ is a good few minutes away by car from everywhere else. "Thank you," she tells Tomas for his brave sacrifice in opening the door for her. "Where /is/ Miss Kylia anyway? This would be fixed already if she was around," Yasmin does seem to have a lot of faith. The car drive is just long enough for her to get a couple more complaints in - something something power something something stubbing her toe on the leg of her coffee table - and she waits for the power station to come into view before she's asking Tomas, "You will be doing your thing, right?" Knowing the man, his thing ranges anywhere from namedropping his Inigoness to extreme acts of violence. Sometimes both and also everything in between, at the same time. Those poor electricians don't know what's coming for 'em. Yasmin's just here for moral support, of course. And to look threatening in her pint-sizedness. Surely she can pull a little threatening off.
There's several workman's vans parked around and about the station as the pair bear down upon it. Suggesting that the folks inside have called in the cavalry for assistance. Some of them aren't even state based works, but rather private contractors brought in for a second, or third eye. The gates remain open, and there isn't even anyone checking to see who is coming in and out. It's appears the due process is falling by the wayside as the problem goes on and on.
Fortunately, there's even a space that Tomas could park his van - it'd probably trap someone else from being able to leave, but fuck 'em, right?
"We did electrical sciences in my sophomore year," Tomas replies offhandedly, rapidly approaching thirty years old. "We probably just have to plug it back in, switch it back on. Maybe solder something. I think I actually have some solder in here from the Boston jobs." He is not a man to be trusted with important electrical equipment, but it looks like there are people here already. More's the pity. "Fuck, there's a good spot," he says, noting a parking spot he could totally trap someone else in with. Just what he wanted. He crunches his gearstick back into park - there was probably a peanut or something stuck in the machinery of the gearbox, that's all - and steps out of the car, raising his voice for all the tradesmen to hear. "Fucking hell! What's the hold up?" He's moving ahead regardless of how quickly Yasmin can get free - he parked annoyingly close to another car, so she'd have to be careful opening up her door to not ding someone else's property. Heh, heh. Two birds, one stone.
Yasmin looks increasingly dubious at Tomas's proclaimed electrical prowess, and there's a long, long pause as she tries to open her door to step out, almost bangs it into the nearest car, changes her mind, and then it's her turn to climb over the center console instead and step out from the driver's side of the van. Take /that/, Tomas. There has been a single thwarting here already, even if it's not the one they came here for.
And then there's the rush to catch up to the Inigo who's rapidly disappearing into the depths of the station; Yasmin eyes her duffel bag of deadly equipment that she should definitely not be carrying anywhere there's 'official business' going on. Back towards the Inigo, down to her bag, and then she decides on just slinging it over her shoulder and sprinting after the Inigo in what can only be described as a 'fuck it, we ball' moment. Moral support, here she comes. With a sword hidden away, if it's needed.
Usually these sorts of sites at least have some sort of challenge involved, to get in, I mean. Like, a sign-in sheet, or something to that effect. But it's pretty clear these blokes have been at this for days straight, and all that important foreman work is sliding off to the side. The pair skitter past a rest station near the front of the site, a large hot water tank set up with coffee, and tea. Not to mention bagels.
Just as they're passing by there's a shout from a larger fellow, who steps in their way somewhat, "Oi." He drawls out, and jabs his thumb at a sign. It reads PPE required. "Put yer fucking vest on. We're workin' here." The man huffs out. Wouldn't you know it? There happen to be two spare lingering by the hot bean water station. One looks like it'd fit Tomas nicely. The other looks like it'd fit Yasmin like a stable stall fits a horse. Roomy.
Behind those hastily, oh-fuck-my-eyes-aren't-human-anymore adorned glasses, Tomas must be deciding whether to deck the sparkie or play along - and, it would turn out, the masculine urge to sneak in to dangerous worksites without proper clearance, protective equipment or understanding of electricity /can/ be stronger than the call to violence. The fluorescent vests are snatched up and split between the demon and the angel, and the Inigo replies, "Just got back on-site, don't mind us. So what's the latest? We any closer to getting this shit running again?"
There it is. The manna from the Gods. The ambrosial nectar. The source of all that is good and pure and holy in the world.
Caffeine.
Yasmin is brought to an abrupt halt - sorry Tomas, you'll have to go on without her, because she's in the process of figuring out whether she can nab a cup for herself without anyone noticing that she doesn't actually work here and- oh, there's a vest being thrust upon her, whether she wants it or not. Yasmin sniffs at it, makes up a face, and then follows the Inigo's cue and dons it with much reluctance. Her eyes are still on the tea, though. She may no longer be listening to whatever conversation is going on.
"Always nice to see a little lady taking up a trade." Another fellow comments as he glances up from his phone, flicking a look up and down Yasmin before returning to the business of trying to figure out crypto. In 2024? Old fella missed the bus on that one.
The larger fellow, who'd addressed the pair and was now addressed in turn, shakes his head toward Tomas, and huffs under his breath. "Shit's fucked, mate." It's clear that this person must be from the southern hemisphere, and judging by the size of the lad? He's probably from New Zealand. "They've been swapping parts out alright. It's like the ship of theories, you know?" The ship of Theseus, most likely. "I don't reckon there's a single thing in there that hasn't been replaced, and we're still up shit creek. We can't even rub all that graffiti shit off." He huffs out, shaking his head.
Apart from the earlier comment from the late bloomer crypto-bro, Yasmin's attempts to restore equilibrium to her body chemisty go unchallenged. The hot bean water, and the hot weed water are both available for her perusual. Terrible, and cheap - but warm, and full of caffeine.
Oversized Maori - or just Kiwi - tradesmen and filling in hours on-site with work going nowhere? Tomas grins a little, then frowns. Technically, he wasn't opposed to the idea on principle, but it was his family footing the bill here. Unless Granddad had managed to get Patricia to foot the bill...
The Inigo sighs a little, then pulls out his little thermos flask of tea - mandrake tea, not that the sparkies had to know - and downs what's rest, nodding his head. "Shit's fucked," he echoes dully. "I'll get the apprentice to go take a look." He hesitates, then mentions sidelong to the shorter electrician, "I hear you can make a killing by investing in Tether," he murmurs - and then he's moving onwards, whistling for Yasmin to follow him like a dog. It's all a part of playing the tradie-and-apprentice act, of course...