Encounterlogs
Zoes Odd Encounter Sr Iakres 240603
Zoe, an elderly woman living in the Westhaven trailer park, engages in her morning gardening, utilizing a touch of green magic to make the process easier. Despite the weather being amenable for gardening, the overall atmosphere of the place is marred by the actions of a young local mistreating a stray cat. Amid her activities, she encounters a young photographer, who is in a rush after capturing a photograph that he believes will provide irrefutable proof of the existence of werewolves in the area. As events unfold, a muscular man, Moore, arrives on a quadbike to claim the injured cat, revealing himself to be from a family that 'runs' Westhaven and warning Zoe about the use of magic outside her home. Moore, deducing that Zoe has engaged in magical activities, leaves her with a protective advice and a task: to deal with the photographer who has taken potentially revealing photos.
Zoe's interaction with the photographer escalates as she convinces him to walk her back to her trailer under the guise of needing assistance due to her frailty. This provides her with the opportunity to learn more about the young man's discovery and intentions. He reveals his anticipation of gaining fame and financial reward from his photographic evidence, despite being utterly unaware of the implications of his actions on the local, supernaturally inclined community. As their conversation deepens, the arrival of Jeanine from the Haven Sheriff's Department interrupts them, directed to Zoe's location due to a call. Despite the tension, the photographer takes his leave, hinting at the complexity and interconnected secrecy of Haven's residents. Zoe, left at the threshold of her home by both the departing photographer and the arriving law enforcement, stands as a central figure in the unfolding narrative of mystery, supernatural intrigue, and the quietly vigilant life within the trailer park.
(Zoe's odd encounter(SRIakres):SRIakres)
[Sun Jun 2 2024]
At the front entrance to 31 Magnolia Row
It is morning, about 74F(23C) degrees,
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
It's a warm morning in the Westhaven trailer park: half past seven, and it's already seventy five degrees. Summer has officially come knocking. This is hardly unpleasant for Zoe, though; the weather proves rather pleasant for her to get some work done on the front garden... which, despite her having only just moved in, puts her quite a bit ahead in terms of keeping the neighbourhood pretty. Most of the park is overgrown with weeds, covered in cracked paving, or just covered in litter. Just earlier, some rowdy little kid got hauled back inside and got his hide tanned raw for shooting at a stray cat with a BB gun. It's not the most cultured, nor disciplined, of living grounds.
Lugging around a hiking bag and a bunch of photography equipment, a young man comes strolling up Magnolia Row and lifts a hand at Zoe in greeting, offering the elderly woman a polite wave before hustling onwards, trailing down towards the southern lip of the trailer park - down towards the Moore Woods.
Then there's a rattle and a crash, and a very rapid "I'm alright!!" called out. Her husband must've tripped over some of the unfamiliar furniture. There's enough laughter in his voice to let her know he means it, at least. Sometimes, he just doesn't let her fuss over him...
A section of the yard has been cleared of weeds already, thanks to the efforts of Zoe and the other nice young man she'd roped into doing gardening work for her the day before, and she's well on her way through the remaining half of her front yard already this morning, a pile of weeds, uprooted entirely, stacked and growing next to her. She's not as young as she once was, of course, and her back is straining already from the work to be done hunched over, but, well, at least the touch of green magic at her fingertips makes it a little easier.
She's been idly keeping track of what's going on around her - the kid that had been dragged inside earns a little shake of the head from the elderly woman, and she knows the cat is still somewhere around here, behind those bushes over there. She's planning on luring it over with treats already, once it wanders close enough to notice her. The photographer gets himself a cheery "Good morning!", though she doesn't rise up from her work until the crash and clatter inside, a soil- and dirt-stained hand rising up to her chest with concern. "Dear?" she calls out in return, straightening with a crack and pop of her knees and a grimace of pain to make her way over to the door and sneak a peek in, "Did something break?"
"Min anisycheis gia mena," calls out the Greek old man who'd somehow convinced Zoe to marry him. She might not speak the tongue, but she knows this one pretty well: he's fine. There's enough of a clangor in there that he's probably trying to tidy things up with his feeble old arms before Zoe can come fix it for him. "Focus on your gardening, agapi mou." There's a heaving grunt as a couch gets nudged back into place.
Effectively banished to her garden and the sweet summer sunshine, Zoe is really left with no other choice but to enjoy herself. It's really too bad that young man isn't around anymore to lighten up the strain on her poor old back, though. What's next on her gardening to-do list?
"Don't break anything, latria mou!" Zoe calls from the doorway, and she means furniture and bones both - she doesn't want to track mud and soil all inside the trailer right now, so if her dearest beloved is being a grouch who says he's alright and insists on fixing up whatever happened in there himself, she can leave him to it. She's learned the futility of trying otherwise over the last four decades.
Back to the garden it is. But first, Zoe's deserved a break. She stops to get a drink of water from the tap outside - she'd made sure it was supplied with clean, drinkable water first, of course - and then wanders off a little into the bushes, grabbing her tin of animal treats always close on hand along the way. It's time to find out if she can befriend that cat. She's been missing having lots of furry friends to keep her company...
Let it not be said that Zoe is one to post 'Back in my day we drank from the hose' boomer memes - this is an old woman who takes good care in supplying her garden with only the freshest, most potable, probably fluoride-laced water that the Haven township can supply. The patch of flower's that have already been planted do look good already, though, so there's clearly something to it.
Tracking the cat isn't too hard, even if Zoe isn't as quick as she used to be. It's quite hostile, though... and for good reason. The cat swipes and hisses at her, shielding its bleeding leg from view. It's hard to tell head-on, but it's probably an adult tom, given how big it is - a farm cat, by the looks. A shot farm cat. It's a relief it wasn't anywhere vital, but that squealing kid sure earned every stripe his mother must be giving him. Not even Sanctuary can stop a mother from delivering justice upon her snot-nosed children. Befriending the cat will take effort, even for Zoe, but at least the clinic seems equipped for veterinary services, and it's hardly far away.
Zoe's not one to post memes at all, considering her Nokia brick phone that looks like it's old enough to have graduated from high school. It's still serving her faithfully though, and no Iakres, she doesn't need a new phone. She has her other phone to play Candy Crush on in bed. But yes - the water is safe and clean and maybe even fluoride-laced, her plants are treated better than some people are. They're not what the focus is on at this point in time, though, no.
Zoe 'tut tut's when she spots the cat - and the blood, by association, but she knows not to be too pushy. She hasn't gotten this far without knowing how to get on a cat's good side. And so it is that she exudes the most calm demeanor of all time when she takes out a single animal treat from her can and places it upon the ground, not making eye contact with the cat. She's just here... nearby... whenever it's ready to come out...
The cat's not bleeding so heavily that a rush is medically necessary, which is good: time is what is required here. The cat's attention falls on the treat pretty quickly, but it is very reluctant to either approach it - and therefore Zoe - or to do the opposite and leave the shelter of the bushes. Nothing too new for the wizened old ailurophile, but it's a shame there isn't a fold-out chair or something for her to rest in. Her poor old knees are going to start to feel it...
The cat advances a single step, keeping its eyes fixed on Zoe.
And another - and all of the fur on its body stands out on end as, beyond that southern lip of the park, there's the sound of a wolf's howl, and then the revving of a quadbike as someone comes zipping up towards Zoe.
The cat doesn't run. That's something. It must be used to the passage of the Trailer People.
Her knees can take it. There's more important things to worry about for the moment anyway, like that poor little dear that's limping slowly - so very slowly - close to Zoe, who's giving it the disinterested treatment. That's the way to earn a cat's love, after all. Won't do to act too clingy or needy, they have to be treated like moody teenagers. "Oh dear, oh dear. It's not the full moon, is it?" comes the thought out loud for herself, her voice low as the wolf's howl sounds in the distance. Zoe shifts, just a little, away from the cat in order to give it come freedom in case it changes its mind and decides to run away after all, though the treat's still on the ground, wafting its delectable salmony scent, waiting to be devoured by a handsome young cat...
Zoe's eyes are in the distance, waiting for that bike to come into view - don't they know there's elderly people around here wanting some peace and quiet?
It doesn't take long for Zoe to spot the big old quadbike, nor the bulk of the big man riding it - who jumps off not far from where Zoe stands, stomping his way over. He's barefoot, the fly of his jeans is unbuttoned and his wifebeater's on backwards - he got dressed in a hurry, and recently. As mentioned, he's big - muscular, with just a bit of a beer belly, and rather hirsute, and he glares at Zoe like a pissed off bulldog before his attention turns to the wounded cat, who still has not run, and his expression softens.
"You're new," he grunts, his voice a deep New England bass. "That's my cat." He kneels down into the dirt, never mind his jeans, and reaches over to pluck the poor thing into his arms. He might be a little less gentle than Zoe would have been, but the kitty seems more desperate for the safety of his dad's arms than it does to avoid a little pain. "Thank you for keepin' him calm," grunts the big man. "You can call me Moore. My family runs Westhaven. You'll have met. Next time you see her, Mary - the landlady? You tell her you done me right. Should be worth something." He sniffs at Zoe a little, then grunts. "You've been doin' magic. Don't do that before you have that meeting. And don't do it off your patch. This is wolf land, hear me?" His voice barely shifts between introduction, praise and admonition, which makes it a little difficult to read his mood, but that's probably because of his shot cat taking up the forefront of his attention. "Goin' to get the cat to the vet." Without asking, he reaches over and scoops a couple of treats from the can in Zoe's hand with his big sausage fingers, then lets out a little sigh, remembering his manners. "Thanks. You got a nice watch. Hate to punish a good deed, but would you mind dealin' with the stupid shit behind us who's been tryin' to take pictures of me in the middle of the shift? Fuckin' asshole. I appreciate it." He rolls his shoulders, moves to leave without really giving her an option, then pauses to add one last thing: "Bye." /Then/ he leaves.
While Zoe's too busy clutching at her pearls at the sight of the man - riding a bike barefoot? His fly's down! When's the last time he'd gotten a haircut?! - he's already gone and grabbed the cat, and she's got enough of a sense for the animal's level of calm that she relaxes a little herself in response. "Zoe Androulakis, my husband and I have just moved in."
And then, referring to the cat: "I am glad he has a home and people who care for him," she tells the Moore with a smile, not caring about the treats that are stolen from her can - they're there for good little cats, and this here is the bestest little cat. Or maybe the guy wants to eat them himself when he's shifted, it's really not her business. She'd judge a little if she knew, though.
"It's just a little bit of green, to help the yard out. It has been a while since someone's taken care of the garden, you see, and I'm not as sprightly and strong as I was in my youth." Let it not be said that Zoe wastes any opportunity to snag a strong-looking youngster for help in her yard. "I have heard of the Moores, yes, yes. You can send over some of your boys to help me in the garden, and we'll both be happy, young man."
She peers over at the bath behind the Moore towards where the stupid shit in question must surely be making his way over, and waves the Moore off easily - he's got a cat to take care of, after all. For now, she's been set on a task of teaching a /rude/ young man a lesson, and grandma doesn't hesitate to deliver.
For all the work that's been laid out for Zoe Androulakis (and husband?), the imposing - and departing - figure of the Moore fellow doesn't seem to have made any mental commitments to swing around and do some yard work later on. Charitably, one could chalk this up to the kitty situation. Realistically, well - none of his family so far have been real People Persons, have they?
It doesn't take too much effort to spot the young photographer who'd waved hello to Zoe earlier - he's already rushing back into the park, excited and pale. He's not following so different a path than the quadbike had, so he probably did end up getting that photo... after the Moore rushed in, scenting his cat's blood from the woods, maybe? That's just conjecture, of course, but it's not as if Zoe's new to this.
He's not so polite this time, half-jogging his way back to wherever he came from. Zoe doesn't get a wave this time - he's too busy cradling his precious camera to his chest.
People Persons or not, Zoe is committed to getting to know her new neighbors, so this is likely not the last the Moore there will hear from her. And hey, it's not like she's asked /him/ for yard work! Any misbehaving teenager will do, and surely they'll behave if she promises them grandma's chocolate chip cookies at the end. If not, Zoe surely has other ways of making them behave, such as the Stern Grandparent voice, among other things.
That's a problem for another time, though. For now, Zoe's caught sight of the photographer in the distance, and she lifts her hand, waving at him while she hobbles... slowly... "Young man over there!" Surely he can't miss this. "Hold up, young man!"
In comparison to Zoe's elderly shamble, her stamina mothbitten by strained knees and a strained back, and - well, cancer - the photographer must seem like Usain Bolt. He tips his head up to the sky in frustration, but he does jog his way on over to Zoe, just about dancing in place to keep his feet moving once he's close enough to talk. "I'm in a bit of a rush, ma'am," he apologises, glancing to the northeast - to the bridge, maybe. "So I don't have a lot of time - is there something I can help you with?" Well, at least he's still somewhat polite, even if it's not the very picture of hospitality. He /does/ have something worth being excited about, after all.
"Yes, yes," Zoe beckons him over, and then reaches out a hand to clasp it upon the man's forearm to steady herself while she catches her breath - sorry, mister photographer, you're in the grandma's clutches now. "Would you terribly mind walking me back to my trailer, young man? I'm afraid my old knees aren't strong enough to carry me back anymore. It's just right over there, won't take a minute..." Of course, it will take multiple minutes if she shuffles along all slowly while she attempts to engage him in conversation. "This old lady is very sorry indeed for taking up your busy time, my boy, but I'm always glad to see a helpful young lad, willing to assist his elders..."
It's killing him, but this is at least a man brought up right. "One moment, then, ma'am," he mutters, then crouches down to unsling his pack. He's not going to link arms with an old lady without putting his very precious camera safely away, after all. He has a case for it and everything in there - as well as what appears to be general photography and filming apparatus. He's quite delicate with it all; enough that an old fashioned fellow might impugn the photographer's honour by dubbing him a limp-wristed fop, but both he and Zoe know that he has something quite important in there, don't they? After he zips up the backpack, he stands to offer Zoe his hand. "Alright, ma'am," he murmurs, his voice softened. "Let's get you home, okay? You're in 31, right? That only just went up for sale..."
"Yes, yes, 31. It's right over there, just past those trees and across the road." Zoe gives the vague directions, watching the man as he packs away his camera. She's walking as slow as humanely possible after they start, just hobbling along with slow, slow steps that must surely kill him even more inside, but he's already agreed to this, and Zoe's hand is in his. There's no getting away without seeing her home. "My husband and I were so glad to find such a nice trailer in this nice neighborhood." Being called 'nice' must be a first for this neighborhood. "It's a big change after the city, but the air is better for me here, you see, and it does bring me joy to have such a big yard to work in. It's a nice town, this Haven." She reaches out to sandwich the man's hand between both of her wrinkled ones, patting the back of his wrist gently. "Now, why don't you tell this old granny what you're in such a rush for? It's good to stop and smell the roses sometimes, young man."
"I'm a photographer," replies the photographer. "There aren't supposed to be wolves in Massachusetts. Not big ones. But no one can deny there are wolves in Haven - lots of them. No one's really been able to find where they breed in the woods out here, though." He lifts a shoulder into a loose shrug. "But I've always been interested in, you know, cryptids. That kind of thing. So I treated it like a cryptid hunt. Like werewolves. I took a photo of a wolf turning into a man. I /finally/ have proof - I've been following one of the suspected werewolves for a few weeks now, and I've got it." He lets out a pleased, relieved breath. "Funny thing, too. When I was doing my research, I came across that symbol a lot." He nods down to Zoe's watch. "What does it mean? What have I stumbled on to, here?" His hand is warm, and firm, around hers. She's in his grip as much as otherwise.
"The woods aren't safe to be in, young man. You have to be careful walking around in the mists." Zoe admonishes gently. She's much too old to be surprised by any sudden accusations, so there's a simple glance down at her watch and back up to watch where she's stepping carefully - it wouldn't do to trip and fall, of course. "It's the neighborhood watch, dear," she tells him sweetly, as though it's a simple, well-known fact around here. "There's not a lot left for me to do in life, you see. I like to help where I can." Still, she's not judging his reveal, like many would - a wolf turning into a man? Preposterous! Who would've ever thought of that? "That must be exciting for you, yes, yes. What will you do with the picture, young man?" she questions all innocently while they walk along.
"I don't want to sound like I'm just living a life in the pursuit of cash," sighs the photographer, "But I'm going to make a /lot/ of money. I got great shots and I have the evidence to back them up. Like I said, I've been st - uh, following the Moores for a little while." He doesn't seem to mind walking so slowly, now that Zoe's talking to him about interesting things. It does seem like he's willing to take more of her weight if she needs it, but for now, he just holds her hand. "Anyway - I did say I did a bit of research. Like, I put work in, ma'am. And I know the symbol isn't local. It came up all over. Lots of the same symbol, but attributed to different things, 'cause no-one knows. So what are you, the werewolf police?" There's no hostility in his voice - he seems to believe in the sweet old lady.
She'll put more of her weight on him, thank you. Zoe comes to lean further against the man, wheezing out a little laugh at his words. "The werewolf police?" she asks the man, as though he's told her a very funny joke. "You may as well try to herd cats, for all the good that'll do to you." Still, she's not about to convince him he didn't see what he saw, especially when he's got photographic evidence for him. Instead, as the trailer approaches into view, she asks him, "I'm sure you'll have an interesting time ahead of you. What's your name, young man? Come in, have a seat. Would you like water or juice? Tea, maybe?" /Not/ coming in isn't an option there, as he may notice.
"Hello? Haven Sheriff's Department!" Jeanine shouts through the door and knocks on it in a manner that falls somewhere between polite and insistent. "Er, there was a call!"
If only Zoe had the same persuasive capacities as a werewolf, her offer may have had more pull to it. Alas - there appears to be a woman at Zoe's door, and the dark haired man at the old lady's side offers her an apologetic smile. The pair approach from the south, rather than inside, as Jeanine may have expected.
"Well, I'll have to leave you to it," replies the much younger man. "I'd hate to interrupt a police inquiry. And I really do have to go!" He helps the ailing woman up to her front door, then gives her one last, concerned glance, before saying to Jeanine, "We've just had a long walk, and I think she's a bit worn out, okay? Just letting you know." He pats Zoe's hand as he pulls his free - which is a lot easier, with a police presence to keep him from being entrapped by sweet old lady cookies - and takes off up the road, rapidly accelerating from a walk to a run. he has places to /be/.
Zoe's interaction with the photographer escalates as she convinces him to walk her back to her trailer under the guise of needing assistance due to her frailty. This provides her with the opportunity to learn more about the young man's discovery and intentions. He reveals his anticipation of gaining fame and financial reward from his photographic evidence, despite being utterly unaware of the implications of his actions on the local, supernaturally inclined community. As their conversation deepens, the arrival of Jeanine from the Haven Sheriff's Department interrupts them, directed to Zoe's location due to a call. Despite the tension, the photographer takes his leave, hinting at the complexity and interconnected secrecy of Haven's residents. Zoe, left at the threshold of her home by both the departing photographer and the arriving law enforcement, stands as a central figure in the unfolding narrative of mystery, supernatural intrigue, and the quietly vigilant life within the trailer park.
(Zoe's odd encounter(SRIakres):SRIakres)
[Sun Jun 2 2024]
At the front entrance to 31 Magnolia Row
It is morning, about 74F(23C) degrees,
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
It's a warm morning in the Westhaven trailer park: half past seven, and it's already seventy five degrees. Summer has officially come knocking. This is hardly unpleasant for Zoe, though; the weather proves rather pleasant for her to get some work done on the front garden... which, despite her having only just moved in, puts her quite a bit ahead in terms of keeping the neighbourhood pretty. Most of the park is overgrown with weeds, covered in cracked paving, or just covered in litter. Just earlier, some rowdy little kid got hauled back inside and got his hide tanned raw for shooting at a stray cat with a BB gun. It's not the most cultured, nor disciplined, of living grounds.
Lugging around a hiking bag and a bunch of photography equipment, a young man comes strolling up Magnolia Row and lifts a hand at Zoe in greeting, offering the elderly woman a polite wave before hustling onwards, trailing down towards the southern lip of the trailer park - down towards the Moore Woods.
Then there's a rattle and a crash, and a very rapid "I'm alright!!" called out. Her husband must've tripped over some of the unfamiliar furniture. There's enough laughter in his voice to let her know he means it, at least. Sometimes, he just doesn't let her fuss over him...
A section of the yard has been cleared of weeds already, thanks to the efforts of Zoe and the other nice young man she'd roped into doing gardening work for her the day before, and she's well on her way through the remaining half of her front yard already this morning, a pile of weeds, uprooted entirely, stacked and growing next to her. She's not as young as she once was, of course, and her back is straining already from the work to be done hunched over, but, well, at least the touch of green magic at her fingertips makes it a little easier.
She's been idly keeping track of what's going on around her - the kid that had been dragged inside earns a little shake of the head from the elderly woman, and she knows the cat is still somewhere around here, behind those bushes over there. She's planning on luring it over with treats already, once it wanders close enough to notice her. The photographer gets himself a cheery "Good morning!", though she doesn't rise up from her work until the crash and clatter inside, a soil- and dirt-stained hand rising up to her chest with concern. "Dear?" she calls out in return, straightening with a crack and pop of her knees and a grimace of pain to make her way over to the door and sneak a peek in, "Did something break?"
"Min anisycheis gia mena," calls out the Greek old man who'd somehow convinced Zoe to marry him. She might not speak the tongue, but she knows this one pretty well: he's fine. There's enough of a clangor in there that he's probably trying to tidy things up with his feeble old arms before Zoe can come fix it for him. "Focus on your gardening, agapi mou." There's a heaving grunt as a couch gets nudged back into place.
Effectively banished to her garden and the sweet summer sunshine, Zoe is really left with no other choice but to enjoy herself. It's really too bad that young man isn't around anymore to lighten up the strain on her poor old back, though. What's next on her gardening to-do list?
"Don't break anything, latria mou!" Zoe calls from the doorway, and she means furniture and bones both - she doesn't want to track mud and soil all inside the trailer right now, so if her dearest beloved is being a grouch who says he's alright and insists on fixing up whatever happened in there himself, she can leave him to it. She's learned the futility of trying otherwise over the last four decades.
Back to the garden it is. But first, Zoe's deserved a break. She stops to get a drink of water from the tap outside - she'd made sure it was supplied with clean, drinkable water first, of course - and then wanders off a little into the bushes, grabbing her tin of animal treats always close on hand along the way. It's time to find out if she can befriend that cat. She's been missing having lots of furry friends to keep her company...
Let it not be said that Zoe is one to post 'Back in my day we drank from the hose' boomer memes - this is an old woman who takes good care in supplying her garden with only the freshest, most potable, probably fluoride-laced water that the Haven township can supply. The patch of flower's that have already been planted do look good already, though, so there's clearly something to it.
Tracking the cat isn't too hard, even if Zoe isn't as quick as she used to be. It's quite hostile, though... and for good reason. The cat swipes and hisses at her, shielding its bleeding leg from view. It's hard to tell head-on, but it's probably an adult tom, given how big it is - a farm cat, by the looks. A shot farm cat. It's a relief it wasn't anywhere vital, but that squealing kid sure earned every stripe his mother must be giving him. Not even Sanctuary can stop a mother from delivering justice upon her snot-nosed children. Befriending the cat will take effort, even for Zoe, but at least the clinic seems equipped for veterinary services, and it's hardly far away.
Zoe's not one to post memes at all, considering her Nokia brick phone that looks like it's old enough to have graduated from high school. It's still serving her faithfully though, and no Iakres, she doesn't need a new phone. She has her other phone to play Candy Crush on in bed. But yes - the water is safe and clean and maybe even fluoride-laced, her plants are treated better than some people are. They're not what the focus is on at this point in time, though, no.
Zoe 'tut tut's when she spots the cat - and the blood, by association, but she knows not to be too pushy. She hasn't gotten this far without knowing how to get on a cat's good side. And so it is that she exudes the most calm demeanor of all time when she takes out a single animal treat from her can and places it upon the ground, not making eye contact with the cat. She's just here... nearby... whenever it's ready to come out...
The cat's not bleeding so heavily that a rush is medically necessary, which is good: time is what is required here. The cat's attention falls on the treat pretty quickly, but it is very reluctant to either approach it - and therefore Zoe - or to do the opposite and leave the shelter of the bushes. Nothing too new for the wizened old ailurophile, but it's a shame there isn't a fold-out chair or something for her to rest in. Her poor old knees are going to start to feel it...
The cat advances a single step, keeping its eyes fixed on Zoe.
And another - and all of the fur on its body stands out on end as, beyond that southern lip of the park, there's the sound of a wolf's howl, and then the revving of a quadbike as someone comes zipping up towards Zoe.
The cat doesn't run. That's something. It must be used to the passage of the Trailer People.
Her knees can take it. There's more important things to worry about for the moment anyway, like that poor little dear that's limping slowly - so very slowly - close to Zoe, who's giving it the disinterested treatment. That's the way to earn a cat's love, after all. Won't do to act too clingy or needy, they have to be treated like moody teenagers. "Oh dear, oh dear. It's not the full moon, is it?" comes the thought out loud for herself, her voice low as the wolf's howl sounds in the distance. Zoe shifts, just a little, away from the cat in order to give it come freedom in case it changes its mind and decides to run away after all, though the treat's still on the ground, wafting its delectable salmony scent, waiting to be devoured by a handsome young cat...
Zoe's eyes are in the distance, waiting for that bike to come into view - don't they know there's elderly people around here wanting some peace and quiet?
It doesn't take long for Zoe to spot the big old quadbike, nor the bulk of the big man riding it - who jumps off not far from where Zoe stands, stomping his way over. He's barefoot, the fly of his jeans is unbuttoned and his wifebeater's on backwards - he got dressed in a hurry, and recently. As mentioned, he's big - muscular, with just a bit of a beer belly, and rather hirsute, and he glares at Zoe like a pissed off bulldog before his attention turns to the wounded cat, who still has not run, and his expression softens.
"You're new," he grunts, his voice a deep New England bass. "That's my cat." He kneels down into the dirt, never mind his jeans, and reaches over to pluck the poor thing into his arms. He might be a little less gentle than Zoe would have been, but the kitty seems more desperate for the safety of his dad's arms than it does to avoid a little pain. "Thank you for keepin' him calm," grunts the big man. "You can call me Moore. My family runs Westhaven. You'll have met. Next time you see her, Mary - the landlady? You tell her you done me right. Should be worth something." He sniffs at Zoe a little, then grunts. "You've been doin' magic. Don't do that before you have that meeting. And don't do it off your patch. This is wolf land, hear me?" His voice barely shifts between introduction, praise and admonition, which makes it a little difficult to read his mood, but that's probably because of his shot cat taking up the forefront of his attention. "Goin' to get the cat to the vet." Without asking, he reaches over and scoops a couple of treats from the can in Zoe's hand with his big sausage fingers, then lets out a little sigh, remembering his manners. "Thanks. You got a nice watch. Hate to punish a good deed, but would you mind dealin' with the stupid shit behind us who's been tryin' to take pictures of me in the middle of the shift? Fuckin' asshole. I appreciate it." He rolls his shoulders, moves to leave without really giving her an option, then pauses to add one last thing: "Bye." /Then/ he leaves.
While Zoe's too busy clutching at her pearls at the sight of the man - riding a bike barefoot? His fly's down! When's the last time he'd gotten a haircut?! - he's already gone and grabbed the cat, and she's got enough of a sense for the animal's level of calm that she relaxes a little herself in response. "Zoe Androulakis, my husband and I have just moved in."
And then, referring to the cat: "I am glad he has a home and people who care for him," she tells the Moore with a smile, not caring about the treats that are stolen from her can - they're there for good little cats, and this here is the bestest little cat. Or maybe the guy wants to eat them himself when he's shifted, it's really not her business. She'd judge a little if she knew, though.
"It's just a little bit of green, to help the yard out. It has been a while since someone's taken care of the garden, you see, and I'm not as sprightly and strong as I was in my youth." Let it not be said that Zoe wastes any opportunity to snag a strong-looking youngster for help in her yard. "I have heard of the Moores, yes, yes. You can send over some of your boys to help me in the garden, and we'll both be happy, young man."
She peers over at the bath behind the Moore towards where the stupid shit in question must surely be making his way over, and waves the Moore off easily - he's got a cat to take care of, after all. For now, she's been set on a task of teaching a /rude/ young man a lesson, and grandma doesn't hesitate to deliver.
For all the work that's been laid out for Zoe Androulakis (and husband?), the imposing - and departing - figure of the Moore fellow doesn't seem to have made any mental commitments to swing around and do some yard work later on. Charitably, one could chalk this up to the kitty situation. Realistically, well - none of his family so far have been real People Persons, have they?
It doesn't take too much effort to spot the young photographer who'd waved hello to Zoe earlier - he's already rushing back into the park, excited and pale. He's not following so different a path than the quadbike had, so he probably did end up getting that photo... after the Moore rushed in, scenting his cat's blood from the woods, maybe? That's just conjecture, of course, but it's not as if Zoe's new to this.
He's not so polite this time, half-jogging his way back to wherever he came from. Zoe doesn't get a wave this time - he's too busy cradling his precious camera to his chest.
People Persons or not, Zoe is committed to getting to know her new neighbors, so this is likely not the last the Moore there will hear from her. And hey, it's not like she's asked /him/ for yard work! Any misbehaving teenager will do, and surely they'll behave if she promises them grandma's chocolate chip cookies at the end. If not, Zoe surely has other ways of making them behave, such as the Stern Grandparent voice, among other things.
That's a problem for another time, though. For now, Zoe's caught sight of the photographer in the distance, and she lifts her hand, waving at him while she hobbles... slowly... "Young man over there!" Surely he can't miss this. "Hold up, young man!"
In comparison to Zoe's elderly shamble, her stamina mothbitten by strained knees and a strained back, and - well, cancer - the photographer must seem like Usain Bolt. He tips his head up to the sky in frustration, but he does jog his way on over to Zoe, just about dancing in place to keep his feet moving once he's close enough to talk. "I'm in a bit of a rush, ma'am," he apologises, glancing to the northeast - to the bridge, maybe. "So I don't have a lot of time - is there something I can help you with?" Well, at least he's still somewhat polite, even if it's not the very picture of hospitality. He /does/ have something worth being excited about, after all.
"Yes, yes," Zoe beckons him over, and then reaches out a hand to clasp it upon the man's forearm to steady herself while she catches her breath - sorry, mister photographer, you're in the grandma's clutches now. "Would you terribly mind walking me back to my trailer, young man? I'm afraid my old knees aren't strong enough to carry me back anymore. It's just right over there, won't take a minute..." Of course, it will take multiple minutes if she shuffles along all slowly while she attempts to engage him in conversation. "This old lady is very sorry indeed for taking up your busy time, my boy, but I'm always glad to see a helpful young lad, willing to assist his elders..."
It's killing him, but this is at least a man brought up right. "One moment, then, ma'am," he mutters, then crouches down to unsling his pack. He's not going to link arms with an old lady without putting his very precious camera safely away, after all. He has a case for it and everything in there - as well as what appears to be general photography and filming apparatus. He's quite delicate with it all; enough that an old fashioned fellow might impugn the photographer's honour by dubbing him a limp-wristed fop, but both he and Zoe know that he has something quite important in there, don't they? After he zips up the backpack, he stands to offer Zoe his hand. "Alright, ma'am," he murmurs, his voice softened. "Let's get you home, okay? You're in 31, right? That only just went up for sale..."
"Yes, yes, 31. It's right over there, just past those trees and across the road." Zoe gives the vague directions, watching the man as he packs away his camera. She's walking as slow as humanely possible after they start, just hobbling along with slow, slow steps that must surely kill him even more inside, but he's already agreed to this, and Zoe's hand is in his. There's no getting away without seeing her home. "My husband and I were so glad to find such a nice trailer in this nice neighborhood." Being called 'nice' must be a first for this neighborhood. "It's a big change after the city, but the air is better for me here, you see, and it does bring me joy to have such a big yard to work in. It's a nice town, this Haven." She reaches out to sandwich the man's hand between both of her wrinkled ones, patting the back of his wrist gently. "Now, why don't you tell this old granny what you're in such a rush for? It's good to stop and smell the roses sometimes, young man."
"I'm a photographer," replies the photographer. "There aren't supposed to be wolves in Massachusetts. Not big ones. But no one can deny there are wolves in Haven - lots of them. No one's really been able to find where they breed in the woods out here, though." He lifts a shoulder into a loose shrug. "But I've always been interested in, you know, cryptids. That kind of thing. So I treated it like a cryptid hunt. Like werewolves. I took a photo of a wolf turning into a man. I /finally/ have proof - I've been following one of the suspected werewolves for a few weeks now, and I've got it." He lets out a pleased, relieved breath. "Funny thing, too. When I was doing my research, I came across that symbol a lot." He nods down to Zoe's watch. "What does it mean? What have I stumbled on to, here?" His hand is warm, and firm, around hers. She's in his grip as much as otherwise.
"The woods aren't safe to be in, young man. You have to be careful walking around in the mists." Zoe admonishes gently. She's much too old to be surprised by any sudden accusations, so there's a simple glance down at her watch and back up to watch where she's stepping carefully - it wouldn't do to trip and fall, of course. "It's the neighborhood watch, dear," she tells him sweetly, as though it's a simple, well-known fact around here. "There's not a lot left for me to do in life, you see. I like to help where I can." Still, she's not judging his reveal, like many would - a wolf turning into a man? Preposterous! Who would've ever thought of that? "That must be exciting for you, yes, yes. What will you do with the picture, young man?" she questions all innocently while they walk along.
"I don't want to sound like I'm just living a life in the pursuit of cash," sighs the photographer, "But I'm going to make a /lot/ of money. I got great shots and I have the evidence to back them up. Like I said, I've been st - uh, following the Moores for a little while." He doesn't seem to mind walking so slowly, now that Zoe's talking to him about interesting things. It does seem like he's willing to take more of her weight if she needs it, but for now, he just holds her hand. "Anyway - I did say I did a bit of research. Like, I put work in, ma'am. And I know the symbol isn't local. It came up all over. Lots of the same symbol, but attributed to different things, 'cause no-one knows. So what are you, the werewolf police?" There's no hostility in his voice - he seems to believe in the sweet old lady.
She'll put more of her weight on him, thank you. Zoe comes to lean further against the man, wheezing out a little laugh at his words. "The werewolf police?" she asks the man, as though he's told her a very funny joke. "You may as well try to herd cats, for all the good that'll do to you." Still, she's not about to convince him he didn't see what he saw, especially when he's got photographic evidence for him. Instead, as the trailer approaches into view, she asks him, "I'm sure you'll have an interesting time ahead of you. What's your name, young man? Come in, have a seat. Would you like water or juice? Tea, maybe?" /Not/ coming in isn't an option there, as he may notice.
"Hello? Haven Sheriff's Department!" Jeanine shouts through the door and knocks on it in a manner that falls somewhere between polite and insistent. "Er, there was a call!"
If only Zoe had the same persuasive capacities as a werewolf, her offer may have had more pull to it. Alas - there appears to be a woman at Zoe's door, and the dark haired man at the old lady's side offers her an apologetic smile. The pair approach from the south, rather than inside, as Jeanine may have expected.
"Well, I'll have to leave you to it," replies the much younger man. "I'd hate to interrupt a police inquiry. And I really do have to go!" He helps the ailing woman up to her front door, then gives her one last, concerned glance, before saying to Jeanine, "We've just had a long walk, and I think she's a bit worn out, okay? Just letting you know." He pats Zoe's hand as he pulls his free - which is a lot easier, with a police presence to keep him from being entrapped by sweet old lady cookies - and takes off up the road, rapidly accelerating from a walk to a run. he has places to /be/.