\ Haven:Mist and Shadow Logs/Prometheus Tales

Prometheus Tales

[The Forest – Shroud || Encounter || Player Target: Coya]

The wails of the damned and dying echo throughout the surreal world of the Shroud and on the edges of Haven's surrounding Forest. Obscured horrid faces press against the thin Veil between worlds before screaming in agony and vanishing. The trunks of trees are warped, misshaped, and small impressions of limbs stretch out of the wood seemingly grabbing at anything that gets too close. Beady eyes watch your every movement, fiercely yellow, and vanish the moment you look their way. Cold chills run up and down your spine. Everything about this neck of the woods feels wrong and leaves a bad taste in the mouth. To top everything off wind bites at your exposed features and drowns out most noises.

Coya and a young man run hand in hand throughout this maze of trees. The unnerving sense of being trailed constantly on their back, and with the surrounding environment of the shroud helping no less. The boyish dark-haired woman begins to feel her lack of endurance: hair matted, face drenched in sweat, and muscles screaming in agony. The young shaggy-haired man looks to her with pleading eyes, "Please we have to keep moving!" He exclaims tugging at the woman's hand, "The Keeper is almost on me. I don't want to die." The unprotected supernatural says with a frighten and shaky voice, "I think we lost him, but he might be on our tracks soon enough." The floor of the Shroud moshes beneath Coya's feet, feeling as if she could be swallowed at any second in this fresh hell. Happenstance lead the two together, Coya giving into some moment of empathy, and now stuck in the unfortunate circumstance of having to keep a stranger from death.

Coya rocks when tugged, sucking in ragged breaths and trying to keep up shaggy-haired man. "I am exhausted," she protests weakly, trying to keep up. "If we are to keep you safe, maybe..." She gasps. "Town." Clearing her throat and squinting around without fully coming to a halt, she asks, "Do you know exactly where we are?"

The young shaggy-haired man with brown hair releases his grasp of Coya's wrist, shakeningly running a hand through his hair, and eyes blinking rappidly, "No-no, his tails can fine me in public places easy. I can't show my face in town, the Keeper will find me, and put one in the back of my head. Don't you get it, this is all a game for him. Please get me out of town!?" The youth hurriedly looks around him, trying to make lands marks off in the distance, and squinting in the night, "I think we are near the Grove, yeah maybe Court Street Projects, but I don't know this town too well." He waves a hand to Coya, "Come on, we have to keep moving. Maybe if I could just get to the bus terminal I can get out of town, take a Grey Hound to fucking anywhere."

"It is your life," Coya relents, offering the shaggy man a small shrug and stepping after him. "It is your decision to make." She still breaths heavily, sucking in breath and glancing around herself to scan the woodline. "If you wish to avoid town, we will have to circle around toward the trailer park and then approach the terminal. Otherwise we could move past the Grove, then sprint down the road and try to get there before he reacts. There is safety in publicity."

The young man with shaggy brown hair shakes his head, "You're wrong, he'll kill me in public and not bat an eye." Suddenly off in the distance the snapping of a twig can be heard, the rustling of leaves, and a moan reverberating throughout the thick trees. Moonlight filters in through the canopies in a sickening slice of blood that drips down branches onto the Shrouded floor, "Oh god, oh god, he's close." The youth clamors falling to his ass, the sound of a shotgun clicking in the air, and one low growl of a blood hound drawing closer, "Help me, help me." The man looks around panicked, desperately crawling away from the noise, as sweat trickles down his face.

Coya tenses at the sound of growling from the trees, and her gaze flicks through the area alertly. Quietly working the zipper of the bag slung over her shoulder, she silently pads over to the panicked youth's side and nudges his side with the heel of her foot. "Get up," she impatiently mutters down to him, "You will not be quicker on your knees. If you want to live, you have to run, yes? Let us make for the bus stop." Her eyes lift as she speaks, scanning over for the sound of the approaching Keeper.

Coya thinks; 'Why am I helping this weakling? It is full moon. Perhaps it will be favorable for me and a werewolf will burst through the trees to take care of this hunter. I hate running.'

The shaggy haired youth nods to Coya. He barely scrambles to his feet, but Coya 's words seem to instill some semblance of courage and steel the man for the bolt across Court Street, "Okay, okay, let's go." He says feet shivering towards the tree line, hesitantly looking up and down the street flooding with mist, "Oh god, it's really him, he uses the mists, oh god." Another hard gulp comes as he looks to Coya for her lead.

"It is... Alright," Coya encourages someone, keeping in the shroud as they bolt down the misty street. Sparse of words while trying to keep up the rapid pace, she cajoles, "Keep running," and slips her bow loose from the duffel bag, loosely gripping it in her right hand as they flee. Every once in a while she glances over her shoulder, narrowed gaze scanning for any visible figures nearby.

A sudden firearm rings in the air, a bullet whizzing by Coya's gorgeous features, whipping her braided hair in a snap of her head being jerked, cutting the skin in a flesh wound, and slamming the shaggy haired man in the shoulder that causes him to jerk in his sprint, but luckily for him only grazes the skin. He howls in pain, "Oh god." The youth whimpers out continuing to run. A man, clouded in a unremarkable aura comes into view, dressed all in black, and wearing a hood that hide his features, but the silhouette is clearly masculine. The air fills with barks as a German Shepard comes bolting out of the tree line towards the shaggy haired youth.

You see a field of shaggy-headed men and boyish young women, probably not exact duplicates but near enough that it's hard to tell given the distance and mist. Each pair bolts off in different directions, heading down the street or behind houses or to nearby cover in a mad dash.

Coya's bow twangs the air with a slight snap as the arrow whistles through the mist and thunks into the German's Shepard's rib cage: a sharp whimper and growl echos in the night in response as the beast limps towards an Illusion of Coya snapping at it with its jaws. The hooded figure holsters one pistol, pulls out a grenade, yanks the pin with his teeth, and sends the electronically beeping device to the crowd of illusions. A static blast ebbs in a fifteen foot circumference, and kills all Supernatural powers within and unfortunately for Coya her illusions die too, but the moment caused him to waste a precious resource and fall behind from the trickery, so depending on how you look at it: good job! The youth keeps his treck up gaining further distance.

Coya freezes briefly as the grenade goes off, eyes widening in clear discomfort at the sudden loss of her powers. The hesitation is brief, and she quickly fires off anther arrow at the injured dog before turning tail and bolting after the shaggy-headed man. While she runs she tries to extricate another arrow from her bag, throwing a look over her shoulder at the figure wrapped in mist.

The dog succumbs to the second arrow as it cracks a bone sinking into the animal's ribs, and causing it to wheeze in a harsh slap against the cement of the road. The Keeper comes bolting up to his canine companion, calmly brushing it for a split second, before withdrawing his second pistol and sending a flurry of bullets into Coya that go rata-tat-tat in three hits that climb up her abdomen to her chest. Thankfully the woman can actually take a bullet to the boob and be like: what, do you even catch hot lead with your breasts? She loses her stride though, as air is stolen from her lungs, and she is forced to shake off the experience of being turned into a Keeper's pin cushion. Apparently the man is a Master Gunslinger and Coya has drawn the ire of him by shooting his wittle dwoggy. The shaggy hair youth is almost out of Coya's sight as he keeps running not looking back. She was right about one thing: he's a weakling and a coward to boot, as he’s not even helping her.

"Just keep... Running," Coya growls out between pants for breath as she staggers back from the Keeper's assault, a hand reaching up to coil over her chest protectively. "You useless little bastard." When her eyes flick back to the Keeper, she quickly tries to back off and duck behind whatever might be available nearby in the way of cover.

Coya thinks; 'He's going to lose the worthless little child, soon. This is a good thing. Now I just have to get free. I hate... It would be so EASY if I still had my powers!'

Coya finds cover easily enough behind the corner of a building, but it isn't enough to keep the Keeper from seeking vengeance [as much vengeance as can be had against a Faction member in Haven]. His pistols rattle bullets off that are sent towards Coya, her cover eating the majority of lead, and just causing sharp whizzes, zings, and snaps that might shake someone new to combat, but she remains by and large unharmed. She hasn't regained her powers yet, but the faint tingle is there as her body fights of the bigotry of Temple tech. Yet unseen by her comes the slight rattle of another object landing near her cover, and as her vision is drawn down to it the image of a grenade comes into view. That gut feeling in her stomach that is saying to run isn't wrong. Run Coya, run! The shaggy haired man is all but gone and presumably well on his way to fuck all. All that remains is for Coya to make her escape or best the Keeper.

Coya's eyes drop to the grenade, then widen enough to resemble dishes. Letting out a cry of surprise, she sprints away from the corner of the building, speeding off as rapidly as she can and then trying to dive behind a nearby car. "Cut it OUT!" she shouts on the way, before the grenade has had time to go off and before she's gone diving for cover. The frag grenade goes: BOOM! Sending shrapnel every which way, Coya barely scurries out of the blast radius, as the buildings nearby get pelted. The bits and chunks of metal obliterate the corner and severely damage the car the woman has taken up residence near. The Keeper snickers, "You damn near killed by dog, now I'm going to damn near kill you." He threatens coming around the corner in a roll and popping off shots. Coya feels her powers returning, and just in time, because being caught by this man might suck alot.

"Near?" Coya repeats, her eyes widening indignantly. She springs to her feet as the Keeper rolls around the corner, starting off diagonally away from the car in a rapid sprint. Her bow rises as she moves, an arrow maliciously sent off at the downed canine as she tries to dart into the mists, then around the corner of a building on the opposite side of the street.

Again the boyish girl splits into many forms, though probably not before a few shots could be sent off in her direction. The many versions of her sprint off in varying directions, all fleeing from the Keeper, while one collapses weakly and tries to circle around to the nearby car's far corner.

Thwink! Goes the arrow as it sinks into the unconscious pup and performs a coup da grace killing it. The Keeper grinds his teeth, looking every which way, and chucks another grenade her way that trails smoke, and as it touches down consumes the area in teargas causing her to gasp for air, snot to run from her nostrils, and places to itch that shouldn't itch if you wear protection. The hooded figure seems unphased by the gas, probably wearing a mask beneath that hood, as he fires off shots sporadically.

The grenade catches Coya off guard, and as the physical exertion has winded her once again, she sucks in a deep breath of the teargas before realizing it. Coughing weakly, eyes watering, she loses almost all speed to her escape, nearly falling to the ground before she shoves herself forward in a stilted retreat, rounding the corner of the house with no semblance of grace. The illusions banished by the distraction of the gas, she tries to reach the back yard and start making her coughing, ragged way eastward, back toward the Grove.

The distraction of illusions has the Keeper seeking out the original as the figments of his imagination begin to vanish one by one until catching sight of Coya. Both pistols are spun dramatically once before another flurry of bullets is sent flying to the boyish young woman, "I have thirty little friends and they all run faster than you bitch." Truth, she sucks at running and gets easily winded going up a flight of steps, as the bullets strike Coya in a pepper that finally break skin, and send the lead in a drop to the cement in bounces. Her toughness is gone, she really needs to get the hell to safety, and like now, "I'm going to fly you up a fucking flag pole for what you did to my little buddy Max." His little buddy of course being a trained blood hound, "I'd kill you if I could bitch, fucking Supernatural piece of shits like you should all die." He says in a calm and sinister tone while keeping an optimum distance between him and her.

As blood begins to stain Coya's clothing she staggers to the side, unable to even see the Keeper clearly as she tries to wipe at her mouth and nose, breathe, and get to safety all at the same time. "Desist," she says with a hoarse cough, momentarily leaning against the wall beside her. "You are wasting your time. I belong to the Order, do-" She cuts off for another breath, inflamed features contorting in discomfort. "Do you want their ire? You have lost your quarry; leave!" She doesn't seem to hedge her bets on him actually doing so, because after another forced inhalation she begins sprinting off again, slower yet.

An image of Coya remains leaned up against the wall in her former position, and a dozen more start running with the real one - some toward him, another drawing an arrow and preparing to shoot at him, and others scurrying away in a confusing array.

The Keeper ignores Coya, for all her words are worth she killed any rational conversation the moment she performed a coup da grace on the man's buddy. The sounds of two firearms just echo in the mists of Haven's vacant streets, and all aimed at Coya's illusion of appearing hampered against the corner of a building. As the realization comes that his target is in fact not real a loud yell pierces the moonlight rays of the Shroud, "Fucking bitch!" He has to stop to reload now, giving Coya time to hobble along, as he sprints to reacquire his new quarry. The Grove comes into view just then: does she radio in for help or pray her exhausted body can carry her the rest of the way before this man catches up for a knockout blow?

For whatever reason Coya seems fairly intent on not seeking aid. She seems too wearied to fire off another illusion immediately after the first, but the further she gets from the teargas the faster she becomes. She nocks an arrow against the string of her bow, pausing and twisting around to fire off a rapid shot toward the Keeper's chest. Then, at least to his eyes, she vanishes entirely, twisting around and resuming her beleaguered charge for the Grove.

The arrow sinks into the Keepers shoulder blade as he comes sprinting within arm's reach of Coya only to vanish from view. He looks around frantically, pistols out stretched, and yet again randomly spraying and praying every which direction. Shots echo in the Shroud, bullets ricochet off the cement, and frustration of the Keeper howls in the night, "Goddamn you woman!" Coya slinks into the Bio dome unseen, she might be even to catch her breath as she rounds a corner, and becomes obscured in the tranquility of the Groves surrounding structure. In the distance the shots of the Keeper's firearms can be heard getting farther and farther away as curses and obscenities trail him.

Coya doesn't even bother getting further out of sight once she is inside the biodome. She collapses to the ground beside some of the plants, closing her eyes and rolling onto her back with a pained exhalation, bow discarded and right hand lifting to wipe some mucous away from her upper lip. Her panting gradually subsides, though the discomfort her inflamed throat and lungs give her obviously does not.

Coya thinks; 'That is the last time I ever help someone without having to.'

[HSD Building - Cozy Little Office || Encounter || Player Target: Brooklyn || Bringin: Rettferd]

The office is drabbed in boring office white along the walls, everyday industrial carpet rest at the feet, and a single business professional desk resides in the room; behind the desk is a simply cheap officer chair. The room is somewhat depressing, with nothing but fluorescent lights that fill the place. Nothing of note stands out, just a trash can in the corner. Needleless to say the office is immaculately clean.

Brooklyn finds herself tonight in the hot seat, behind a Sergeant's desk, unrestrained, but having a grizzled man staring her down as he waves a file in front of him, "Miss Arkwright, I wanted to talk to you before the Massachusetts State Police get here."

The vanilla folder comes in a slide across the desk towards the woman, "There are some pretty bold allegations in there, let alone a warrant for your arrest for a felony offense of larceny." The man calmly leans into his seat, "The warrant looks real enough. Mind explaining this?" He leans over the desk once more, rolling an arm atop the wood, and narrowing his eyes on Brooklyn.

Brooklyn is silent for the most part, facial expression not looking in any way upset. As the file gets slid towards her, she reaches for it, moving to open and read what's inside. "I suppose looks can be deceiving. If it 'looked' real enough, I'd probably be in very persistent handcuffs."

Brooklyn thinks; 'Not that they'd hold, really.'

Within inside the folder is a State Official Warrant for Brooklyn Arkwright's arrest. The documentation is not a forgery.

"What was this for, again?" Brooklyn asks, looking over the contents of the folder. "Larceny? What is it, or who is it that they think I stole from?"

The Sergeant leans back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other, and palming his desk, "So are you saying this Warrant is fabricated? Why would someone want throw you into the State Jail? You might want to help yourself and get in touch with James Akrwright and have him back off whomever is after you." The man sighs pulling out a pin, taking out a sheet of paper, and begins to scribble upon it, "I'm not about to slap cuffs on any Arkwright, the State Police can deal with you, unless you're feeling up for a nice long jog out of this office." The man looks to his wrist, "Ayup, they should be here any minute" His eyes glance up at Brooklyn, "You'll have to ask the wronged party. Larceny can have many prefaces: embezzlement, intent of theft, an object stolen, laundering money."

"Uh-huh." Brooklyn says with an intrigued tone as she nods her head once, though slowly at the sergeant, "Do -you- even know why I'm here, Sergeant? Why do I need to ask someone else what I did wrong? ...Or do you not know?"

The desk Sergeant rattles his pen against the desk, "I'm sure the State Police aren't going to violate your Fifth Amendment rights miss Arkwright, but the Arrest Warrant is just on the grounds of Larceny. You'll have to have your lawyer go into depth on why the State Police want you." He motions to the folder, "Because I'd like to help out the Town's residing family before the State Police get here and haul you out of town. Either you start talking, call in some favors, or find yourself very shortly being hauled off to the city."

On the man's breast is the name Salte.

Brooklyn thinks; 'Okay... so, if I get hauled off they'd eventually take me before a judge. It'd be easy enough just to hypnotize my way to freedom... but I didn't do anything wrong. *mental sigh* They'd likely try and book me, which means a mugshot, which means I might drive someone insane. Can Vampires even -get- arrested? I suppose this'll just be easier to call someone.’

Brooklyn cants her head from side to side as the sergeant speaks, and after a while of silence, which can easily be deciphered as her thinking, she nods, "Alright. Sure. I'll give someone a call, if you'd like to direct me to a phone."

Sergeant Salte slides his cell phone across the desk to Brooklyn, "Sure, do you need me step out?" The man asks rocking in his seat, fingers coming together in a press, that have his hands forming a point. He appears to be thinking.

"Please," Brooklyn says, reaching for the cell phone as she nods him.

The Salte rises to his feet, calmly walking to the door, and shutting it behind him. A lock audibly fills the air, letting Brooklyn know easily enough she's for better or worse stuck in that drab office; no windows, only a small vent to allow air conditioning in, and the must stench of office cleaners: water downed Windex and all sorts of chemical irritants. Unless she has the strength to break open the door [Strength 3] or the Larceny skills [Larceny 2] to pick the lock; not to mention the actual tools to pop the lock. No Shadow lingers at the door. If Brooklyn has acute senses of Smell or Hearing she'll notice nothing persists but the scents she's already grown accustom to and nothing buy the kinetics of a building fill her ear.

Once the door shuts, Brooklyn slightly slumps in her seat, leaning back a bit in an attempt to further relax as she crosses her legs at the knee. She glances back behind her, taking note of the door, before her eyes return to the phone. She dials a number on it, which likely shows up on this phone's caller ID for the Haven's Sheriff Department. She places the phone to her ear.

The phone rings for what seems like minutes until the other end finally picks up. An Italian faux-voice comes over the other end, "Inspector Salvo Montalbano, if you've got the dime I've got the time. Speak to me." The man sounds like something out of a 1940's old gangster film about crooks and criminals, as the noise of chewing gum comes over his talking; playing to all the stereotypes of Italian's.

"I don't have a dime, but hopefully for me you'll make an exception." Brooklyn says, her tone light as she carries on, "It's Brooklyn." The other end almost sounds like it's chocking on water, a few obscenities fill her ear, "Merda." A few more noises of clamoring, a draw being shut, and feet coming to slam on a desk can be heard, "Long time no hear toots. What you can't pick up a phone an stroke my ego babe?" The man's laughter oozes over the airwaves, "So what you need beautiful? Someone paid off, someone to look the other way, maybe get a monkey off your back? I'm practically good at getting monkeys off backs. The trick is bananas." The bad jokes come with more short hiccuping laughs, "Come on doll let’s hear it."

"Possibly all of the above," Brooklyn says, letting her sentence fall off afterwards. She glances back to the door briefly, before speaking again. "Are you in the office? I've been arrested. Apparently for larceny, and I don't know what for, or who against. Salte let me use his cell for my traditional 'one phone call,' I'm assuming. He doesn't know I'm calling you, though... What's going on?"

Rattling can be heard coming across the phone, "Yeah, hang on gorgeous, let me figure out who and what you pissed off. Larceny charge huh? That's a felony you know? What'cha do embezzle some cash babe? Take someone's life savings?" A full throat laugh comes over the cell, "Just joshin, and I don't advise you admit to shit over a phone neither. Anyways, Warrant looks real enough, staring at it on the ol database. I'm guessing someone wants you in Boston babe. Might be ya old pal King." Feet can be heard again shuffling on the other end.

There's silence on Brooklyn's end for a moment, before a slight, "Oh," can be heard. She runs her hand through her hair, briefly combing it with her fingers. "Well... that's... huh." Is all she can manage to say for a bit, until finally, "It's been ten years, and he's still sore... Can you do anything to make this go away? I'm not sure what all you're able to do, but is there a... delete button that'll tend to this?"

Brooklyn thinks; 'We already lost that fight... what's he trying to do, tie up loose ends?'

The other end coughs out, "You kiddin me doll? This shit is obviously tailored. At best I can pay these guys not to come get you tonight, but this looks like someone's handy work to get you into Boston, and dat dar’lin don't come cheap. You better call ol James up and get this settled long term. I suggest you fucking run out of were ever you are and go to ground beautiful. You hear me Brook? Go to ground and dodge these assholes coming for you." The other end keeps rattling away, "Look, I got a stay of execution on your Felony until it's looked into, but don't let those guys take you. Dirty cops, dirty as they come. Dat Understanding of yours won’t keep des cats from dragging you out by da hair."

"Hm. I guess this can't likely be settled peacefully, then..." Brooklyn says, tone somewhat disappointed. "Alright. I'll take your advice and get out. Thanks, Salvo."

The other end replies, "Anytime toots, hate to see beautiful ripped from this earth. Stay frosty doll." With that the other end hangs up. The latch to the room pops, the silhouette of Sergeant Salte stepping into the room, and a silent nod given to @brooklyn as he walks in with a hot steaming cup of joe. He lingers at the door a moment, hand gripping the door knob, as his attention goes to a passing Deputy, "Eh, Steve-O you catching the game tonight? Good to hear." He seems caught up in some friendly banter, "Ayup, Ol Wilbur is great, thanks for asking." Brooklyn thinks; 'I am going to walk right out of here.'

Brooklyn stills herself as Salte re-enters the room, and she settles back into the seat, awaiting for him to sit down.

Any opportunity to bold out the door, fling that hot coffee in Salte's face, and make a mad dash for the parking lot has passed. The door is calmly shut behind him, no lock this time from the inside at least [down with rape doors!] and the man comes flopping down into his seat. For a Salte he's one of the more attractive Males of the family: easily a six. Probably that good Demigod Blood, "Alright, miss Arkwright, I presume you have someone fixing this for you? The State police are almost into town. Give or take fifteen minutes."

"I do," Brooklyn says, smiling warmly at him. She leans in, placing her elbows on the table as she places a hand on his phone to slide it to him, "I appreciate you letting me use this," she says, letting her hand linger on his phone.

The Salte blinks looking at Brooklyn's hand, then to her face, his eyes obviously meeting her's, "You going to let go of that miss Arkwright?" He asks taking a tentative sip of his cup of joe.

"Right, sorry." Brooklyn says, nodding at him, though she respectfully keeps her eyes on his, as most people do when speaking. "My phone had broken recently, so... if you didn't let me use yours I'd be a little worse for wear," she admits, exhaling softly.

Brooklyn snags your gaze with her eyes and places you into a hypnotic trance. While in this state you won't move or be aware of what is going on around you, nor will you remember things that occur. You will come out of it if you are placed in significant peril or encounter startling stimulation. (This trance should last up to five minutes.)

Brooklyn thinks; 'He's cute. I'm glad I didn't toss that coffee in his face.' The Salte stiffens in place, his body relaxing as the hypnosis settles in, and he sort of just becomes an automated drone. His eyes blink every once and awhile, the cup of coffee coming in a rest against the desk, and his body calmly leaning into the chair. The man is all but silent besides breathing.

Once the hypnotism settles in, Brooklyn does a quick, very quick scan of everything currently in the office.

The room is the same boring room as when Brooklyn came in. Nothing has changed, except for a very passive Salte, and the fact her escape route lays wide open for her to flee out; other than what is on the Sergeant. The door doesn't lock from the inside.

Brooklyn reaches for the folder as she rises, intent on taking that with her. She makes her way to the door, sliding on a pair of sunglasses as she attempts to casually walk out of the office, and the front door. As Brooklyn goes for the door one Deputy Rettferd Salte comes into her view. He steps into the building with his usual shit eating grin, the skeleton crew present gives him a wave of their hands, before returning to their desks. The man appears to be going about his regular routines as an HSD member. Depending on how froggy Brooklyn is she might be able to get past the man without him noticing and making a fuss about why she is here.

Brooklyn slides a hand into her pocket, withdrawing her phone as she notices Rettferd enter, but she otherwise pays him no additional mind, continuing her attempt to exit the building. She taps on her phone absently as she walks, before holding it to her ear as she continues on her way.

Rettferd gives Brooklyn an upnod and calls out loud enough to be obviously heard, "Brooklyn Arkwright? Hey, I don't think we've met much.... I'm Rett. Are you alright?"

Brooklyn pauses briefly as she's addressed, and she quickly nods at Rettferd, gesturing to her phone and mouthing apologetically something that looks like, "Can't talk, on the phone." She does offer him a smile though, before trying to make her way past him.

The door to Sergeant's Salte's door is wide open and appears to be where Brooklyn came from. Roughly five minutes has passed since Brooklyn has interacted with the Sergeant.

Rettferd shrugs and says, "Okey dokey, then. Love your necklace by the way, very Poe." He walks on in toward the Seargant's office looking in as he goes with a big wave to get the occupant's interest. Ultimately Rettferd is making for that office at a brisk, regular walk with a grin on his face. Brooklyn glances back to Rettferd as he walks past her. She briefly places a hand on her necklace, smiling faintly before moving in what will hopefully be an uninterrupted fashion for the door.

Rettferd will notice his cousin is finally coming around from something, shaking his head, and letting out a short cough. He begins to examine the room, blinking, and then looking to Rettferd, "Hey cousin. You seen miss Arkwright? I could have sworn I was just speaking with her." The man seems a little out of it. As for Brooklyn she's already at the front door to the HSD, turning the nob, and entering the cold night. She still has to make it to that car though.

The moment Brooklyn is out of the building, she abandons any thought of a car. She takes a few very brisk steps to the right to hopefully remove herself from view to those inside the building, and she immediately takes off, likely towards the nearest forest-line for further cover. Brooklyn thinks; 'Why did I not shut the door?'

Rettferd sprints after but is drastically outpaced, he yells out, "Geeze, Brooklyn! You look guilty ask heck! Just stop and explain this before I have to put out an APB!" He whispers to himself, "crap she's fast." Then catches his breath from all the yelling.

Brooklyn vanishes from sight easily enough in the brush and thick foliage of the forests surrounding the HSD, even at Rettferd's impressive speeds he is no match for keeping up with the Arkwright as she takes off like a bat out of Hell. The Sergeant comes bolting in behind Rettferd and rubbing at his head, "Huh, I guess I must of just dozed off." He pats Rettferd on the shoulder and shrugs, "Just let this one go cousin, she's not our problem anymore." He pockets each hand looking over Rettferd, "Been hitting the gym I see, good man. Wanna stop by Gramps after work and get some mac and cheese?" The Salte says with a laugh. Brooklyn on the other hand got by on the skin of her teeth as a car suddenly pulls into the parking lot, and out two men step dressed in State Police attire.

Rettferd looks at the troopers and back at his cousin with a bit of disbelief in his face, "What are you... that doesn't make any... Alan, guy. What is going on? She did something! Obviously! She like, knocked you out or drugged you or whatever strange crap people do to humans just because they can to get what they want!" He eyes the troopers and keeps his town down to avoid them hearing him, "Alan, for heck sake, if she isn't -our- problem she'll end up being the factions problem, and that means the hand's problem, and that's not the kind of problem I want any founding family to be wrapped up in. What's wrong with you m an? If she booked it like that she's either in trouble with the law, or in a much bigger trouble with something else and that means she needs help."

Alan Salte runs an index finger beneath his flairing nostrils as he quietly takes in the night air looking between the State Police and then to his cousin Rettferd, "Let it go cousin. She's an Arkwright, and I don't want to go stepping on the toes of the founding Families. Listen cuz, if you think it's going to be something we need to deal with let's call Sheriff Reeves in and explain Boston is trying to take her in, but I think this one we should leave up to the you know whats and the you know whos. This isn't /natural/ business cousin. Besides, I'd much rather hear about how you and Vesper are doing then worrying about some Arkwright. Her Uncle is loaded, let the rich deal with their own." He shrugs at Rettferd, "I don't think she did anything to me, I must of just took my eyes off her for a second. She's obviously fast."

Rettferd says with a quiet voice, loud enough that the emotion can be heard but quiet enough that the troopers can't hear yet, "She's a -person- Alan, we don't want staties rolling up in here after anyone strange and not getting what they came for. What do they want her for? Geeze... just... man. You can't help everyone rett..." the last phrase was to himself. Rettferd shakes his head and sighs, "Nah you're right, Alan. Yeah, macaroni it is. Ha, you definitely do not want to know how Vesper and I are doing, but I met a girl? So that's rad."

Alan rests his hand on Rettferd's shoulder, giving it a good once, and smiles to him, "I love you cousin, but Gramps is right about you: you want to save the world. It's going to be fine. Let the desk sergeant deal with those assholes." He wraps his arm around Rettferd fully and begins to head for their HSD issues patrol car while flipping his keys in a spin over one finger and then catching it in his fist, "Nice, take it slow cousin. Don't want to love them hard and leave them spent." A wink is sent his way as a beep fills the air and unlocks the passenger side door, "Ayup." And with that the two head to the Seaside.

Rettferd grins and heads off, "You saltey dog."

[The Forest – Somewhere In Haven || Encounter || Player Target: Zuria]

The woods are thick here, the canopy all but shutting out but inklings of moonlight, and branches that gnarly stretch out to provide ample cover from the weather. Slight breezes come and go, biting at the skin, and leaving anyone button nosed red without the appropriate attire. Snow doesn’t rise higher or go lower than an ankle’s worth. Tracks are constantly covered by the preceding winds. The night is no consolation either, as the light grows dimmer and dimmer by each passing hour. Ayame’s head comes to life, beeping that incessant beep, that indicates someone is talking into her dome via the air waves and practical means: technology! An unfamiliar voice fills the ugly woman's earlobe, "Miss Ayame, this is Intern Ward, we have an assignment for you: a Hand Vassal, Melinda May, has been reported missing, her last known location: Willow Coves. Proceed into the forest and find your target. This message will self-implode in five minutes." A faint chuckle clears the thought, "Sorry, but yeah, May has gone missing, and we need your expertise in tracking down the resource and finding out if she is dead or alive. Secure her and bring her home Agent." The static cuts out as information is fed into her handheld and showing a trace of the Vassal's last GPS ping.

The Theme to Mission Impossible filters into Ayame’s head: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XAYhNHhxN0A

Ayame sighs as Mission Impossible music blares from her left arm((https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XAYhNHhxN0A )). She stares at it before it shuts off and her attention drifts to her PDA. "Well, looks like I get to play babysitter tonight.. lovely," she grouches before drawing a cable from her left arm to link into the PDA. She then heads off to the last known location of the target.

As Ayame trudges along down the coastline, faint, very faint traces of footprints still linger; having yet to be washed away or covered in snow. It seems a slight struggle took place, before the trail ends into the brush of the woods, but Ayame’s perceptive eyes pick up on a small snag of clothing, pink, that barely hangs on a twig before being whisked away by the wind. The direction undoubtedly leading her further in and to the east. Ayame snorts dryly while trying to keep her attention on her surroundings as well as the traces of footprints while she trudges along. "Stupid fucking vassal. I swear, who ever her blood lord is needs to be shot," she grouches lowly.

The further in Ayame precedes the more and more the thicket grows, trunks coming together in hugs, and branches all but stopping her in her tracks sometimes that have to either be cleared out or be shot to little bitty wood chunks for offending her leisurely stroll in the woods at night. A beep flashes in Ayame’s PDA, something akin to Alien's Colonial Marines Tracking Device, the closer she gets to her target the faster and faster the PDA pulses sending back a visual blip of her target. A sudden cry fills the air as the woman's voice echoes in the woods.

Ayame presses her lips into a thin line at the branches and foliage that dare to impede her travel, slashing at them with her blade seeing as she has to pay for her own ammo. Her gaze shifts down to the PDA occasionally as it beeps while the fading light has her drawing out her night vision accessory and placing it over her right eye. The cry that fills the air shifts her visage into a frown as she draws her pistol, flipping the blade around to rest against her forearm as she warily moves towards her target.

Ayame thinks; 'S:When it rains, it pours. 837:This should be fun. Z:Since when does fun concern you, Eights? 837:Since it leads to violence and possible maiming. Rend the flesh, wrack the bones.'

Silently, like a ninja of the Dynasty, Ayame crouching tiger and hidden dragon's through the brush without a sound, peep, or creep; even the leaves make more noise than her, and the wind helping to mask her sounds that goes northerly direction, but for her that rancid smell that falls off her drifts away, and doesn't expose her yet. Even the slightest rays of light provide an ample filter for her night vision goggles to pierce the pervading dark that has the vision of a young brunette female being manhandled by another she-hulk sized woman that forcibly drags her long that is masked and wearing non-descriptive clothing. The she-hulk throws the victim down, bound at the wrists, as she comes down in a straddle of the prone brunette. Cries are the only thing that breaks the eerie night of Haven and its forests.

Ayame thinks; 'S:Well now, this just got interesting. Z:Let's stay downwind of it for now, no point in giving ourselves away. 837:Burn and flay and splay and devour. The reaper comes. S:I really wish we could turn it off...'

Ayame slips alongside a tree, remaining in the shadows while trying to remain downwind of the she-hulk, closely observing the masked woman as she man handles the brunette. She tries to move closer to the pair while keeping the element of surprise to herself.

Ayame goes unnoticed for the time being, even getting closer, by no more than five feet, still easily thirty feet away, she can stay roughly undetected. She's nothing more than a shadow in all this, a noise like any other noise in the night, and blends into her new concealment and cover. The She-Hulk reaches down and rips off the brunette's clothing, her hands coming up to relieve the leather gloves swallowing her lumber jacket digits, that are quickly brought back down to caress the exposed flesh; which draw pleads and whimpers of, "Stop! Why are you doing this! Please stop!" From the brunette. The She-Hulk makes little noise beyond the elation of her twisted actions that excite and delight. Her monster grip goes down to the pants, freeing the petite victim of her pants now, and exposing panties to the cold that have more whimpers calling out in the night, “Why!?”

Tugging on her mask, Ayame drifts closer still while playing an eerie-childlike giggle from her arm, directing the sound towards the tree to cause it to echo as she begins to circle the pair, drifting in and out of the shadows making her presence known, even allowing herself to be seen. Amongst the creepy giggles, a soft whisper of 'The reaper comes,' is emitted in a crescendo of voices. That ever-smiling visage peering at the other masked woman as she continues to circle, like a predator of the night and shadows.

The moment Ayame gives herself away, with the crescendo of giggles that bounce in the night, the She-Hulk of a woman is on her feet withdrawing a shotgun and leveling towards the voices. The weapon spins around and a blast rings in the night towards one voice, following a cocking of the shotgun that spews out a spent shell, and subsequently chambers another, before another blast rings in the air, and another followed by another, until the She-Hulk is reloading her spent ammunition. All in all she fired eight rounds before the pump action was spent. The girl at her feet squirms until given a hard kick to the stomach that robs the victim of her air and has the brunette coughing to regain that much needed oxygen. The brunette whimpers in pain.

Ayame flings her blade off towards the west while continuing towards the north. When the blade lands, she would stop moving completely, using a tree for cover as she levels her pistol at the she-hulk. Provided her distraction worked, she would emit another, 'The reaper comes,' before opening fire on the other masked woman with her pistol, full auto style while taking care to keep her aim aloft enough to not endanger the vassal.

Ayame 's distraction is enough to grab the She-Hulk's attention that sends off a spray of buckshot in the direction of the /thunk/ of steel into a tree trunk; which is followed by a very short tsk that has another cock of the pump action shotgun. The She-Hulk has no time to react as she is suddenly having her back rocked by a well-placed shot into her sternum that throws the She-Hulk off her feet and sprawling into the Forest's floor. The shot apparently though not enough to stealth kill the She-Hulk; a safe assumption is she's wearing a ballistic vest. The brunette rolls over as the She-Hulk come down next to her. The She-Hulk however gets up quickly on her ass, leveling the shotgun in Ayame’s direction and sending off a spray of lead towards the Asian the pelt against the tree and bite at her shoulder.

The spray of buckshot biting into her shoulder has her dipping behind her cover with a hidden grimace riding her features. 'Missed us,' echoes into the night before the incessant giggling begins again with her drawing out a silencer and attaching it to the end of her pistol. She levels it towards a northern tree and fires a single shot while drifting off towards the south in hopes that the noises will draw away She-Hulk's attention whilst she moves to a different area of cover.

Ayame’s subterfuge and obfuscation pulls the She-Hulk in the plink of wood that has another bucket shot sent into the tree. The She-Hulk snarls chambering a fresh round and leaping to her own cover now and flattening herself against it. The brunette begins to slowly crawl away giving Ayame more ample room to work with for her tricks of the trade, but not far enough not to catch the wounding radius of an explosion. Ayame continues to circle the pair, attempting to flank the She-Hulk while sending out giggling echoes into the night. 'The reaper is here, it comes for flesh. This one comes for you,' calls out while passing a tree to send the echo of voices into the night.

The She-Hulk has had enough with Ayame’s antics stepping out from her cover and chucking something. The vague sound of a clip fills the air and clatter of metal bouncing against the earth is sent in the radius of the Hand member’s voice tricks. Suddenly the night is ablaze with fire, shrapnel, and the screams of flame roaring towards the Asian that throw her on her back and in a slide away from her circling, and leaving her wide open for a shotgun blast if she persists this game of tip-toeing; though the blast has placed her in a flank fortunately, but has all but damaged her armor.

Ayame grunts as she's thrown backwards from the blast. She uses the momentum, however, and draws her second pistol, opening up with both at the She-Hulk with dual three-round bursts before scrambling to cover again. She slowly rises to her feet, smoke drifting up from her form as she draws off her mask. "Weapon Release: Eight Three Seven." echoes out into the night as her natural eye dilates to a pin point and begins to turn crimson. 'Time for games is over.' calls out loudly from her left arm as she readies to move again.

Ayame thinks; '837:Weapon active. Purge protocol enacted. Target acquired. S:Good luck, Eights. Z:Don't get us killed, ok? 837:Mother watches, Mother waits

The three round burst pops the She-Hulk in loud thuds that rock the woman's body and throw her on the floor. She's wounded, blood trickling from the lead pumped into her, and causing her to cough violently. The She-Hulk sits up, holding both hands up, and says in a muffled voice, "I surrender, please don't kill me." Ayame will notice her aura is mute and unreadable; she is either protected or a very weak supernatural. The shotgun rests at the She-Hulk's side and the Vassal is unconscious in-between Ayame and the masked woman. The brunette appears no worse for wear from just a quick glance.

Ayame drifts out of her cover, both pistols aimed on the downed masked woman while she approaches with a rather impassive expression on her face. 'Surrender? You surrender to this one?' comes in the crescendo of voices as a curious tilt of her head is given. Index finger gingerly resting against the triggers of both pistols, she continues her approach, 'Remove the mask. Any other movement is your life.' she warns before a grin nearly splits her face in two as she adds, 'Now, plead for your pathetic life. You have ten seconds.' She stops advancing at this point, remaining far enough to not easily be grappled yet close enough that the next shot will be a kill shot.

The She-Hulk does as told, removing her mask, tossing it aside, and revealing a scarred and unimpressive feminine face, and short black hair. On the lapel of her jacket is the symbol for Temple. She raises her hands once more to indicate her compliance, "What are you going to do with me?" She asks quizzically, dark brown eyes narrowing on Ayame, and expression drawing a blank. The Vassal begins to stir vaguely, moaning, and coughs out, before slumping back over into her unconscious state. Lowering the pistol in her right hand to holster it while keeping the left trained on the woman, Zuria draws out a pair of reinforced handcuffs and tosses them at the woman. 'Put those on. You're coming with me for tampering with Hand property.' The crimson eye avoiding looking into the dark brown but still remaining focused on her target.

The handcuffs slap on easily enough, if not a bit tight, as the She-Hulk begins to work her wrists into the reinforced steel. She huffs out and remains seated and looks around indifferently as if nothing happened. The Hand Vassal finally comes too, rising to her knees, makeup running down her cheeks, and features affright: red, battered, and full of fear. She sniffles, fighting back tears, and trying to hide her expose flesh as she shivers.

After the Templar is bound, Ayame moves to reclaim the woman's shotgun before heading over to free the vassal from her bonds. 'Sloppy.' is all she tells the mostly bare woman while reclaiming her dagger and using it to free the vassal. Turning her attention back to the Templar, she orders, 'Stand.' while holstering her other pistol, keeping the woman's shotgun slung over her shoulder for the time being.

The Temple Operative remains quiet, following Ayame's instructions, and rises to her feet. The Hand Vassal scrambles up, collecting her jeans, and trying to hide her breasts behind tattered and shredded clothes. The brunette still weeps, Ayame's words providing no comfort, but at the very least the rape was prevented, or what could be surmised as a rape attempt; but utterly without a doubt the Vassal was sexual assaulted. All that remains is for Ayame to decide the Operative's fate: a quick death, imprisonment, or a return to her betters.

To the vassal, Ayame states, 'I'm returning you to base, or your house so you can get changed. Contact your blood lord and let them know what happened here tonight. This one,' she reaches out with her cybernetic left arm, digging the metal digits into the back of the Templar's neck with a tight, for a human, grip leading her forward towards the road, 'Is going to be dealt with by her superiors.' Her right eye begins to return to normal as 'Weapon offline,' emits from her arm.

 [Green Horcizons – Alchemical Lab || Encounter || Target Player: Sumner]

Double, double, toil, and trouble, the Alchemical Lab of Green Horizons boils with life: all manner of chemicals, both practical and supernatural, hissing, popping, and gurgling in pots, jars, and beakers. Tesla coils buzz and crack with electricity. The area is sterile, pristine, and fitted with everything a Mad Scientist could want to run their experiments.

The day has been uneventful so far. Sumner slaving away as usual in his pursuits to dominate the world with his brain bears little to no fruit. His frustrations understandable. Why? Because the world should already be under his thumb. But let's focus on the here and now. A faint whisper comes into Sumner's ear as a random intern begins to speak, "Mister Rogue, a new Hand member will be coming down shortly, he is a new lab assistant. Please familiarize him with the daily routine. His name is Harry Harlow. He'll be down shortly sir." And with that said the communications cut off and everything goes back to normal for Sumner or what he considers normal.

Sumner releases a deep, agitated sigh when he hears this, propping his elbows up on the counter and burying his face in his hands. "But I don't -need- a lab assistant... What I -need- are better materials, damn you! Send me the heart of an Angel, not another fool!"

Minutes must come and go since Sumner 's last outburst, but eventually the door to the Lab creeps open, and enters a bi spectacled man, with dark brown hair, wearing a white business shirt, black slacks, and classy pocket protector: nerd stereotypes much? Harry shuts the door behind him with an awkward gesture of the hands and comes stepping in towards Sumner. He quietly takes in his surroundings before speak, "Afternoon Mister Rogue." He extends a hand from behind his back.

Sumner glares at the most recent annoyance in his life as if it was a cockroach that just exploded all over his food. "...Good afternoon, Mister Harlow. I understand that you are my new lab assistant. It's a pleasure to meet you," he greets the man, extending his own hand to grasp the one Harry offered. "We'll be learning more so about procedure than routine, which is essentially what you'll be doing each day, unless I call upon you for assistance."

Harry Harlow nods his head sharply in understanding, retrieving his hand behind his back as he steps closer to Sumner, but not too close to invade the Occultist's personable space. His brown eyes begin to wander once more before he asks, "Mister Rouge, what are your thoughts on the creation of an alchemical potion that turns one into a Hyper Supernatural?" His voice entirely analytical. An index finger comes from behind his back pressing against the frames of his glasses and calmly clears his throat.

Sumner stares incredulously at Harry as if he didn't hear him right. "...Is that the very first thing you ask me? My thoughts on a potion to create a hypernatural? I trust you don't ever expect to work alongside me on such a thing. Let alone last very long within this organization if your cause is to become one. No, I will tell you nothing about my thoughts on the matter, and it is pronounced Rogue. Learn that."

Harry Harlow lets out an annoyed tick with a flick of his tongue as he addresses Sumner in a polite manner, "Apologies Mister Rogue, slip of the tongue." He says stepping away, towards the lab door, and ensuring to block the only exit from the room. The man palms his hands behind his back once more, shaking his head in disappointment, and lets out a resounding sigh, "I apologize once more sir, but I'm afraid I'm not here to wax duties much less professional expectations. I'll being needing the knowledge you have tucked away in that marvelous mind of yours to create the potion my Master demands of me. He wishes to create more of his kind, and you are the only man I could think of that has the workable knowledge to create such reagents to becoming evolved." His thought is ended with a hand slipping into his pocket and retrieving a dark red crystal. Harlow holds it up and begins to chant before the room dies in a static, effectively muting the room, and preventing any and all forms of communication.

Sumner thinks; 'You're fucking kidding me. You skunk rat bitch.'

"...Are you fucking me serious?" Sumner swears, throwing his hands into the air and paces back and forth in front of his counter. "So, you're here at the beck and call of some fool that desires to create more hypernaturals? And you come here into -my- domain to demand -me- to give you -my- knowledge to help your master do fuck knows what with a greater number of his kind? You've lost your mind if you think you're leaving here in one piece."

Harry reaches up to his mouth with a clenched fist, clearing his throat, and nodding to Sumner, "I agree, I'll more than likely die and I am possibly quite out of my mind mister Rogue, but that is neither here nor there. My Master bids and I must obey. Please do not make this difficult, if you would simply create the potion or simply provide me with an understanding I can be on my way and do as my Master commands. I have knowledge, but nowhere near your expertise. I wish you no personal harm, but I'm afraid I have little choice, and I will get the information out of you one way or another." He threatens with a straight face and calm voice and pulls out a desert eagle and holds it at his side, "Please?" Harry asks.

Sumner's jaw opens slightly as his attention draws to the gun in Harry's hand. His eyes turn back up to look the man in the eyes. "...What if I told you that I didn't know? That you've come here for absolutely no reason, and are now doomed to a grave fate at the hands of the nearest combatant as soon as you leave? Would that not make you despair? Because, unfortunate as it is, it is most certainly true. I have not the knowledge of the alchemical compound capable of transforming it's user into a hypernatural. Sorry, but you probably should have went after Augustus Inigo. He's far more knowledgeable than me on the matter, I'm sure."

Sumner thinks; 'Eat the bullshit, motherfucker, EAT IT AND GET THE FUCK OUT!'

Harlow pivots on his feet, looking to Sumner from his peripherals, and withdraws his red crystal once more, "Interesting, hmmmmm." He says looking at his libated crimson pebble before speaking once more, "While I am far less knowledgeable than you in the Occult I am more than an adequate Ritualist. I didn't want to waste precious blood on imprinting you but so be it." He mutters something faintly, causing the crystal to glow, and then a flaming uppercut of metaphysical prowess seeps into Sumner ‘s mind and hits him with an imprint that compels the Occultist to reveal his understanding of creating Abominations through alchemical means, "Now, please tell the truth and nothing but the truth Mister Rogue." Harlow says pocketing the crystal once more, pressing a digit against the frames of his oculars, and clearing his throat and looking at Sumner indifferently.

Sumner experiences the searing mental blow firsthand as if Liu Kang was here himself, causing him to grit his teeth as he recovers from the recoil. His eyes lock spitefully on Harry, and he begins to speak. "...Creating a hypernatural through alchemical means is a highly specific ordeal. One compound that might turn one into a hypernatural is highly unlikely to work on another unless their genetics are similar, such as in the case of identical twins. Beyond that, it requires constant experimentation to get the exact formula down. I should know... I've tried over eighty-thousand times..." The man grimaces as if disgusted with himself when he reveals the final part.

Harlow looks to Sumner curiously at the revelation, "Interesting, well perhaps you can simply whip one up? I'll take my chances whether it works or doesn't, or at the very least provide me with your notes. My Master isn't one to take failure likely and I'm afraid without your assistance I'll be doomed to a swift and complete death of my own. I can promise you this will not go past us, my Master has no interest in the who's of my tasks, just that I accomplish them. I'll be little more than one more ill memory and regret of yours." Harlow says with a cheeky smile, adjusting his bifocals again, and clearing his throat.

Sumner sucks his teeth, and paces over to a counter containing a Bunsen burner and a collection of stone bowls. Retrieving a chisel from tool-holder, he etches into the bottom of one of the bowls a ritualistic circle, and places it onto the burner. A nearby case is pulled towards him and sifted through. The occultist produces a small brain, and tosses it into the bowl. From a collection of test tubes he draws out one containing a transparent, pinkish fluid, and one containing a thick black one. He pours them into the bowl, mashes it up with pestle, and turns up the heat on the burner. The bowl bubbles quickly, and he carefully pulls it off using tongs. "This may or may not do the trick. Be extremely careful. Or don't, it doesn't much matter to me."

Harlow watches Sumner curiously as the Occultist goes about the assigned task of making the potion. Time passes slowly for the poor sod until Sumner finally comes from his duties. He looks between the provided substance and then to Sumner, "I hope you aren't trying to play me Mister Rogue because my Master will not settle until he has what he desires. Please understand it's best to just give me what I came for." He motions with the Desert Eagle towards the table, "Set it on the counter and step away." Harlow is careful to train the pistol at Sumner.

"Oh, I've given you exactly what you came here for," Sumner reassures Harry Harlow, placing the bowl onto the counter and backing away from it. "Make sure that you don't make it too hot. In fact, I've learned it's best that you blow on it to keep the temperature down. The exhaled carbon dioxide does wonders for the structure of the compound. If it doesn't work, try it on as many people as possible. It's bound to work on someone."

Harlow picks up the bowl as Sumner steps away. He eyes the compound, nods his head once, and slowly backs away from Sumner cradling the /potion/, "No hard feelings I hope Mister Rogue; we all answer to men and women we'd rather not." Says the bespectacled individual as he opens the door, looks both ways to make sure the ghost is clear, and finally throws Sumner an apologetic smile, "Enjoy your day sir." He says slipping out and more than likely unhindered unless Sumner takes personal actions, but as a friendly reminder the room has been essentially blacked out.

Sumner salutes the exiting man, a savage grin crossing his lips. "...I hope you enjoy. It's my most favorite brew. Bullshit." The man begins to cackle maniacally, crossing his arms before him and throwing his head back to achieve the full characterization of a 'mad scientist'. Sumner of course, says this once he no longer sees the man and mutters it under his breath.

A good five minutes must come and go, the tentative anticipation crawls on Sumner's skin, before the most predictable of outcomes reassures Sumner of his skills as Haven's very own Doctor Jekyll. Boom! Green Horizons upper levels shake briefly, screams heard by employees smoking in the parking lot, and curious denizens of the little quaint town report a /paste/ filled crater and scorch marks paint the road of Vine. Chatter fills the Occultist's ears from Hand intern's trying to sort through the matter as the blackout on the Alchemical Lab finally lifts. The man can sit smug knowing he just gained a level in the artistic ability of /human canvasing/. Because of Sumner's actions House Slytherin has been awarded one hundred points.

Having succeeded in his work, Sumner goes back to his more important work. "Perhaps next time they'll actually -think- before they send me another useless fool. They tend to end up dead." Sumner chuckles as he begins mixing chemicals over his counter.