\ Haven:Mist and Shadow Logs/SR Salvation 11012015 Hudson Porter

SR Salvation 11012015 Hudson Porter

01/Nov/2015: 12:36PM Haven: Mist and Shadow - Sunday, November 01, 2015, 12:36 PM

Hudson has accepted the encounter.
Your target has been flagged down by someone who wants their help getting their cat down from a tree.

Encounter Room

On Court Street
This area seems well populated.
It is afternoon, about 55F(12C) degrees, and there are a few grey clouds in the sky. In the
distance to the left of you the sun hangs in the sky. You can hear the sound of waves behind you.

Encounteree: Hudson Porter

This is a world-weary blond dude in his mid-twenties facing right.
You would judge him to be a 6.0 out of 10.
He is 5'9" and has an introvert's pallor, blonde hair, and blue eyes.
You can see his face, neck, and hands.
One of his thumbnails has a coat of bronze polish painted over it. His brow and forehead are
pronounced, the former marked with triangular naturally tidy eyebrows. He has a sturdy neck and
masculine knob of an adam's apple. A furrow threatens to crease over his nose in moments of study
and his nose has stately beginnings that come short at the end in just a bit of a snubbed fashion.
He has a straight mouth and his jawline is softened by stubble on most days though a scraggly beard
sometimes takes over. His chin has a very small squared end. A sweep of short sandy brown hair
cropped close enough to kill the curl has trimmed sideburns and a neat nape. He has pale blue
eyes, robin's egg in colour, with darker royal blue around the rim. Overall, he's a little on the
short side of average for a man, though only barely, with posture to make up for it.

Hudson is using:
(S) a black, shield-shaped arm patch
(D) a smooth olive woven buckled belt
(D) a pair of rugged khaki slacks
(D) a soft olive v-neck t-shirt
(D) a pair of grey and beige sneakers
(D) a black bracer with a device on top
(D) a multi-timezone rugged silver watch with scratchproof face

It's a rather nice, if brisk, afternoon in sleepy Haven, MA. Court street isn't any different,
though the trees (there's probably trees?) make it more earthy rather than urban. And so, when our
hero for the moment -- that'd be Hudson, you see -- sets out on his ... adventures ... it probably
is a bit jarring in the nice, brisk afternoon of early November when he comes upon a willowy girl
complaining up into the branches of one of the trees. Talking to it. Coaxing it. The tree.

Hudson pauses and looks at the tree, then the willowy girl, before approaching the tree and
wondering, with a look upwards, "Is uh... is it a cat in the tree?" he asks, sounding like this
sort of thing happens all the time.

"C'mon, kitty -- why the fuck are you up there anyways?" complains the girl, around Hudson's
height but looking very much like a particularly strong breeze might topple her over abruptly. She
makes grabby fingers at the branches, which look ... empty. Though there's a mewl in response.
Somewhere up there, it seems there's a kitten suffering the terrible fate of feline height-fear. "I
/told/ you not to go up th--
" Her train of verbalized thought is broken when Hudson speaks, the
girl shooting a narrow-eyed stare over her shoulder at him, the kind smart children give older
strangers who approach them under trees they're talking to like earthy hippy nutcases. "...yes."
"I'll get it down," Hudson says, with a sigh, jumping up in an effort to try to get to the
branch himself. He's short, for a guy built like him anyway, but he's hopping up towards it with
some fair athleticism.

While Hudson performs his feat of athletic heroism for the day, the girl continues complaining:
"I told James Dean not to go up there; I said it, he wouldn't want to come back down, he's too
little." This is clearly not a girl who's been told that, though they are a great companion for
millenia of human civilizations, cats cannot process thought and thus cannot understand when
someone is giving them sound advice.

The kitten in the branch goes up a level. It's not scared of climbing, apparently. Just ...
coming back down. Hudson does get that branch, though. Go him, with his vertically challenged

Hudson finally pulls himself up with a grunt, then wriggles his way on top of the branch and
grabs hold of yet another above him. "Hey," he tries to be soothing towards the kitten. "C'mere.
I'm not gonna hurt you," he coos.

The chattering of the girl continues, inane and a bit weird. She's weird. Meanwhile, her cat
peers down at Hudson with guileless stupid kitten eyes, the really light blue ones they have when
they're babies. Maybe Hudson smells like cat nip? James Dean the Kitten reaches out into the air to
bat at him in the cute way kitties sometimes bat at the air over their toys. Bat bat.

The Clocktower chimes: Bong, Bong.

"You're very cute," Hudson tells James Dean the kitten, melting against the tree a little. Then
he shakes his head, and climbs up a little further, offering his hand to the kitten as if to pet
it. "C'mere. C'mere."

James Dean the Kitten continues trying to use Hudson as a toy, his (probably a boy) oversized,
mottled brown foot swatting in earnest at the man's outstretched hand. Fingers make the best toys,
amiright? James Dean certainly thinks so. With nimble kitty balance, he rolls onto his back to
grasp Hudson's fingers in his big, stupid kitten feet, sinking his tiny, stupid kitten teeth into
Hudson's pallid skin and kicking his long, fluffy back feet. Kick. Kick kick. So cute.

"Ow," Hudson tells the cat, but he can't help but grin. This is a guy who likes kittens,
apparently. He wraps his fingers around the kitten's middle and lifts the poor thing, tucking it
towards him as he begins to drift down the tree.

James Dean the Kitten mrowls unhappily, indignantly, as he's lifted from the branch, but soon
finds Hudson's elbow just as much fun as his fingers and thus spends the time Hudson takes climbing
down kicking the joint and gnawing in mock-hunt on his skin. Back on the ground, his owner is still
babbling on about how she /warned/ him not to go up in the tree. She warned him. (Cat's don't talk,

"Ow," Hudson says to James Dean the kitten again, but it's a merry cry of pain, even as he
slides down the last of the branch and turns towards the crazy teenager owner. "Hey, uh... here's
Mister Dean."

There's a great sigh of relief from the girl, who reaches out to take her height-challenged
kitty companion back from Hudson, rubbing her face against his side and letting him bite her
eyebrow during their happy reunion. She peers one-eyed at Hudson with the same slightly
not-trusting peer she had before, but gives him a grudging, "Thanks, guy," before turning to trot
off down Court Street.

Congratulations, you've just saved a cat. There's probably some karmic reward for that.
Somewhere. In some universe. (Go down when you're ready!)

Hudson watches after, then awkwardly carries on.

01/Nov/2015: 01:15PM