\ Haven:Mist and Shadow Logs/Sr Belle-Encounter-Pig In A Tie

Sr Belle-Encounter-Pig In A Tie

( OOC: Thank you for accepting the encounter. Please feel free to set with what your character is currently doing, and I'll take it from there! )

Marcus has been supervising illegal workers well into the night-time as they work on the skeleton of what will eventually become a small flat apartment with a loft above it. He seems a little pale, and exhausted from lack of sleep and illness but he's out here anyway. He stands idly buy, going over expense reports from some foreman as he smokes a cigarette with disregard.

Dressed in a well tailored business suit his face is at odds with, he seems here mostly to make sure the workers don't cut corners or steal, some stereotypical bias for them that Marcus doesn't hesitate to show.

One of the workers, a short but burly mexican man, comes up to Marcus, covered in sweat. He wipes his forehead with his palm, clearing away some dirt and grime. "Hey, ese," he says, his voice panting and tired. He's one of the stronger, more experienced workers on the job right now. "Es gettin late, boss. Do you think I could leave early? I haven't sat down to dinner with my family for as long as I can remember. Mi mujer is getting angry with me, si?"

Marcus looks up slowly from his sheets of information, bringing up the cigarette to his lips in a tight, two fingered grip. His nose flairs and smoke kind of puffs out from between his lips as he speaks in his rough and tumble British accent. "That's a real tear jerker, mate, but I'm quite lit'rally dying by the hour. If you don't finish by the deadline, you don't get your bloody bonus, doya? What's more important to you, some curry rice and beans with your mam, or being able to afford something new for a change, hrm?" He barely pays the man attention, only to look up again at the man with some apathy when he likely lingers.

The man ( whose names is Miguel, should you care to remember, ) looks a bit hesitant about the whole ordeal, his construction cap clutched in his hands, removing it around Marcus as a sign of respect. His short black hair slick and wet with sweat, knotted and unkempt. He looks down at his feet, frowning subtly. "Please, Mister Marcus, mi hermano, please," he begs. "My kids, they do not ever see me."

Marcus gives a quiet sigh, his eyes rolling briefly. "For what I pay you, you should be able to bring them over any day now. I offer work when nobody else will, and I offered to pay you for speed and quality." he points and pokes his finger at each emphasis, his smoke exhaling from his lips and the clutched cigarette leaving its own trail in the air. "I'm not your friend, or your homie, and not your her-man-oh. I'm your bloody boss." He turns his head then, coughing violently. It's clearly making him weak, his illness and it takes heam near a minute to stop. His face is reddened and he's taken a tissue from his sleeve, which comes away bloody and pghlemy as he hides it, and tucks it away. "You want to waste more of my time, eh?"

Marcus (Internally) for reasons he doesn't really understand, the merciless way he gives no cares for this man's pleas somehow helps him feel a little better, recovering from the cough a little easier at the man's potential suffering. Holding that money and immigrant status over the man's head brings him a personal sense of cruel satisfaction that lurks behind his eyes.

                Stat Report:Marcus
        he has Demonborn stat at 1.

Miguel's large, sad brown eyes follow the gesturing prods of Marcus's finger, each one hitting him right in the heart. Her fingers clutch tighter around his hat, and he gulps down some emotion. Slowly, he just nods. "S-si, senor..." He turns around to leave, but then stops, some stray idea in his mind has him halting in place. He slowly glances over his shoulder at Marcus, catching a secret glimpse of the man as he coughs. He turn around again, noticing the clear look of sick enjoyment in Marcus's eyes. "You are right. You are not mi hermano... No. Y-you are el diablo." He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small statuette of Saint Maria. "I quit, you greedy pig." He turns around, and heads off back towards the street.

On his way out of view, he can be seen kissing the old statue, faint words uttered in an ancient Mayan tongue. There's a subtle glow around the figurine, but soon, he's off in his truck, disappearing down the road.

Marcus watches with a momentary confusion, scowling at the man as he walks off but he almost seems ready to take no note of it. The glow catches his eyes, and a healthy sense of paranoia crosses into his face. His awareness seems on the cusp, but he soon writes off what he's seen and returns his attention to his paperwork.

Marcus thinks; "Bloody camera eh? Thinks he's gonna sue me, I'll bloody have him deported or facking packed in one of my outbound crates. Facking bloody unreliable help. Not going to be laughing when your check doesn't cash will ya?"

You begin to feel an odd tugging sensation in the tips of your fingers, and a tingle starts to work its way up your spine. There's a brief moment of vertigo that accompanies the beginning of these feelings, but it fades. Something feels off about the world around you, but you can't quite put your finger on it yet.

(Internally) The man's fear of him almost makes him feel normal a moment but it's a subtle thing that lies just under Marcus's conscious though he does let that scowl turn into a smile as thoughts run through his head. He sighs, and starts looking for the man's name which he can't quite recall in the list he's got somewhere for independant payouts. Then he's having a dizzy spell and the world seems to teeter for a moment. Blinking several times he works on trying to steady himself.

Marcus thinks; "Fuck me ... it's really closing in, innit? Bloody black lungs gonna do me in once n' for all."

Marcus moves to stand, but suddenly sits down after blinking several times. He shivers, and has to habitually readjust his suit lapel, tugging at the cuff of his sleeve as well, compulsively checking for his tissue. "Who wants to be the new head of shift?" He calls out suddenly, "Raise in pay but you work more! No fucking pansies!"

Is everything... taller? That's it. Everything around you seems just slightly bigger than it did before. This, apparently, was a bad time to call attention to yourself. All the workers look over to you, but instead of answering -- they gasp in horror! That wave of dizziness hits you again, but it comes with a realization: The world around you isn't getting bigger. YOU'RE getting smaller. Your fingers tighten, and begin to pull in, shrinking against the palms of your hands until they disappear, while you feel your skin getting thicker and heavier, and to your surprise... Much, much pinker. Your body twists and contorts, and you can feel your bones and muscles breaking and re-arranging inside you.

Marcus doesn't really know what to make of what's happening all of the sudden. His mind begins to panic and he's struggling to move to stand up and back away from whater THE FUCK this is going on about. But he can't, he tripping in his clothes, stumbling and falling onto .. fours? HOOVES? The pain forces out a scream but it squeals out instead.

Marcus (Internally) a sudden flash of Val Kilmer in Willow flies through his mind in his pain-laced delerium drawing his panic even closer to the surface.

Marcus thinks; "This is a facking dream, bloody fuck- *incoherent garbled thoughts of pain and confusion*"

                Stat Report:Marcus
        he has Occult Knowledge stat at 0.

You get smaller and smaller as your hands harden into hooves, your body becoming that of a fat, pot-bellied pig. Your clothes fall off you during the transformation - save for your tie, which stays wrapped securely around your new pig neck. So there you are, a pig in a tie, stomping and squealing over the pile of your discarded clothes as your workers scream and run off into the night, leaving you utterly alone.

Things don't seem right, and Marcus finds it hard to focus or think. It's purely driven panic and maybe some animal instinct now that drives him to wriggle and writhe free of the clothing and begin running about as the workers all flee into the night. In his state, he smacks into walls, crashes through tarps and tools. Knocking over paint cans that spill all over the recently stained floors and all the while squealing out. He spins, turns and scrabbles until he finally finds the doorway out. Out into the darkness of the forest surrounding. Cowering at the edge of the light bleeding out of the doorway, the swine scrabbles back inide to start the panicing process all over again!

Marcus thinks; "*thoughts are harder to form, mostly devolving into fight or flight instincutal firings of the brain*"

Though you may now be stuck in the body of a pig, your mind is exactly the same. It takes a bit of adjusting, but soon you feel comfortable piloting your new quadruped form. Your hooves are indeed hard as rocks, and your thrashing does plenty of damage to nearby furnishings and tarps, ripping right through them. You panic and panic, but it soon sets in that this hex isn't going away anytime soon. At least not by itself.

(Internally) Marcus may very well find himself stuck this way until the magic of the hex begins to wane. The latent touch of the Fallen on his soul isn't something he is attuned to, (innate) and even as his mind begins to calm he can only think to cower in the dark for now. His mind scrambles for a logical explanation but of course there isn't one. Calming enough to grow still at least for now.

The pig finally grows still as it manages to regain it's faculties though it also seems very much at a loss for what to do. Clip-clopping more carefully around the site, he finds only the door to the outside open to him. Moving back outside again he sits at the edge of that light, Marcus's piggy flesh trembling to take the step beyond, uncertain of what else to do.

Marcus may eventually try to make for his automobile that's parked close by though only for the familiarity of it as he can make no use of even trying to get into the thing for safety. Perhaps he just wants to check on it, in spite of everything the material nature of his soul wanting to ensure the disgruntled mexican didn't try to damage his vintage car.

Marcus thinks; "Fucking ... in the dark. I ... no fuckin' way. She said she could find me a bloody cure not I could be turned into a FACKING PIG!"

You hear a familiar 'ding' from nearby, recognizing it as your phone notification sound even through those pink pig ears. It's lying on the ground near your pile of discarded clothes, the screen lit up. Unfortunately, it's just a notification for a spam e-mail that somehow got through to your inbox. Your vehicle, of course is right where you left it, in whatever condition you left it. Perhaps a pig as intelligent as yourself could accomplish feats no normal pig could ever dream of?

As you wander, however, you do notice someone has vandalized one of the walls of the construction site. "OINK OINK MISTER MARCUS" is written in large pink spray paint. The handwriting isn't recognizable, but there was only one person who called you Mister Marcus: Miguel.

Some people might wonder about atonement. Not so, with Marcus. His ire even as a swine rises and his anger overrides what might potentially be the smarter play. His hooves click and clack back into the house to be, and the pig scrabbles up what speed it can to knock into the little makeshift table that he's left his paperwork on. That list of independant payouts ... it might have addresses on them! Grunting and squealing, he'll ram and again, hoping to knock them down or knock the table over.

(Internally) In his mind as foolish as it seems, he envisions his pig snout grunting and pulling at the flesh of that fucking Mexican's throat, round stubby teeth making it worse or just gnawing off his fucking fingers. This sight and a haze of red really dominates Marcus's decision making process right now.

Your thick pig skull can apparently take a good beating, and the leg of that wooden table cracks some, before a flutter of papers scatter down onto the ground around you. There's a lot of information there, but if you wrote it down, you can find it. All addresses, phone numbers, names, etc, fully documented in your notes.

The sound of papers shuddling about and being stepped on to get shifted through is loud. Tearing and moving and then Marcus finds it! Each check has to has an address on file for the I-99 independant contract worker information and he begins scanning it until he can find Miguel's listed address. When he does there's a loud squeal and before he's even thinking it through he's scrambling for the door. He makes it back to his car before skidding to a halt before remembering and realizing he can't fucking well drive it.

Marcus thinks; "FUCK! No ... I'll facking trot down the goodamn road. I'll fucking rip ... I'll fuck his goddamn mother with my pig dick! *more ragey thoughts devolving into darker and worse.*"

With no alternative ... Marcus takes himself down the road. He's well outside the main focus of town but the address itself may (hopefully) likely be outside of town as well or perhaps down by the local trailer park. Wherever it is he resigns himself to a LONG walk.

(Internally) No matter how smart, Marcus doesn't think he'll manage driving a car as a pig. He's no Babe or Charlotte's web Pig.

Miguel, it seems, has been receiving his cheques at the Antler's for the time being. Not that close, but not impossible. You definitely feel like you can hoof it. The roads are dark and empty at this time of night, though a few cars do pass you as you clop down the side of the road, the headlights briefly blinding your teeny, black, beady little pig eyes. You notice that your sense of smell is incredible, and that you can differentiate several different scents floating through the air. You can -smell- your house, identifying it as the smell of sawdust and plywood and construction chemicals. You can even smell some nearby squirrels, trails of gasoline, and what you think is a human scent. Suddenly though, you feel a growing sensation. You need to pee!

Marcus grunts occasionally, smaller squealing sounds as he has to deal with passing cars. The sound of them likely scares him over closer to the edgs of the roads as they pass. It takes him a moment to register that sense of smell but when he does it's almost enough to take his mind from its rage bound focus. The growing need that livens the call of nature grabs his attention a little more forcibly though. With an angry kind of sound he turns to move, and lets loose as he trots opting to pee on the move.

(Internally) Marcus feels the annoyance of having to deal with this humiliation and now the need to pee sets his rage all over again. Even as it may me be messy, he pees as he moves, that red haze setttling over his mind again. Even as he likely will soil himself of a fashion, the only thing that continues to motivate him is the thought of making Miguel pay. Strangey, the thought of feeling his blood gushing is appealing, almost tantalizing to him now.

Peeing out of your tiny pig genitals is a strange new sensation, but it's definitely easier to do while on the move, and the freedom of being apart of nature saves you from any shame. You keep making progress down the road, passing all sorts of strange scents as you go. However, as you advance towards a dark corner of the road near some farmland, you catch a new odor. It's strange and mangy, and the second you pick it up you hear something barking at you. A furious growl sounds out from your left, and a stray dog stalks out from the darkness. Its teeth are bared, but it's almost half a size smaller than your fat pig body. You can tell it wants to eat you.

(Internally) The first IMMEDIATE instinct running through his new brain is to RUN! But the human intelligence quickly decides that he can't possibly outrun this dog on his fat piggy legs. Remembering the table, Marcus settles into the grim possibility that he'll have to scrap with the dog. Half of him cringes at the possible pain, the dog ripping into the soft underbelly or clamping down on one of his legs ... but another portion of him almost wants to get it over with, to fling his much heavier body at this dog and crush it ... listen to it struggle to breathe under his weight.

Marcus cringes instantly and for a moment it seems like the pig will sprint away, try foolishly to escape the much faster dog as all of its instincts say to run away as fast as he can. He turns though after that moment's pause, grunting loudly. Hesitantly, but with enough squeal to be loud to a dog's ears for sure. Bracing himself for the worst he Tries to jerk his pig body forward through the fear freezing him in place, ready to use that weight against the smaller dog even if it costs him.

Marcus thinks; "All I can do is try to crush him, Fack ... he's gonna make me a rasher of bloody bacon"

The dog seems a bit taken aback by your loud, confident squeal, and it takes a hesitant step back. It yips a little in fear, but stands its ground. It had expected you to be squealing prey, but it was wrong. It launches at you the second you rush at it. Its paws seem to be ineffective at cutting you, but its teeth gnash into the side of your leathery skin - you bleed, but your body is tougher and thicker than you thought. Your pighide is almsot like armor. The dog gets a good bite in, but your sheer weight sends it flying back after, and it tumbles over the asphalt, hitting its head. It looks injured too, but it gets back up, ready for more.

(Internally) Even this is kind of making him angry, and feeding into his rage. ANother fucking obsticale. If he manages to make it to this fucker's place somehow alive he can't help but letting a portion of Marcus's brain plot revenge involving razors or bleach or possible a car battery, even now as he needs to focus. Still the immediate gratification of discovering he's not as soft as he suspected does begin to provide it's own very appealing merits to him in that rage.

Marcus thinks; "Fine pup ... if I can take it, then I can fuckin' dish it out can't I?"

There's loud squealing as those nails rake into his side and Marcus doesn't give the dog a whole lot of time to recover as it gets back up, pressing what desperate advantage he does have! He flings his weight and lowers his thick pig skull trying to barrel into the dog like a wild boar. Marcus thinks; "If only I had tusks .. no ... no fucking wait. I"M NOT A FUCKING PIG."

The dog doesn't have time to recover before you're ramming your fat pink head into the poor animal, and it goes tumbling again, further down the road... Right into the path of incoming headlights. HONKK HONKK. The truck's horn bursts through the street, but it's too late. POP. The dog is crushed, splattering into a pancake of roadkill as that truck barrels over it. The car skids to a halt, and both the passenger side and drivers side doors open. Two heated voices yell at eachother in spanish from within the vehicle, one female, one male.

The spanish at least catches his attention, and suddenly Marcus is whipping about and lifting his snout up a little. Does he recognize these two as possible workers? Was their truck coming or going? It's hard to say but he does try to grin broadly even though his face can't, HEARING that dog pop and smelling the blood on the air is like a balming compress to his spirit at least for a second.

(Internally) If the truck seems like it might be on it's way INTO town ... Marcus will work around the back. He'll at least try to jump though that's likely a no go. But if he find any scrabble he'll slip into the truck bed perhaps. If they leave the car door open he may slip into the back seat if he can do so unoticed, as they inspect the front of the vehicle.

The truck, it seems, is heading out of town. The truck is indeed familiar, as you just saw it pull away from your house not too long ago. The woman is unfamiliar, and she's dressed oddly, you think, in some sort of Mayan Gothic chic black dress. The man, however, is dressed rather normally. Sort of like a construction worker. Because it's Miguel. The two continue to argue in spanish, their voices getting louder and louder, more and more frustrated.

[STalk] Marcus: '... are they standing in front of the truck? LIke ... looking at the headlights and the grille etc?' Miguel is looking at the pancake of a dog underneath his tire, while the darkly dressed woman seems to be searching the area, circling the truck.

The sudden change of thought as he realizes this is who he seeks after all ... he tries desperately to climb into the truck itself, the driver's seat. Marcus looks to discover if the shifter is on the floor or on the steering column if he can make it up there.

Marcus doesn't even notice the woman having circled around the side of the truck.

Marcus thinks; "Fuckin run you over, just like that fucking dog ..."

Marcus thinks; "Fucking stubby pig legs,bloody fucking truck step ..."

Marcus (Internally) thinks he'll only manage if the truck has one of those silver step ups that you sometimes see.

The shifter is on the steering column. The woman screams something out in spanish, having spotted you. "Dios mio," grumbles Miguel, his teeth greeting as she starts to make a run for the driver's side seat to intercept you. Seems they came back looking for you.

With a loud, ear-splitting squeal of rage, Marcus tries to manage the shifter, butting his head into it the only real option he has but he doesn't manage very well, as this kind of shifter has to be pulled inward. Still, he does his very best and any kind of give to the shifter will prompt him to drop down into the footwell of the driver's side looking to stamp into the gass pedal with his entire weight. If the truck doesn't move he'll bolt for the exit and escape almost certainly too late to succeed so strong is his desire to hurt this man who's hexed him.

(Internally) really is focused on hurting the man, even as he thinks that that might not get him back to his usual self at ALL, he doesn't seem to care RIGHT NOW. This may be one of the first times Marcus has really felt the inner rage come up in full as normally he's a bit of a cold hearted bastard.

Unfortunately, the parking break is on, the car letting out a grinding groan at the conflicting instructions its getting. Soon, however, Miguel is on you, his large, strongly muscled arms trying to grapple around your neck -- but her misses, grabbing you around the ass instead. The woman, however, is muttering some odd language, a pendant around her neck glowing with a magical light. Miguel struggles to keep you in his grip, but soon you find yourself suddenly weakened, your joints throbbing with pain as energy is just zapped from your body. Once like that, Miguel hogties you with a rope, and throws you into the back of the truck. Soon, you're driving down the road, towards your house, as the two mutter in spanish in the front.

Marcus squeals and writes but it HURTS. Soon enough he's exhausted and this transformation hasn't done anything to remove the years of pain and growing illness he's dealt with. Soon enough he's limp in the truckbed, barely enough energy within him to move.

Marcus thinks; "Fuck ... fuck ... Add ... bitch ... wha? *the pain picks up and his thoughts are soon just focused on managing the pain*"

After a long, bumpy ride, you're being tugged out of the back of the truck bed and brought back to where you were transformed, the two setting you down on your pile of clothes. Miguel sighs, and just nods towards the woman. She kneels before you, looking you straight in the eyes. "I apologize for mi esposo, gringo." She closes her eyes, her fingers touching against the opulent gem in her ancient-looking pendant. She mutters a few words, and soon, you're slowly changing back, completely nude save for your tie. The throbbing weakness in your body remains, however.

Marcus shudders from the pain of the transfomation back. As his body continues to change, his humanity returning the coughing hits him like a storm. Even through some of her apologies, the coughing is thunderous racking his naked chest and body and he can't even manage to make it more than his hands and knees. The coughing brings up sputum, yellow and sickly and heavily flecked with large chunks of black. Blood too, spattering against the floor in the kind of amounts that speak in no uncertain terms to the man's expected remaining life span. "Bloody ... fuckin' ... " gasps perferate each word, and more coughs that leave him little more than a trembling mess. "Will ... " he can't finish the thought but even now he seems angry, struggling to rise to the rage that he has no energy for like it burns him from the inside.

The two linger over you, waiting for you to speak more. The woman especailly seems interested in your reaction to the situation, and patiently observes you as you start to recover.

Marcus trembles among his clothing, and as he struggles to make his feet he finds he really, just can't. He finds what he's been looking for, a silvery butterfly knife from his jacket pocket. His hand clasps it white-knuckle tight though it's closed and in that grip no way to open it. "Be ... " still struggling for breath and to even make a full knee. It doesn't even dawn on him to be embarrassed for being naked. "sorry" he grunts. "If I ever see you again" he manages. It's almost pitying, him trembling to find one knee, clutching the near useless knife in his hand his bravado and anger all that armors him. "Fuck" is all he can muster after, his body almost falling again as more coughs threaten to wreck him from the inside.

The adroit woman does not seem threatened by your knife at all. In fact, she tilts her head at it, as if reaching for it at all were a sign of weakness to her. She hums out a low sound, and easily kicks it from your hand with a side sweep of her foot. "He does not seem aware to me, mi amor," she tells Miguel, sounding a bit irritated by that fact. She gives her husband a cruel look, and Miguel just says, putting his hands up in defense. "I was angered, Rosa... I acted foolishly." The woman just shakes her head, and kneels down beside you, gripping your chin to make eyecontact with you. "Do you know what has happened here tonight, gringo?"

Marcus grunts, the grip on his chin forestalling a rack of coughing but his throat growls out low. "Yeah. Your husband just ruined your life" he spits, that rage still clinging to his foggy brain. "I'm going to make sure of it! Eye en fuckin' ess is gonna be kickin' in your FUCKING door!" The vehemence of the word does bring a cough to his lips, and to his credit, he jerks his head suddenly. If the surprise is enough to leave him free his cough will direct downward, more blood in the phlegm. If not ... she might get a faceful. His words are half-hearted from weakness and spit with a sullen resentment. Not a man easily willing to admit defeat even in the face of it, and definitely pettiness laced into them.

Marcus thinks; "Must've dosed me ... or fucking ... fucking ..."

The woman retches, pulling back just in time to avoid any blood, though some does splatter against her wrist."I am cleaning up your messes everywhere, mi amor," Rosa says to an ashamed looking Miguel, "At home, -and- outside." The woman catches your eyes then, and before you know it, you're in a pacified trance. The woman enters your mind, rearranging things, and soon you black out. When you awake, you'll remember the events as if they happened in a dream. However, Miguel does not return to work the next day, or ever, and though your clothes were put away and your place was was as tidy as you left it... A few tarps were missing, and you swore you can make out the imprint of a hoof smashed into the leg of your table.

Marcus (Internally) tries to come up with that rationalizing thought but he can't ... and it terrifies him.,

Marcus enjoyed the encounter very much, and thanks you!!

Cheers, thanks for comin'! STalk up and I can summon you back to any intersection you want.