Charlotte’s Tuesday morning odd encounter(Charlotte)

Date: 2025-06-24 09:10

(Charlotte’s Tuesday morning odd encounter(Charlotte):Charlotte)

[Tue Jun 24 2025]

An alleyway where reality doesn’t seem altogether correct
60Dark mahogany wood flooring gre61ets any visitor to this fo62yer, with planks diagonally facing and aligned, un61til it meets the corners of the wa60ll. Burgundy paint lurks on the top ha61lf of the wall with mahogany pan62eling separating it from the bottom half, with b61aseboards on the bottom. A chaise lounge so60fa is settled against the wall and a ch61andelier descends from the ceiling, pr62oviding light to the room. Victorian Sty61le paintings cover the wal60l, with Gothic elements added.

It is about 80F(26C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Mayflower and Darkwater/span

(Your target and their allies have been tasked with convincing a retired and burnt out faction member to come back to the fight.
)

Wow, what an incredible bar Kurt has found himself in. If he doesn’t get hepatitis from touching one of the tables, he’ll be a lucky man. The man he’s here to see doesn’t seem to mind, however. Seated at the bar, he’s clearly about three drinks into the bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey the bartender keeps re-pouring from…oh, and there he goes, making it four. “Another, Brandy?” he says, tone weary, and the woman just nods, giving him a heavy pour before going back to ineffectually cleaning the bar top. Our friend here doesn’t notice Kurt, too interested in finding the bottom of that bottle for the moment.

Kurt lets out a quiet sigh, shaking his head as he strolls into what is quite possibly one of the most dismal locales for a meeting one could imagine. Nevertheless, he’s here for a purpose. A vague one, perhaps, not made entirely clear to him by either the organizations he belongs to, but a purpose nonetheless. Strolling forward, the man comes to stand behind the quite thoroughly inebriated man at the bar, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Are there, perhaps, the answers to the great questions of life at the bottom of that bottle, or is this purely a recreational exploration you’re conducting here?”

All will be made clear, though Drunkard McSoused here starts off by simply eyeing Kurt and taking a sip of his whiskey. No response, because why would this guy show any sort of friendliness or manners? He’s here for a purpose and he will not be sidetracked. His eyes move down, however, and catch on Kurt’s signet ring. The effect is immediate – his shoulders tense, posture straightens, and he puts the glass down unnecessarily harshly. “Who sent you?” he asks, slurring a little. “I told them I was done.”

Kurt flits his gaze down to his phone for a moment, committing the data therein to memory, before looking back up to his apparent target. Ah, so that’s what this was. Good, old-fashioned arm-twisting. Well, better far familiarity than the alternative. With his goal clear before him, the vampire straightens his sleeves, tugging at the cuffs, before crossing his arms behind his back. Casual. Non-threatening. “You know who sent me, Mister Martin… And you and I are both very, very aware that no one is ever truly ‘done’, are they?”

Picking up his glass, Harvey takes another gulp of whiskey, then sets it back down, hands shaking. “They said I could just live” he replies, tone flat, face a mask of despair. I mean, is this…just living? Brandy has slowly sidled down the bar, putting a lot of space between herself, her customer, and the unsettling intruder into what was supposed to just be another day of dissolution. “They promised.” His voice cracks a little, but he pulls himself as together as he can in his inebriated state. “I won’t go back. I’ve given enough to that goddamn organization.”

Kurt lets out a quiet ‘tsk’, glancing over the bar and its patrons. Yet more of the same cloth. Despairing, disillusioned with one thing or another, drowning their sorrows solely for sake of seeing the next day. Living, of a sort. With that thought, and a raised brow, he continues. “Yes, you are… Certainly living, Mister Martin. But…” He clucks his tongue, brow quirking up some, “A place like this? Really? A man of your talents? I’ve read the reports, you know. Your star was on the rise, before that last operation.”

“And so you know those talents are long gone.” Mr. Martin replies, his glass empty. He holds it out, but Brandy stays at her end of the bar for now. It’s clear she doesn’t want to get close to whatever the fuck is happening here. Somehow managing to look even more defeated, the shell of a man puts the glass down and turns to look Kurt in the eye, grumbling “They said the curse was too complex to lift and gave me two options: slavery or retirement. Are you here to tell me I gotta go with option A after a decade of B?” He does NOT look thrilled by this idea.

Kurt chuckles softly, shaking his head. “If you’ll just stay and listen, Mister Martin, I assure you, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement.” There’s a peculiar inflection to the words ‘stay and listen’, as though some additional weight is placed behind those words. “Yes, your physical abilities have been sealed, Mister Martin, but I can *promise* you that you’re still of use. And, in fairness, ‘slavery’ isn’t an accurate term. We all have our place in the machine, Mister Martin. I’m only asking you to take your place.”

Wow, Kurt sure is persuasive. Shockingly, the man who a second ago had been ready to flee as fast (stumblingly) as his feet could carry him relaxes just a fraction. He sighs, defeated, and stares down at his empty glass, turning it round and round as he thinks. “What do they want with me?” he asks after a smooth 45 seconds of silence. “I don’t have a place in the machine anymore.” He’s morose, depressed, and lowkey turning this into a therapy session. “I’m nothing to them without my strength and such.”

Kurt flashes a soothing smile, canines retracted, a perfectly pleasant face. The kind who convinces you that yes, you *do* need to buy that extra MacGuffin for your fancy new car, doubling the price. Of course, it’s worth it. “Mister Martin… Say what you will of The Hand, but they are fair. They are good to those who are useful… And you and I both know that strength is hardly the only measure of usefulness, hm?” He drums his fingers on the bar, waving the bartender down with a raised hand, a wink, and a folded twenty. “I can’t claim to know what your place will be, Mister Martin, but I assure you, they want you back. Evidently, someone up top sees a use for you, hm?”

He’s not totally fooled, but it’s clear that this drunk mess isn’t getting any more liquor today. At this point, he might as well not exist to the bartender – damn, Brandy, he thought they had something. “I guess.” he replies, shoulders slumping. “I also guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” Sighing, he puts his head down on the bar, risking life, limb, and immune system. “Do I have to come into headquarters?”

Kurt lets out a soft chuckle, nodding once. “Can’t exactly task you out when you’re not there, Mister Martin. If I had to wager a guess, I’d like as not say they’re tying you in with the analytics side of things.” His voice takes on a soothing tone, “As I said, I read your reports. They were clever, perceptive, showed more initiative than a lot of other operatives display. Even if your abilities are gone, the mind isn’t. In that regard, Mister Martin… You’ll always be one of us, hm?”

Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is yet to be seem, but Mr. Martin seems resigned to his fate. After all, he did join the Hand. He knows what he was getting into. Getting off this stool, he nods. “I’ll see myself there.” Hope he isn’t driving!

Kurt nods as Martin walk… Stum- Oh, no, he fell. Nothing like the pain tolerance of the heavily inebriated. Regardless, he does in fact make his way out, with Kurt waiting a respectful few minutes before following out after him.

Surprise, surprise, he hasn’t managed to kill himself.