Ekaterina’s Saturday morning odd encounter(Ekaterina)

August 23, 2025

Date: 2025-08-23 11:29

(Ekaterina’s Saturday morning odd encounter(Ekaterina):Ekaterina)

[Sat Aug 23 2025]

At Church and Hart/span>/spanmorning/span>/span77F(25C) degrees, and there are clear skies. The mist is heaviest At Mayflower and Washington/span>/spanNadav is on his way to the Temple Security building, loaded down with a rifle and a shotgun visible on slings on his body and of course a dark black tactical turtle neck.

(Your target discovers a cursed mirror in an antique shop that shows them glimpses of their possible futures – each one darker and more corrupted than the last. When they try to leave, they find the shop exists partially outside normal space, and the elderly shopkeeper reveals themselves to be a fae collector of “interesting possibilities.” The character must either bargain their way out, break the mirror’s hold on them, or risk becoming another piece in the collector’s gallery of “what might have been.”)

As Nadav travels the streets of New Haven, armed to the teeth and packed for manticore, he finds himself caught by a curious conundrum.

Passing through Church and Hart, someone notices a shop that shows on no maps. It’s certainly not unusual, the city-between does this from time to time, but what is unusual for the Templar is the unusual nature of such a thing here-and-now.

The shop front itself appears perfectly normal. It is art-deco, red-bricked and styled like a 40s antique shop out of a neo noir. Shadows gather around the windows, and though the light is warm and inviting from within, the door is wide open and inviting, it is possibly too inviting. It calls to Nadav It lures him.

As Nadav travels the streets of New Haven, armed to the teeth and packed for manticore, he finds himself caught by a curious conundrum.

Passing through Church and Hart, Nadav notices a shop that shows on no maps. It’s certainly not unusual, the city-between does this from time to time, but what is unusual for the Templar is the unusual nature of such a thing here-and-now.

Nadav is not one to pass up an omen, in fact he believes in them quite sincerely. When one is heading towards a meeting to train, loaded with weapons, and passes a mysterious store in a mysterious town with shadows in the windows… You do not ignore it, but instead answer the call. Reaching up to his ear he taps in, “I am checking something out, Church and Hart, storefront old style decor.” and then the levantine man does his best to at least hide the shotgun within his oversized jacket, the barret rifle, no chance… through the door and a white toothed smile, a mask for whomever is inside, and a clipped delivery “Hello. What is this curious place?”

“Understood.” Ekaterina responds over coms. “Let me know if you need backup, da.”

As Nadav advances, there’s a shimmer– The shop front changes before the man’s eyes. It’s still where it was, but proximity has changed the red brick to rough grey stone. The lights are still welcoming, inviting, luring, but just before Nadav enters, the illumination itself becomes transformative.

From the intersection, it appeared to be the soft halcyon of electric lighting. Now though, on the figurative and literal door step, it is obviously candle light.

Equally, the city-between, New Haven’s streets appear curiously dull, almost miasmal, the air itself turbid, muddied as though watercolor ruined by exposure.

Once Nadav enters, the door– A solid oaken door that Nadav knows full well -should- be to his side slams shut from without, the perspective shifting, warping, changing to something new.

Ahead of Nadav is an elderly woman. Plump, white-haired– She cant be much taller than five foot. European features, bright clothing, romani, the jewellery to marry to the aesthetic.

She stands behind a counter that is clear, uncluttered save for a single book before her, its leather cover cracked with age.

As the man smiles to her, the elderly lady returns it, her smile somehow wrong, though it takes a second look to check.

Around Nadav are a series of items, all eclectic, all alien in their own ways– Here a clock, there a tin soldier with the features of a tiger, there a set of three tea pots with oriental designs. But the one that captures Nadav’s attention is free-standing. It calls to Nadav, its gilded frame supporting the body, a full-sized mirror that reflects Nadav in full glory. It is, beyond any shadow of a doubt, supernatural in nature, the script around its edges beset with occult looking symbology and runic etchings.

Entering the storefront Nadav does not seem to be fully aware of the shift and shimmer. It registers of course, the man is suspicious, he knows what New Haven is, but a lack of occult knowledge or perception lets such things skip off his awareness at times especially when being supernaturally lured as he likely is. The european white-haired woman looks a look but she does not reply to him so he just offers that white-toothed smile, the fact she is romani well… Who is he a jewish man to judge a romani.

As those hazel eyes scan the interior he finally lays his attention on the free standing and reflective mirror. Moving towards it his brow furrows. Unable to even begin to guess what it might be used for or how it might be magical or whether it is even magical the man simply says, “Are you selling this?”

“That is the question.” Now the woman does answer, and her voice is cracked, ancient, though shockingly clear. It sounds like cracked paper and the crackle of leaves in autumn.
someone The mirror for its part does -nothing- It’s just a mirror, of course. It’s a clear surface backed with a shimmering argent silver bright enough to reflect Nadav.

“What is it worth to you, dear?” the woman asks, coming to stand beside Nadav The rifle doesn’t seem to bother her, but with proximity, the autumnal sensation only grows. It’s a scent like camp fires, spices and chill air that lingers around her, oh-so-natural, but at the same time oh-so-very wrong for all of that.

Still, more curious than this is Nadav’s reflection. As the man looks on, he sees himself, yes, though it’s different– wrong– discombobulatingly twisted. As for the reflection of the woman?

The woman’s reflection doesn’t appear, and somehow, the room that the mirror reflects is not this shop front with its curios and nicnacks, but Church and Hart. Nadav stares back at Nadav the real, true Nadav, and there’s something not right in that gaze. It’s nothing physical. It’s not in the aesthetics, but in the ambiance. Nadav knows himself. This version of Nadav’s differences are in the unseen things, in the ephemeral.

“That is the question.” Now the woman does answer, and her voice is cracked, ancient, though shockingly clear. It sounds like cracked paper and the crackle of leaves in autumn.

The mirror for its part does -nothing- It’s just a mirror, of course. It’s a clear surface backed with a shimmering argent silver bright enough to reflect Nadav.

Still, more curious than this is Nadav’s reflection. As the man looks on, he sees himself, yes, though it’s different– wrong– discombobulatingly twisted. As for the reflection of the woman?

Nadav looks at the reflection, himself, the outside, and then turns to look at the old european romani. “I do not know if I like it, it does not show a true reflection. What is this, I am seeing in the mirror.” he asks and for some reason perhaps it is the space or his own curiousity but he does not address the shop itself, its shifting appearance, or the fact it is not even suppose to be at this intersection. He merely tries to understand this mirror, that calls to him so.

The Nadav in the mirror shifts again, even as the real Nadav speaks to the old woman, and now he sees something else; The Nadav reflected is yelling, but not at this woman. No. He’s yelling, spit flying to one of the NHSD. The background tells the tale in full. There was a car crash, and it’s at Church and Hart.

The reflected Nadav is threatening, but not in a controlled way. It’s -wrong-. It’s twisted.

The old woman stands beside the man serenely, and as Nadav sees her reflection for the first time– fleeting though it is– she is right here, with Nadav beside her. Her aura appears to be clouded by falling leaves in that reflection, and transiently her age, hair color and build shifts from maiden, to mother, to crone.

“This piece does tell the truth, dear.” she grates, and to Nadav’s ear, that too shifts from cool and clear, to worn, to that crackle of dry paper and crackling leaves. “It’s -a- truth. A possibility. This is what it is used for. Do you not like what you see?”

Now, Nadav’s reflection is walking through Church and Hart. It’s raining, he looks grim, a hat pulled low, his coat tugged close. The Nadav in the reflection seems worn, pale, sick.

Nadav turns back from the woman to the mirror, the allure of it, the mystery overriding the common sense in his mind. He may be a Templar but there is no clear corruption or obvious peril here. He has cultivated a hatred of people, not things, and so he continues with the conversation for now, “I do not. I am not there, I am not that man. I am here, I am this man.” he insists with a lick of his lips as he steps closer to the mirror, one hand reaching out… to touch the pane of glass. “Why does it show possibility, these are just reflections of could have beens and never were’s.

“These are things that may and could be if cultivated.” the woman counters, and now, from the corner of Nadav’s gaze, she’s a younger brunette, moss-green eyes, pointed ears, antiquated clothing. She smiles to someone. “The mirror is a gateway- A gateway to the soul. It shows you the grim and the cruel– But one of the set.”

Her reflection is gone now, but the Nadav in the reflection is, too. He reaches as the true Nadav does. Fingers touch– reflection to true, and the Nadav beyond the glass seems to smile at the connection.

He seems so very alone. So very pained… so very corpse-like.

Nadav blinks and the reflection likewise does, the version of Nadav beyond having rotting fingers. He is a whight.

“You have to choose.” the woman– now a redhead tells Nadav, and now she is taller than he– A fae, flegmatic and transient in form and mien. “Do you wish to keep these versions of yourself? Or may I have them?”

The question for all of its innocence has weight to it. The weight of age and meaning, the temptation a bargain and a lure.

The reflected Nadav’s fingers spread, his palm– blooded and cold pressing against the hand of the true Nadav. His lips move, and blood tracks blead across his cheeks. He’s mouthing something, though the words are lost.

Church and Hart is dark behind him, the lights glinting off of ragged clothing and pained need, and that is when the lure flickers away– A lingering thought. The stream of consciousness broken and fluttering away, Nadav left with that single simple question. Does he wish to keep these possible futures? May the fae keep them? It is, after all, only possibility…

“These are things that may and could be if cultivated.” the woman counters, and now, from the corner of Nadav’s gaze, she’s a younger brunette, moss-green eyes, pointed ears, antiquated clothing. She smiles to Nadav. “The mirror is a gateway- A gateway to the soul. It shows you the grim and the cruel– But one of the set.”

He seems so very alone. So very pained… so very corpse-like.

Nadav blinks and the reflection likewise does, the version of Nadav beyond having rotting fingers. He is a whight.

The question for all of its innocence has weight to it. The weight of age and meaning, the temptation a bargain and a lure.

Does Nadav even recognize this being is a fae or is he so entranced and horrorified by the possibilities the wight and the undead. Something tugs at his mind, “Have them?” and his lips pull into a frown, his hand drawing back and curling into a fist. “I would they never existed, they never happen, they were not even remembered.” the list of things he wants quickly goes from simply listing them to being angry as he tries to punch the mirror and shatter the glass. “I would not want anyone to have them, not me, not you, not anyone. They should not exist, these abominations!”

Nadav speaks and it is as if this insidious spell is broken; There’s a popping sound, the world spins around him and the woman beside him discorperates into rainbow smoke.

Nadav’s fist flies, it impacts the mirror and instead of it shattering, it ripples like the surface of a pond.

Miriad images flash, distort and warp, splattered by waves of greater, more ruinous horrors as the point of impact continues to flurry outward, the ringed echoes of possibility exploding, coriscating into an infinity of ideas– things that might be– possibilities and never would be.

It’s somehow enough though. Nadav’s statement is taken as answer. The fae being is gone, the mirror slowly ripples, flickers, then vanishes from view, Nadav being left alone on the side of the road.

Church and Hart– Not as it -could- be, but as it is. Nadav stands beside a crossing, the light red, the various vehicles of the New Havenites paused, horses, cars, trucks and more. The sounds, sights and scents of city life– Nadav has succeeded in what ever this was, his intention clear, his heart somehow lighter, his future in his hands, not that of another.

The world returns to as it was, and Nadav is able to continue about his business.

Nadav reaches up to his ear and speaks, “Sorry. I am en route now. Just had to check something that never was.” and with that he continues on to his sparring meetup, it has only been an hour or so surely they are still waiting!