Lillian’s Sunday afternoon odd encounter(Amber)
Date: 2025-09-07 14:23
(Lillian’s Sunday afternoon odd encounter(Amber):Amber)
[Sun Sep 7 2025]
At Carnation and Madison/span>/spanafternoon, about 64F(17C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. The mist is heaviest At Mayflower and Prospect/span>/span(Your target discovers a cursed object in a thrift shop that begins granting their minor wishes in increasingly twisted ways. They must figure out how to break the curse before the escalating monkey’s paw effects become lethal, all while keeping the object from falling into worse hands.)
As Lillian wanders the streets, crowded on a weekend afternoon, she finds her eyes drawn to a thrift store that looks older than the surrounding buildings. Nobody is entering or leaving, but there’s a sign denoting a going-out-of-business sale and a few cute little trinkets visible in the window.
Well, Lillian does love trinkets. And places that draw the eye are just more interesting to her by default. So why not? She heads on inside the thrift shop to browse.
The shop is small. Quaint. It is a thrift store, though the decor is all wrong for it. Might be why they’re going out of business. But beyond the display in the front, there are a few strange trinkets lined up near the back. While Lillian isn’t an expert with magic, she does feel some real magic coming off one of them. Some decorative thing that seems almost tailored to catch Lillian’s eye yet further.
Lillian is a curious soul. Amber -did- call her a catgirl, so maybe it shouldn’t be too surprising. Anyway, that means she drifts over toward the magical trinket and gives it a closer look.
It’s a little ceramic panther, though the price is a sticker on the underside of a paw.
Lillian really can’t help herself now. A panther? This was made for her. She picks it up and checks the price.
As if Lillian’s desire is made manifest, the pricetag reads ‘FREE’ once Lillian is able to read it.
Well… Lillian is just going to take it. She picks it up and browses for anything else of interest before deciding upon leaving.
On the way out, another customer – where did he come from? – approaches Lillian, “Hey, are you really just gonna walk out with that?”
Lillian holds up the trinket so that the sticker on its paw is visible to that customer. “It’s free. Why wouldn’t I?”
The man opens his mouth as if to respond, but his phone starts ringing. He steps out of the way, finally, as he takes the call. As Lillian departs, she can hear him inside, “Wait- slow down. What kind of accident?” But then the door is closed, and the day is free for Lillian to do whatever she WISHes this Sunday afternoon.
Lillian grins, pleased, and puts the trinket away in a pocket. She then marches on down the street, deciding that today will be a good one.
And just before Lillian crosses at the next crossing, a car zooms through far too fast, rear-ending another into the crosswalk right in front of Lillian. Both drivers seem to be unconscious from the impact. Pedestrians look on in horror, but no one seems to consider calling 911. “Oh shit, gas leak!” one kid announces, and sure enough it’s dribbling out from where the cars collided.
Lillian is startled at first — she didn’t expect that! — but the kid’s announcement snaps her back into reality. She rushes up to the cars. First thing’s first, actually getting into them. If there’s any damage to the windows or windshields, she’s breaking those to get to the drivers.
It’s easy. So easy. The door comes off like cardboard. But it lands where Lillian isn’t looking, sending a spark into the path of the gas leak.
Ah, fuck. Well, if Lillian isn’t looking then she’s not noticing. Nonetheless, she understands a gas leak is happening, and the less time everyone spends exposed to it the better. So she works on pulling each driver out as quickly as possible to take them somewhere safer, like… across the street.
Lillian’s wish to be a hero is fulfilled, though it backfires. The crowd backs up when they see the flames start. Lillian is only just able to get clear with the first driver before an explosion engulfs the reckless driver. Most of the crowd take a moment before cheering her own, unaware that the curse in her pocket caused the death and explosion. Lillian knows, though, as the explosion sent shrapnel an inch from her face just moments ago, that something is very wrong.
“Fuck!” Lillian mutters under her breath. She is being celebrated as a hero, sure, but she doesn’t deserve this celebration. She wasn’t -really- a hero. She fucked up and someone died! She makes sure that at least the one driver is fine and then sees if she can figure out what that very wrong something is.
As Lillian slips away from the crowd, a man is running up to her. It’s the owner of the shop from earlier. “Miss! Miss, you left without coming to the register. This goes with your purchase,” he offers out a paper booklet with stitched binding, aged and yellow.
Lillian sighs and accepts the paper booklet. “Thank you,” she says to the man, giving him a faint smile and a nod. Then she opens it up and scans its contents.
The man is already heading back, more wearily now. Turning the first page gives Lillian a papercut. The second, too. Increased care prevents further wounds, but each turned page adds red stains to the paper. The font and layout reminds of old scams like Sea Monkeys back in the day, and the logo for this ‘Panther’s Paw’ only adds to the impression. It promises endless wishes granted, with talk of prices paid relegated to small print nearly impossible to read. It warns the owner of keeping it out of wicked hands. In the back, just one page, is an ad for the ‘Panther Paw Disenchanting Rite’ available now for only ten boxtops from some cereal whose name can’t be read or a check made out to 34.99 mailed to… the address of the thrift store.
Lillian sighs again and turns back to the thrift shop with a huff. Either she’s returning it or getting scammed to disenchant it. Neither idea sounds particularly appealing to her, but prices written in small print is never any good.
Of course, there’s no shop there anymore. Lillian didn’t even pass the owner on the way back. There is a federal mail box right in front. It seems she didn’t want to return it or disenchant it, so neither option has been made particularly easy. But what does Lillian want now?
Lillian groans. She wants to earn her praise and accolades on her own merits! She doesn’t want to be gifted those things by some cursed magic wishing item. She’d really like to keep this thing — it’d make for good home decor — but she doesn’t want it to be imbued with any magic. She just wants it to be a normal panther trinket she can put on a dresser or shelf.
Such a cursed object cannot destroy itself, but it can grant a wish to lead there. When Lillian looks again, a flyier is half-stuck in the mailbox, fluttering in the wind. The colors match that in the ad from before. It’s the decursing ritual.
Lillian snatches that flier and reads over it. What does she have to do? She’ll get it done however she has to.
“Hey!” Lillian hears next. It’s a cop. “You can’t do that!” he starts her way, having spotted her taking mail from a post box.
“Fuck me…” Lillian mutters, irritated. “I need this and it doesn’t have any postage! No one was mailing this shit so let me be!”
“This is a federal crime,” the cop answers, reaching for his cuffs. But a fight breaks out nearby between gang members or, perhaps, supernatural members of opposing factions. A stray bullet clips him and he goes down. Probably alive, but he’s going for his radio. There’s time for Lillian to flee and leave him to his fate, at least.
Lillian groans. She does -not- need to be a fugitive. Reluctantly, she squats down in front of the cop. “You should just let me read the flier and forget you ever saw this so you can concern yourself with more important things, like your health.”
He seems to just be mortal, so Lillian’s enchanted words work quickly and easily. “What? Get the hell out of here! It’s a gun fight!” he waves her off before speaking into his radio again. Gunfire continues from across the street.
Lillian hurries off, flier in hand, hoping it will tell her how to disenchant this panther trinket.
It doesn’t take much of a run to get to an alley out of sight and close enough to avoid further interruption. The flier uses some shorthand designed by some hedge witch, so it’s not the most straight forward. On the plus side, it doesn’t require any tools beyond a part of Lillian. Maybe blood or hair. Maybe a whole finger. Hard to tell without knowing the hedge mage involved. But educated guesses may be possible…
Lillian sits down, back against the wall of a building, and plucks out a single hair. She’s not too happy about losing it, but whatever. What needs to be done will be done. She sets the panther down in front of her, wraps the hair loosely around its neck, and does a short chant. Thank god this doesn’t require much so she can do it right here.
The translation (or guess?) is perfect. After a few minutes of chanting, the magic is banished from the ceramic. Even more, the effects caused seem to fade away as the papercuts on Lillian’s fingers fade and the sounds of gunfire and sirens cease suddenly. Lillian is left with a mundane figurine and no consequences to her wishes.
Lillian laughs triumphantly. -Now- she feels deservedly like the hero she wanted to be!
And of course, Lillian keeps the panther to take it home.
(A vampire has selected your target as their next meal.
)
Once again, Lillian has dragged poor Amber out into the world during the day. She’s not entirely cruel, of course, and typically tries to remain in shadowy areas or in buildings while out. It’s a little easier with it raining outside, at least. She eventually takes Amber into a bookstore for them to lounge about and enjoy some quiet and vibes together before she gets up and lets Amber know she needs to use the restroom. And while Lillian is up and away, a figure in a shadowy cloak, quite obviously another vampire, stumbles over to where Amber is left sitting. “Fuck… I need to– gotta get something else in my system,” they mutter to themself. They look at Amber and grin. “You’ll do. Hey– hey you! Look at me. I need you– you gotta look into my eyes.”
“My guy, you don’t gotta go out in full cosplay,” Amber winces some when she spots the figure in the cloak. Then she’s approached, and she keeps her gaze closer to the figure’s chest, “I’m also a reeeeally bad mark. Better off picking literally anyone else here.”
“Whaaaat? Mark? Pfft…” The vampire waves their hand dismissively. “Why would you think you’re a mark? I’m not a scammer or a criminal or anything. I’m just, like, a little guy. Totally. And– and I think it’s rude not to look someone in the eyes when they’re talking to you… you.” Not only is this vampire stumbling through their words, but those words are coming out a little slowly and sound somewhat slurred.
“How about you tell me what you do want, then, and maybe I help you get it,” Amber offers as a statement rather than a question, “Sun’s out and neither of us want what happens if you come at me.”
“Huh? N-No.” The vampire shakes their head. “Why would I– I care about the sun? Loooove day. Just a normal person who loves daytime and going out in the sun to hang out with all of my frie–friends, which you have a special opportunity to be. It’s– it’s okay. Just need to, like, make sure your neck is okay. Like– get really close to inspect it.” They take a step forward and stumble that single step.
“I’m a vampire, dumbass. I know my own kind when I see them,” Amber grows increasingly agitated, between the sun and this vampiric bum, “It’s all in how you move. And the fact your heart isn’t beating.” She remains seated.
“F-Fuck! Okay. Okay. Whatever. F-Fine. You got me. I guess. Kinda.” The vampire rubs the back of their neck and looks to the floor in embarrassment. “Look. Okay. Listen– listen. L-Last night I fed on someone who m-must have been on the worst– the worst fucking mixture of booze and drugs a h-human can take without dying. And I’m -still- fucked over it. Sleep– I’m only awake right now because it has fucked up my sleep. I need to– look, I’ve only been a vampire for, like, a week, and I need to dilute this shit by filling up on some normal blood. Maybe– if you know anybody who just had breakfast, that’d be great. I used eggs and coffee for hangovers all the time, like– like up until a week ago.”
“Fine,” Amber sighs a little, “If you can’t even hunt for yourself yet…” She glances around the seating area.
This is one of those bookstores with a cafe in it, and that’s just where they happen to be seated. So finding an empty coffee cup left behind by some lazy or thoughtless person is no problem for Amber. There’s one at the table nearest to her. It’s tipped over, too, so she can tell it’s empty even with the lid on.
Amber leans over to grab the cup. She sets it down on the table, bites her hand, and lets some dribble into her stolen cup. She doesn’t really try to hide it. The bookstore has likely seen weirder recently. “This’ll at least make you not care until the other shit wears off and you can hunt properly,” she offers with a shrug, “I give you this, you go away.”
takes the cup and gratefully lowers their head. “Thank– thank you! Bye! You’ve saved me!” They stumble away, drinking the blood as if it was a literal coffee. They’re gone by the time Lillian comes back. “Sorry for making you wait, but… I think I’m about ready to go home now if you are.”
“I am, too. Dovie’s thing is now,” Amber answers as she rises, shaking her bitten hand a bit.
“Right. Let’s get out of here!” Lillian says, taking Amber’s hand and leading her out.