Vanessa’s Wednesday afternoon odd encounter(Vanessa)
Date: 2026-07-29 14:10
(Vanessa’s Wednesday afternoon odd encounter(Vanessa):Vanessa)
[Wed Jul 29 2026]
In Living room
The floor of this living room is pale ash hardwood laid in a straight plank pattern, with a large geometric area rug centered beneath the seating. The rug is woven in repeating diamond and chevron shapes in silver, pale lavender, soft blue, and ivory, its pile dense and low. A deep rose velvet sectional with a chaise extension on one end anchors the room, its cushions deep-set and generous, with several plush throws folded over the armrest. A white bunny with long floppy ears sits propped at the chaise end beside a small brown bear with a satin bow at the neck and a round pale pink cat with embroidered eyes. A sapphire blue velvet recliner with tapered brushed nickel legs sits across from the sectional at an angle, a small round side table in pale marble and brushed nickel beside it. A fireplace occupies the center of the interior wall, its surround framed by a carved mantel in painted ivory with a continuous ribbon-and-leaf relief along its face. A gas insert glows behind a clear glass screen, the firebox lined in matte black panels. A flat screen is mounted on the adjacent wall above a low media console in pale ash fitted with brushed nickel pulls, its shelves holding a receiver and a gaming console beside a row of game cases. A desk in pale ash sits further along the same wall, with a monitor on a brushed nickel stand and a wireless keyboard and mouse resting on a soft lavender pad, a slim desk lamp in brushed nickel angled over the surface. Sconces in brushed nickel with frosted glass shades flank the fireplace, with recessed downlights warming the rest of the ceiling. A minibar in pale ash with brushed nickel pulls stands against the wall near the archway, its shelved interior holding a row of bottles behind a glass-fronted door, with a pale marble top holding a set of crystal tumblers on a small silver tray. The space opens through wide archways to the hallway and kitchen on either side.
It is about 60F(15C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Hart/span>(Your target has been cursed with persecution, it is up to them to survive a world suddenly turned hostile until their allies can come and help get them to safety or deal with the curse.
)
Elaine sits in a sapphire blue velvet recliner, eyes half-closed as she rests. Her hands are folded across her stomach, though more toward the middle, away from her sides.
At the thunder though, Elaine’s eyes open a bit more, though she remains still otherwise.
As wind and rain pounds at the house, thunder booms from time to time, followed by the occasional flashes of lightning that brighten the room before fading. It would be easy enough for Elaine to ignore the pounding at the nearest window or door as simply more of the same, as thunder shaking the home. Though it doesn’t fit the rhythm.
It’s loud, angry, like fists slamming at the entrance, seeking attention, despite the rain lashing down.
“LEAVE OUR TOWN!” a voice comes, followed by another.
“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”
The banging starts up at the next entrance, anger palpable.
anger can be presumed.
Elaine’s eyes open in their entirety, blinking a few times as she closes her hand over a yawn. Her legs swing over the footrest, a moment later righting beneath her as she stands in a single, fluid motion. “What now…?” She murmurs, fingers combing through her hair as she exits the living room, into the kitchen. Bracing a hip against the counter, she leans over to peer out the window toward the front door, one small hand coming to rest against her cheek as the elbow drops onto the countertop for support.
The faces she can see outside are not those of friends and loved ones, or even mortal enemies, but townsfolks. The girl who works at the gym down the street, the fisherman from the Red Herring, all sorts of day-to-day people who just… work nearby, exist nearby. Drawn in, as though on a lure, straight to her home, filled with the mob mentality rage that makes bad decisions seem like good decisions.
Bad decisions, like taking off a shoe, and throwing it at the window of a powerful Supernatural who knows how to fight, when you’re a natural, whose only weapon is your other heel.
They don’t seem content to stand about in the rain, they want to come in, and they want to make sure they get her. For what purpose, or what slight, it’s impossible to gather from their hateful yelling, and willful attempted destruction of property. But, even with a passing glance, Elaine can tell… these are weak people, with no darkness to their auras, untouched by taint. Seemingly.
Rubbing her eyes in astonishment, Elaine leans back. “Gods… fine then… some Fae must have it out for me this month…” A small smile toys with one corner of her mouth, before she moves to the door, fingers gliding over the locks, a rapid clicking following as she undoes each, then inputs a code to another few, and then one more for an alarm. Finally, she swings open the door, one hand still on it as she faces the ones outside. “What business have you with me?” She asks, eyes sweeping over the gathering as the gold ringing each pupil deepens. She keeps her voice gentle, inquiring rather than going for intimidation, not that her frame lends well to intimidation anyway, having to look up to some more than likely. Even most.
The door opening startles some of the crowd who have gathered, and the reaction seems less so that of an angry hoard descending upon Elaine’s home, but more so the sort of vigilante justice mob who think they’re doing the right thing.
This becomes more obvious with the response. Some seem unsure of a direct encounter with the tiny angel, hesitating, more lurking versus providing any sort of counter-intimidation. Some take a few steps back, afraid, likely those who have any sort of sensitivity to who and what Elaine actually is. Some… Some possess no self-preservation and blind rage.
“You know what you are!” one woman yells at her, looming over Elaine and getting in her face. “We want YOU, and YOUR KIND out of our good, wholesome town!” she insists. There’s something to her affect, like she’s responding to something, not just Elaine herself.
“Yes dear, I do know what I am. Do you?” Elaine asks, tipping her head up to settle her eyes on the woman’s. Her mouth hooks up further, the smile almost kindly as she speaks. “Do believe me. If I could leave your town, I would. But much relies on my remaining here. So. That is not an option.”
Maren had been on her usual prowel for unsuspecting victims. whether those victims ended up experimental subjects or the night dinner entirely depended upon the vampire’s interest. upon spotting the chaos from the window, she stroles in, blithely as ever, a dark eyepatch shading her missing eye. her eyebrows lift, at the woman’s almost performative exclamation. her head tilts, ever so. “Good, wholesum town?” she muses. “in my day, we would call this a den of depravity. Why, most other students I have spoken to compare the city to Los Vagus.”
Elaine’s eyes flick behind the crowd to Maren, lips tightening a bit before her smile returns. “Miss Maren.” She offers in greeting, her hand sweeping to the side, gesturing the woman in her face to move the fuck out of my way, in essence. “I… am sorry for the visitors.” She doesn’t look too sorry though.
While one could presume there’s some sort of Vigil-esque anti-Supernatural sentiment being directed to Elaine’s door, oddly, the jeers and yelling, the harassment, seems to almost hit a ripple, as Maren steps nearer. There’s a tug toward Elaine, a disgust that seems to draw in anyone who gets near to Elaine physically, but not a single person in the crowd seems to have an inherent reaction to Maren, or what she might be.
as Maren glides over to Elaine, what had been mild amusement flickers in the vampire’s expression, her usual features twisting momentarily, in a manner that would be familiar before the series of events that lead to Elaine’s recent stint in the hospital. she pauses, head tilting, the one eye locking on the woman before she takes a few steps back, the girl’s expression clearing with a shake of her head.
With Maren’s knowledge of ritualism and what can and cannot be done with it, with Elaine’s knowledge of how malleable a mind can be, it’s hard to ignore the obvious answer to why, suddenly, the neighborhood wants Elaine out. Bad enough another heel goes flying over Elaine’s head, like perhaps its thrower doesn’t realize the angel is pocket sized.
Someone, or something, has chosen to curse Elaine. Maybe it was one of the rodents of unusual size whose cheese she stole, or a sentient cupcake, or just the lady who wanted the last packet of whatever chips Elaine bought. Hard to tell.
Elaine doesn’t even blink as the heel goes over her head. Instead, there’s a momentary pause, an eye roll, then a sigh. When her question to the rather rude woman standing over her goes unanswered, a slim shoulder lifts. Falls. There’s a wince, before she steps forward, chin rising a bit more. “Darling…” She starts, voice gone suddenly blank of feeling. “Leave. Before you get hurt.” Curse or not, this is not a good idea these poor people have had. A moment later, the gold flickers, before a wave of oppression washes out from Elaine’s form. It is like standing in the presence of some ruler. All else is eclipsed as a feeling of tyranical fear settles like a cloud.
Elaine focuses the telempathic pressure on the woman before her.
despite not remaining in the blast zone of Elaine’s attention, Maren stills, momentarily, before with a sigh, she fishes for objects in the reticule by her side. A cumpas, salt, and blood. knealing, she commenderes Elaine’s floorboards for a salt pentagram, the key points having marked in dark black vampire blood. she places the cumpass at the center, before initiating a trace of the other caster.
Elaine doesn’t even flinch at her floor becoming a ritual circle.
The woman hesitates, doing the Karening of saving face by stumbling back a step, and insisting, “This isn’t over with!” before scurrying off into the heavy rain falling outside. The crowd has not thinned, though few seem quite willing to directly confront her, either. There’s a thud, and a crack, that come together as … someone has apparently decided to ride their bike past, and throw eggs, disappearing in an instant down the road, not willing to face retribution, apparently.
As Maren works, the crowd outside seems trapped in this feedback loop of wanting to fight, insult, or otherwise persecute Elaine, but none being willing to cross that line, nad really create a problem. More… menacing, through numbers.
The ritual seemingly works, as the magical threads are tugged, revealing that the one who cursed Elaine is named … Ratrick, apparently, one of the many mice who Elaine has wronged. A note is thrown through the already cracked window, a brick with a piece of paper wrapped around it, splotchy with rain.
“GIV US BAK OUR CHEESE!!!” it reads.
Maren lets out a wheze. before when she straightens, she’s outright laughing, the sound all too helpless. she sweeps an arm forward, letting Elaine decide what to do with the mice’s demand.
Elaine’s hand goes to her cheek. “Really… did you have to break my window?” She examines the note. Then, states matter-of-factly. “No. You are a disgrace to your ancestors. You and yours, walking about like the youth of today, pants sagging, carrying guns and false gold chains like they make you something important. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I shall not stand for it. Why, were your elders able, they would beat you into line, but it is not so, and so I must. Shame. Shame upon you.” She tears the note in half. Then, spreading her arms, she looks out to the crowd, meeting each eye. “Well then? Will you too be swayed by an embarrassment to its forebears! Will you be controlled by a disrespectful young half-mouse! Come then! Any who support this vile behavior of the young! Step forward! Follow through with your pompous displays of guns and discordant music!”
Maren scrubs at her eyes, the vampire’s lone eye dancing with mirth, victorian dicorum gone to hell in the sheer insanity.
There are no hoards of rats who pour out. There is, however, one aggressively grumpy little sewer rat man who walks into the fallout radius, toilet paper draped across the brownstone like kudzu, eggs splattered to hopefully be washed off by the rain and not bake onto the siding, and he holds up one hand, adorned with rings. Where he found rings for his tiny fingers only baby hands Elaine might know.
He snaps, once.
A ripple runs through the crowd, discomfort, unease, spreading as seemingly, the ritual is dropped. With his other hand, he throws another note, folded neatly, right at Elaine.
“I WIL MAKE YOU REGERT NOT GIVING BAK CHEESE!!!” it claims.
Maren immediately steps back, as the rather, odorous rat man steps forward, wrinkling her nose.
Elaine frowns. Folding her hands, she stares down the ratman. “Now you listen here.” She starts. Already sounding her age. “You are lucky young man, that I don’t bend you over and swat you for all the mess you’ve made. Maybe this will teach you a lesson in humility. Fix your act. Respect your elders. And maybe this sort of thing won’t happen again. Now. You are going to get this mess cleaned up.” She points a stern finger, then snaps twice. “Get to it.”
Ratrick’s large ears angle back as he listens, beady little eyes narrowing, and his tail lashes behind him in agitation. There is no booming voice, but a high squeak comes, instead, as he yells, “YOU STOLED IT! YOU STOLE OUR CHEESE, AND YOU YELL AT ME?!” He puffs up, trying to look larger, and more intimidating, holding his hands wide. “I want cheese back! You deserve to pay for it!”
Elaine steps forward, then again, until she’s right in front of the ratman. Her eyes lock with his. “You will obey, young man. You will be respectful to your elders. Now. Clean up this mess.” Her voice comes out sharp, like an old lady lecturing a disobedient child. The gold rings in her eyes flare brightly, spinning in captivating circles.
When her eyes first meet Ratrick’s, his gaze shifts away from Elaine’s in an instant, that convenient moment of fear the only thing that saves him, but the threat, the instruction, laced through her words sends him from shadow boxing the air like an angry little rat, to his ears flattening, looking pathetic, like he’s been sentenced to picking up trash on the side of the highway. He does step inside, starting to clean things up, body language the subserviant, if sad, sort. “…I just want cheese,” he mumbles to himself, almost pouty, tail hanging low as he briefly glances at the fridge as he works to pick up the glass. He wasn’t the first to break the window, but the brick didn’t help. He looks to Maren and asks, “…Cheese?”
Elaine clears her throat pointedly. “Young man. You do your work, or you’ll be out in the courtyard picking a switch.” She snaps sharply, voice like a whip crack in direct opposition to her almost ethereal appearance. Then her eyes sweep the remaining crowd. “Now. Are you all done here?”
Maren eyes the pathetic looking rat thoughtfully, before that laughing blue eye meets his. “Earn it. begging shall get you nothing.”
The crowd seems almost startled, those who’ve lingered more baffled by the little talking rat than anything. The majority have dispersed, though one awkward, apologetic woman peeks inside and asks, “…Can I get my shoes back?” When she realizes how far into the house they ended up, and looks between the women inside, she winces, and raises her hands, choosing to say, “…never mind, I’ll… I’ll just go. Sorry!” And with that, Elaine and Maren are left with the little rat man, sweeping up the glass.
Surprisingly, given he’s, well, a rat, he appears to know how to handle broken glass. With the large pieces gathered, he sweeps up the smaller ones, and a final pass of a moist paper towel picks up the tiniest shards. Only once he’s gotten it picked up does he bow his head to Elaine and ask, “…How do angel get cheese if not from rats?” He peers at her, though he steps closer to Maren, a bit afraid of Elaine. Reasonably. “Rats need cheese. Emotional support,” he claims, tugging his pants up, just a little higher, and tighening his belt.
Maren lifts her shoulder in a shrug, tilting her head at the rat, then to Elaine. “There is still the matter of property damage.”
Elaine’s chin dips in an approving nod. “You will get yourself a respectable job young man. And with the money you earn, you can buy yourself good cheese. Start a nice family, and live a nice life.” She steps closer, laying a hand on the vague cheek-like area. “Turn your life around young man. You can still get out and make something of yourself.” Then, her hand darts out, the free hand, grabbing the chain around his neck and, with a quick motion, snapping it and pulling it away. “You may go. Remember what I have told you.” Then, she gives an imperious wave of her hand, stepping away.
There’s a brief moment, an instant, where the chain catches, and his beady little eyes bug out from his head, Ratrick looking to Maren as though expecting help before the chain snaps. He squeaks, pathetic, but… he knows when he’s outclassed. “I’m gonna buy better cheese than y’all could ever afford!” he yells, dropping to all fours to scurry off into the rain, disappearing within half a minute, into the gloom outside.
Elaine looks down at the chain, twisting it in her fingers. “Does he not realize to whom he speaks?” She murmurs, before flicking the chain toward the ocean with a snap of the wrist.
Pausing for a moment, Elaine lifts a hand. “On second thought…” Then, she takes off, darting out into the rain.
Moving at maximum rat RPMs, Ratrick is startled by the appearance of Elaine behind him, and squeaks, scurrying, only to be caught up to. Seems angel is faster than rat. Significantly.
“One thing you must learn dear.” Elaine says as she catches up to the rat. “Is that you will never, rise above your elders.” Then, a boot comes around, landing directly in his little rat’s ass with all the strength of an Angelic warrior behind it, along with the speed. “Learn. Your place.” She commands, as the rat, assumedly, is sent for his first flying lesson.
“It would seem, that the city’s cleaners are going to have quite the splatter.” Maren notes, having lounging upon the chaise throughout this exchange.
One of the naturals who had been dispersing as Elaine and Ratrick handled their dispute pauses to gape at the flying rat, who seemingly disappears into the distance as he’s sent sky high. He turns to Elaine and asks, “…Is that how you deal with problems? If so… do you accept cash? I’ve got this brother…”
Elaine studies the man for a moment. “Certain problems. But I don’t take cash dear
Elaine’s eyes flare with golden flame for a moment, before she turns back for her house.
There’s an obvious shiver and that look of panic that seems to set in when they releize they’re nothing but prey that overtakes the man’s face, and as soon as Elaine turns away, he’s speedwalking off in the direction of the flying rat. Not running, no, that’d make him a bitch. Just stepping with purpose.
for her part, as the specticle comes to an end, Maren quietly lets herself slip into the dark of the night.