Vanessa’s Thursday afternoon odd encounter(Vanessa)
Date: 2026-07-02 15:50
(Vanessa’s Thursday afternoon odd encounter(Vanessa):Vanessa)
[Thu Jul 2 2026]
At Balcony
Stone floors and almost concrete siding create an art deco, stucco-like aesthetic to this rooftop. A salt-worn wooden railing wraps around to ensure none can fall off of it, waist high on the average adult.
A single lounger has been dragged over by the hot tub on the northwestern balcony, a massive umbrella open above it, and set into a base to ensure it doesn’t tip. The hot tub is, in contrast, raised high, nearly against the railing, and panneled in rosewood to give it a faint purple tint.
The sound of the sea is audible over everything else, the bustle of the street, the burble of the hot tub, the screech of sea birds, and instead, there is just a reminder of nature, more than anything. Salt and brine drift from the water, scenting the area, and a small potted plant in the northwest corner releases a soft, green fragrance to contrast.
It is afternoon, about 100F(37C) degrees, and there are a few thin white clouds in the sky. The mist is heaviest At High and Darkwater
(Your target discovers a mysterious antique music box at a yard sale or thrift shop. When wound and opened, it traps the listener in a time loop of the same hour, forcing them to relive it until they can discover the box’s tragic history and help the spirit bound within find peace.)
Elaine has stepped out onto the balcony jutting from the side of her house, hands folding as she settles down into the lounger, facing the ocean.
It’s hot out, that sort of sticky, wet, coastal heat where it feels like breathing through a wet comforter when the wind stills, though, blessedly, it’s quite active, caressing Elaine’s skin, bringing with it the scent of the not so far bay.
Also coming on the wind, however, are birds. There’s always been little ones flapping about, chirping, but this day, a particularly hefty raven lands on the railing of the deck, caws, and as it flies up, onto the roof edge proper, what’s left behind is a small box. It’s only marginally larger than a chicken egg, without any ornate detailing, a small latch on one side, a key set in its back to turn, almost spherical in form.
Elaine watches the raven with muted curiosity when it lands. But when it flies off, leaving behind a box, the curiosity turns a bit, less muted. Rising to her feet, she approaches, lifting the box from the railing to turn it between her fingers, inspecting it. “And why… Would a bird, leave a box on my balcony?” She asks no one in particular, eyes falling to the key.
Lifting it, a few little notes tinkle within, as the mechanism within catches, probably when it’s not meant to, though that’s hard to hear over the croaking sound of amusement coming from the corvid perched on her roof, watching her. There’s a rustle of wings, almost … expectant.
Turning to look at the bird on her roof, Elaine gives it a rather suspicious look. “Know bird, that you will be held accountable for this, should it displease me. I care not for what you may fancy yourself.” Then, taking the bait, she twists the key, turning it as far as it will go. “I do believe.” She muses to herself. “That this has a very, very high likelihood, of going terribly wrong. But… what is life but a time in which to make mistakes…”
As she turns the key, winding up the box, the lid pops open, and the key spins as a tune plays. In an instant, the bird swoops down, standing on the railing, eyes, keenly, focused on the gemstone within that spins, a roughness on its surface. With the hollow state of the lid, one could presume there once was a statue of some variety that stood on the platform, but not anymore.
Though Elaine may not feel it, surely, it must provide some sort of magic as it plays, because the bird croaks to her, and she understands its words.
“Keep it wound, and let it sing, save me from the curse I bring. Speak not of what you hear, lest you join the flock, my dear.”
It does, however, seem apologetic, if uncomfortable forming words. Surely, it isn’t used to having a beak.
“You bring me your curse.” Elaine says, tone going a bit exasperated as she keeps her fingers lightly on the key, resting herself against the balcony rail. “You have little respect, do you not? I had thought certainly that time would turn many ‘less’ impolite with their magic. But I suppose that is too much to ask. Very well… speak not of what is heard. Then you wish only for me to listen to this, box, and not speak of what is heard? And this shall free you of your curse.”
The raven steps back and forth, uncomfortably, as its form shifts. Words come, though hard-won, likely an aspect of whatever curse has forced its form.
There is a scraping of beak, words not coming, as though it were tongue-tied. Its eyes open wide, as it makes a choking sound, as the beak shortens, noticeably.
“When the song shall reach its end, around your mind, its notes shall bend. And if it should play anew, the curse may break, or find home in you. If it should play its lilt but thrice, what results shall not be nice. Upon its fourth pirouette, that shall be the worst one yet. But if it ends after the fifth, the curse shall need no more dealing with.”
It moves, sitting on the lip of the spa, then to the floor, finding shade beneath the umbrella.
“Very well.” Elaine acquiesces, stepping back over and joining the raven beneath the umbrella, setting the box between them. “You will explain well, once this comes to an end.” She informs the bird firmly. “I will not be left unknowing. Such is a part of the price you will pay for my aid. Have we an understanding?” Her hand comes to rest on the box, ready to rewind the key when needed.
As the little tune plays, its almost sorrowful, quite a feat for a box that probably would cost five dollars in a souvenir shop. The bird pants, quietly, the first ending with the raven… Surely, it’s larger. It dips its head, and acquiesces to the request.
“Of requests that the lady makes, it is my word that you may take, that I shall uphold my given end, when my form is fixed and my form is mend.”
The second play, however, the raven, larger yet, perhaps twice, thrice the size it’s meant to be, pants as though in pain. Tiny birds, three, four, five of them, arrive, to sit on the railing, and then one big ass pelican, settled in the middle. They’re drawn by the music, surrounding her, watching Elaine as she turns the key, again. They are not… actively aggressive, but they do seem to wish to appear menacing.
Elaine’s eyes go to the attemptedly menacing birds. An expression mixing amusement and confusion on her face. “Are you trying to intimidate me?” She asks the birds, fingertips running along the box’s edges. “How… do you intend to do that, dare I ask?” A small laugh escapes her, before she disregards the thug birds, turning to the raven again. “Very good. Let us listen to this song then I suppose.”
As the third play continues… that raven turns more, and more, into a non-bird shape. Feathers fall, as though molting, splatting with scaled skin to the balcony. But so do more birds arrive. Larger, and larger, with sharp talons, blotting out the oppressive sun.
“Your friends?” Elaine asks the raven-not-raven, hand drifting toward her shamshir as the once entertainingly small birds become… less entertainingly small. “I suppose they are less than enthusiastic about your freedom?” Her face stays calm, though the tension forming in her seated form gives away a bit of the feeling that is concealed from her face. “I have less than a small amount of desire to be torn apart by birds.” is muttered as she watches the flock gathering, grip on the box tightening a bit.
In gasped, spluttering words, as though speaking through burbling mud, or drowning on blood, the creature that is struggling to make its way back to a human shape speaks, yet again.
“Do not let it end at four, lest it leave an open door. That which comes will leave you shaken, the being within it shall awaken…”
A glob of blood-spit hits the rooftop, and Elaine is now, very thoroughly surrounded by birds, as the song starts its fourth loop. Except, those birds are not staying still. And they want to stop that song. And maybe Elaine. For good.
Elaine’s hands fold around the box. The effect is ruined, as said hands are very easily what may be called “baby hands”. Sighing, she glares down at her own inadequate extremities. “Why did I have to inherit this flavor of the Angelic appearance? Gods…” She tucks the box in close with one hand, pinching the key between two fingers to keep rewinding the key, as the other draws out her shamshir, rising to her feet as the weapon comes out. White, ethereal flames begin to shimmer along her skin, her form glowing with the fire’s light. “You would do well to remain distanced.” She warns, voice only slightly shaken as she adjusts her posture. “You may all leave alive, if you do so now.”
The bright light and angellic fire of a true Angelborn, one who knows her worth, her place, is intimidating enough, and not even the most suicidal of the birds is dumb enough to land straight on her. A finch does slam straight, forehead to forehead, in a headbutt, though that seems accidental, and it wobbles off, awkwardly, flying away to sulk.
That fifth play starts, needing a constant wind, and if she catches a glance… There’s a young person, gender hard to tell, crouched on her balcony. Hair falls in their face, their knees pressed to their chest, spine jutting out uncomfortably, as they’re nearly back to being a person, fully, peeling away the avian skin. They’re sobbing, hopefully with relief, though words don’t come easy.
Desperation comes, and the big, fat pelican tries to divebomb her, to break the music box, or at least make her drop it.
The finch earns a sharp look from Elaine. Then the pelican dives. There is a moment of hesitation, before, inhaling slowly, she blows out a long, tired breath, eyes closing. When they reopen, something far, far too cold marks them. The golden rings around her pupils have become apparent, glittering with something much older and more intolerant of fat sea birds. Her shamshir comes up, the motion languid and careless as she turns away from it, dismissing the threat even as her blade aims to bisect the bird in flight. “You were warned.” She says simply, approaching the person-not-raven after the swing.
The blade finds its home, easily, in the pelican, who splits easy as a peanut butter and jelly, splatting to the balcony much as the sandwich might if thrown with the same force, joining the gore of the former raven, as the song comes to an end. When it does, the key ejects, and they rise, on shaky limbs, clearly not used to having these features, not for a while. Blue eyes of the clearest skies, and hair the inky blue of a starlit night meet a cute face, young looking, though likely in her twenties. She shambles, and the birds scatter, in an instant, whatever kept them there… gone. She coughs, and asks, “…Can you light that thing on fire?” Her voice is a rough croak, followed by another cough.
“Yes.” Elaine says simply, twisting her wrist in a sharp snap to send the blood flying off of the blade of the weapon, before it rehomes in its sheath along her back. “You will answer now, dear.” She seems to not care much for the state of the former raven, her ended patience evident on her face as she lifts the box. “For the first matter, how would this curse react were this destroyed? And the second order. Why were you a bird? Why come to me? And who, are you?”
“It should… keep it permanently stuck there, where… I’m not cursed,” the girl tries to explain, rubbing at her face, as though making sure she’s… herself. She turns her hand, looking at the chipped polish on her nails, and the other questions just get a shake of her head, a mumbled, “I… I don’t know. Instinct… and… I don’t know. I’m Fae, they wanted me cursed…”
Elaine’s hand constricts, placing pressure on the box as fire flares on the surface, searing into it as she levels all of her strength to crush the thing. “I see…” Elaine says quietly, disregarding the box in her hand as she continues to attempt to crush it. “And now you are back to normal.” Her eyes settle on the girl. “You have disrupted my day. I will reach for you when I have had a break from this weather. Until then. Leave.” She gestures to the balcony rail, not seeming to account for the fact that, one, she isn’t a bird anymore, and two, she may not have as much luck with that fall as Elaine herself would.
The girl stays, as she watches Elaine’s baby hands squeeze the box, flame licking at its surface. She bends, to lift the key, where it fell, and then, the girl nods. In an instant, where she was, there’s nothing but a breeze, as she vaults the railing, a yowl of cat sounds as she shifts, and takes off, sprinting.