Encounterlogs
Ashes Odd Encounter Sr Sean 250227
Ashe, a spirited and somewhat reckless young woman, finds herself embroiled in an unexpected adventure one snowy night. Upon witnessing a balaclava-clad group rumbling outside her accommodation, her curiosity is piqued. She overhears fragments of their conversation about searching for something but dismisses the idea that they are after her. Despite the wintry conditions and her own drug-induced high, Ashe's intrigue drives her to follow this group to a local café, drawn by the possibility of uncovering something "interesting" and perhaps grabbing some night pancakes along the way.
Inside the café, Ashe’s attention is captured by a woman with a peculiar tube, now absent. This woman orders a series of complex drinks, distracting the baristas. Ashe, undeterred by the security cameras, follows the woman's trail to a securely locked door, managing to unlock it through a combination of luck and skill. Behind the door lies a vault containing stacks of unfamiliar currency, papers, and a glowing wooden box, about the size of a shoebox. With the conviction that the box promises an adventure worthy of her efforts, Ashe grabs it, evades the chaos that ensues as the group breaches the café, and makes her escape into the snowy night, aiming to start a new escapade with the mysterious contents of the box in hand.
(Ashe's odd encounter(SRSean):SRSean)
[Wed Feb 26 2025]
In a guest bedroom
The spare bedroom is a serene and welcoming space, bathed in natural light from skylights overhead. The room features a comfortable queen-sized bed with crisp white linens and a cozy quilt. A minimalist design is complemented by a few tasteful pieces of furniture, including a small wooden nightstand with a reading lamp, and a sleek dresser for storage. A soft, neutral-toned rug covers the hardwood floor, adding warmth and comfort. A single armchair in the corner provides a quiet spot for reading or relaxing, with a small stack of books on the floor nearby. Potted plants add a touch of greenery, making the room feel fresh and inviting, perfect for guests to unwind and feel at home.
It is night, about 25F(-3C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside. There is a new moon.
squeals with practical delight as the excitement breaches the house she was crashing at "Oh, my landlord is gonna have such a fit." she says, rushing to the window, largely heedless of potentially danger as she leans against it to peer outside.
"I bet it's a manhunt. I wonder if it's for me? Oh, no too well armed I bet." she phbts, blowing her hair about. "Oh well, I'm sure someone needs my help." she decides, turning for the door to head outside.
Despite her reckless words, Ashe is quiet as a mouse as she slinks through the hallways towards the sound of activity.
Manhunt is almost accurate. The balaclava-clad group rumbling up the street, flanking darkly-painted Jeeps aren't exactly looking for a PERSON, or, at least, not just a person. And they're certainly not being quiet about it, at least as compared to Ashe's quick-footed flight. Thankfully, at the corner, right before the intersection, they stall out before Ashe's building. As she leans through the window, floodlights pierce through exterior windows, catching her heel and fixtures and sconces. They grow brighter, and ambient, dull voices seep through the walls.
"In here, Mac?" comes one voice, gruff, muffled, "No, no, scans say it's a bit u...." and a rumble of an engine, while conversation seems to bloom. No one else on Ashe's block seems eager to go out to look at the lights - the residents keenly aware of what happens to the nosy in Haven. Apparently Ashe hasn't learned that lesson yet. Maybe she's just a poor student? Eyes flit up to Ashe's eyes, something refracting off of a button on her jacket, but before anyone can act on the glint, Ashe is off, fleet-footed and free, slipping down the hallways of her building. The engine stalls, but does not quell entirely. There's the thud of heavy boots, crushing through snow and grass and gravel. "Movement. Eastward bound. Take a 'zard with you." The floodlight, apparently, is less the source of big, bad flashlights, as it is some sort of tube held by a harried looking, middle-aged woman. Some sort of contraption like science educators make on Youtube Shorts or something that might be seen on Bill Nye, whipping flashes of light back and forth across the block. "Neutralize if necessary. We're getting pings a few blocks up. Energy's concentrated there."
Ashe is indeed, high as a kite on amphetamines. Not great for clear thinking, but for quick and fearless action, there's nothing better! She manages to overhear snippets here and there of the conversation, but can't seem to put together the pieces. Are they looking for her? She hasn't stolen anything valuable enough for all of this. No, they've gotta be looking for someone interesting. And interesting people shouldn't be locked away.
A little suprised by the strange device, she might try to take a closer look but as it starts wailing the amphetamines and andrenaline kick into gear, and before she realizes it she's dashing away for someplace else, spooked like a startled deer by the strangeness and noise.
Wonderful! Everyone loves a twitch-happy tweaker in a crisis. Known for their level-headed approach, of course. Ashe catches snippets and decides that, for whatever reason, the BIG BLUE TUBE OF LIGHT and the people surrounding it are, apparently, worth investigating. The light whips around as Ashe makes her way downstairs and towards the exterior doors, and the light flashes, over and over again, a droning sound starting to accompany it before it suddenly goes dark, accompanied by a SLAP! and a loud clatter that echoes, like one of those big office fountain water bottles being dropped to the ground.
"Hey!" snaps a voice, and there's the faint clickety-clack of what sound like safeties being clicked off and guns being cocked. "Not in the windows, idiot. There could be-" People. Sleeping people. Awake people. Coked up people darting out and away into the dark, dressed for the club, instead of crawling around in the snow and dirt. There's a rustle as Ashe runs off, and lights, regular ones this time, seem to streak in her aftermath, always a hair too short to catch her. "Jesus, fuck, Allison," someone grunts to the woman who had, a moment ago, been holding the Big Fucking Tube. "That shit's for tracking, not for blinding. Did you even sense anything out there, or were you just playing with your new toy?" More noises, more conversation, and a click-beeeeeeppp of a comms interface coming to life around the corner of the wall that Ashe is aiming to dart free from. "Oi, Mac. Movement, snow's disturbed, but the signature's getting bigger up ahead. Something like a cafe? Sub-basement level?"
"Got it." grunts a voice, before there's a general round-up and the engines roar to life. "Two blocks down, boys. Triggers free."
As attention shifts to the cafe, Ashe's ears perk up. She's managed to find a spot not far away, scattered by the sudden flush of fight or flight, but now nice and calm and rational, she decides to follow the group to the cafe. "Oh, maybe they'll have pancakes... Night pancakes." she murmurs.
With a sly smile, stepping through the snow, the freezing cold barely felt as the rush of the high runs through her, the little doe stalks the wolf pack.
Afterall, this is the second most interesting thing she's ever seen, and she won't let the night end until she gets to see what they're after.
Night pancakes are a must, after all. Can't be a ... Cafe open at 9:30pm on a Wednesday without Night Pancakes. It'd be criminal otherwise. Up the street the convoy starts to roll, though, since whatever Ashe -is-, they seem to regard the noise as, most likely, raccoons, and state as such. Though the convoy moves with far less haste than it had used rolling up Ashe's block. There's people out there, maybe. Possibly. And they'd rather avoid a firefight. Death gets expensive, and the Golden Shadow don't like expensive, except when they're the ones doing the selling. So, out into the open Ashe goes, sticking to the shadows.
And it. is. Fucking. COLD. Coldy-cold. Definitely not 'microskirt and pumps' weather. But one does as one must in these circumstances, and down the road Ashe trails the convoy. In the dark, behind their lights and rolling engines, she can get a better glimpse of the totality of the convoy. One Big Fucking Jeep, blackened windows. The woman with the Tube, and about five or six other figures of indeterminate gender, carrying a variety of weapons, all wearing beanies or balaclavas. They're going for stealth, over lethality, though the glaring lights seem to belie that mission approach a bit. Down the block they go, hup-to'ing a bit, such that they start to outpace Ashe a bit. Now's the time to decide, little tweaker:
Run forward, or go 'round the back way?
Ashe doesn't carry a weapon, unless you count her smile, and as much as she loves a good mosh pit, these people seem slightly better armed than her usually hangouts. After a cluck of her tongue, the little tiny part of her brain that's been keeping her alive these last eighteen years finally gets it's way, and around the back she goes. She'll still move towards the danger of course. Just; circumventiously.
If she finds a blunt object on the way, all the better? What are they after, she HAS to know. Also... She has to get in out of the cold. The juice she's running on isn't going to keep her warm forever, or likely at all, since her heat is probably just a figment.
It's a semi-residential district. Of course there's shit everywhere. It just happens to be in recycling bins with 'DON'T TOUCH, NICOLE, OR I'LL CALL THE CITY COUNCIL' written on sharpie on them. A little rooting around, or a little tripping the not-so-light fantastic gives Ashe a veritable cornucopia of empty wine bottles, discarded brooms, and half-broken crates and pallets. Going the side-along route gives Ashe some breathing room. The convoy's attention is (mostly) on what's before them, rolling up the street towards the warm-lit frontage of the cafe. By taking backroads and sidestreets, the little mosher is given a moment to take stock, and take a breath. It's late and it's snowing and it's cold, and while she looks ready for a night out, this type of night out is likely not in the style guide for her outfit.
A couple of steps around the edge of an alleyway causes a jangle-clangle-rangle-dong as Ashe inadvertently toes what appears to be one of those heavy-bottomed, dull-labeled brown bottles from cheap corner liquor stores. The cafe a few blocks up, though? That looks -WARM-.
And it's currently being fanned out and flanked by a few people tucking away weapons, slinking off into the back-alley while the Jeep 'parks' across the street.
Ashe licks her lips, immediately regretting the ice cold her saliva turns as soon as it hits the air. It won't be her first or last foolish move tonight. Grabbing an old wine bottle, one perfectly prime by the frigid weather for shattering, she creeps forward. She's just gonna watch is all, that's it. She just needs to see what they're after. Ohhhhh, and if she can snag one of those fancy comms, wouldn't that be a fun thing to sell to Ethel? Good old Ethel, she loves getting ahold of things she shouldn't have.
Though she's high as a kite, the cold is slowing her down, making her clumsy, and numbing her hands. Mischief or not, she needs to be inside or she's going to die of hypothermia soon. While this doesn't quite register, she is quite uncomfortable. So she looks for someone isolated, or better yet, no one at all, a path to creep through the back exit? Or... With everyone moving into the diner, there's always a nice warm, poorly guarded Jeep. She'll keep an open mind. She could use a new Jeep though. At least for the half an hour it'll take to track down the gps.
If a path with one or fewer 'obstacles' is open to the cafe, that's where she'll head. Elsewise, joy ride time.
Most of the convoy's few members have broken off into two forks, rounding the side door and the back-alley of the cafe. For the most part, they approach like deliveryman. At 10pm. On a Wednesday. They seem less interested in the interior itself than they do in whatever lies in the walk-in behind the counter, or, perhaps in the basement and storage rooms. Three-and-two, two to the eastern flank, three to the north, rounding the back. And one Jeep, idling across the street, manned by one man sat behind tinted glass, barely visible off of the glint, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
The front door, if anything, looks the most inviting. No one's explicitly guarding there, and it would give off too much attention, too much warning. And look! No Night Pancakes, but scones! Freshly baked, too, surely that must count for something this late?
A wide-open slip, a dart across the street, avoiding street lights should Ashe wish it, and into the front door. The wine bottle MIGHT present an issue, but that can be dealt with later. Besides, who doesn't love a good glass of cabernet with their night-time tea?
looks longingly at that probably nice warm jeep, but if they locked the doors it'd take her at least half a minute to jimmy it open. More if her hand falls off from frostbite, so in the front door it is. Just in case she's spotted she discards the wine bottle, pretending to be a normal customer. I mean, who knows, she might be?
The disguise isn't so comitted to though that she doesn't wait for the jeeps driver to be distracted by the sound of comms before she slips in the door, shivering and red-cheeked. There's something interesting in here, and she needs to find it before its taken.
Ashe does a survey of the interior as she enters. What are the people who work here, who eat here, doing with all the hassle? Oh, they're incognito right. They're pobably just enjoying the night. But she bets there's at least one person who isn't. Her gaze searches for anyone that might look particularly anxious.
And they might have guns. You know, in side of the car with the tinted windows that are likely bullet proof? But that won't matter with a little grit and elbow grease and perseverance, Ashe might find herself with a BRAND NEW CAR! Sadly, she seems to choose the safe route, abandoning thoughts of grand theft auto and instead jaunting into the main doorway, all a'shiver and cold. A barista chirps up, perhaps glad for -anyone- to come through this late in the evening, or, maybe, instead, irritated at having to deal with a customer so late. Just wait till the poor college kid deals with all the rowdy customers coming up the back-way.
There's a handful of the usual suspects. Some wanna-be writers chopping away at laptops performatively, a few White Oak students taking the chance at the cold to do work, or pretend to do work while flirting. A handful of regulars, who seem mostly to be using the cafe as a waystation till the snow clears up, and two baristas, one at the register, another lackadaisically working away behind at all the steamers and pots and so forth. They're fine. They're normal.
The one that isn't is the Lady. The one with the Tube, but the Tube isn't here. She's walking out of the bathroom door - though that's one-way-in, one-way-out, no? She has no Tube, but she's got a little earpiece in, not-so-cleverly disguised as a bluetooth earbud. "Uh-huh, yeah. Large decaf. Chai Latte for Mac. Earl Gre- wait, really? Earl Grey for Madison? God, she's such a- Hiiiiiiii," she whines, rounding to the barista before someone can step forward, a bit too hasty for this late at night, "Can I get a-" and then she begins rattling off that order, layering drink upon drink - overly complex bullshit that'll keep the baristas too busy to look into the back.
And they might have guns. You know, in side of the car with the tinted windows that are likely bullet proof? But that won't matter with a little grit and elbow grease and perseverance, Ashe might find herself with a BRAND NEW CAR! Sadly, she seems to choose the safe route, abandoning thoughts of grand theft auto and instead jaunting into the main doorway, all a'shiver and cold. A barista chirps up, perhaps glad for -anyone- to come through this late in the evening, or, maybe, instead, irritated at having to deal with a customer so late. Just wait till the poor college kid deals with all the rowdy customers coming up the back-way.
There's a handful of the usual suspects. Some wanna-be writers chopping away at laptops performatively, a few White Oak students taking the chance at the cold to do work, or pretend to do work while flirting. A handful of regulars, who seem mostly to be using the cafe as a waystation till the snow clears up, and two baristas, one at the register, another lackadaisically working away behind at all the steamers and pots and so forth. They're fine. They're normal.
The one that isn't is the Lady. The one with the Tube, but the Tube isn't here. She's walking out of the bathroom door - though that's one-way-in, one-way-out, no? She has no Tube, but she's got a little earpiece in, not-so-cleverly disguised as a bluetooth earbud. "Uh-huh, yeah. Large decaf. Chai Latte for Mac. Earl Gre- wait, really? Earl Grey for Madison? God, she's such a- Hiiiiiiii," she whines, rounding to the barista before Ashe can step forward, a bit too hasty for this late at night, "Can I get a-" and then she begins rattling off that order, layering drink upon drink - overly complex bullshit that'll keep the baristas too busy to look into the back.
A special tube that she's never seen before? Why would she waste her time stealing scones... Oh allright, maybe just one. But then she's off to that bathroom, waiting for just an instant when the other distraction may be distracted herself. Ashe is like a shadow. Oh wait...
Ashe removes her shoes, ending the clacking of heels on the diner floor, replaced with stocking clad feet. Now she's like a shadow, creeping into the bathroom as she narrows her form to a sliver to avoid opening the door more than it has to be. Is the tube inside? Or did the Lady sneak it out. Only one way to find out.
Tube and Lady had come around with the convoy, around the back. Ashe had seen them, slink off around the back, Tube and all. And now the Lady's inside? With no Tube? Coming from the bathroom. Strange indeed. The Tube-no-Tube Lady is too busy playing distraction for the convoy to take notice of Ashe, who slinks off into the hallway towards the bathroom. There's a locked door halfway down the hall that says STAFF ONLY. Maybe that's where they came in? There's a strange heat around the cafe, as Ashe slinks to the bathroom.
A faint glowing comes from the slightly-ajar door of the bathroom, but there's an equally tempting noise behind that STAFF ONLY door. A sort of 'thrum-pum-pum', and beyond it, attempts to jiggle a lock.
Ashe is ever so helpful, if someone wants through a locked door, why she would be rude not to open it for them! And so she takes out her hairpin and twine and rocks, a lockpicking kit if ever you saw one, and gets to work on that STAFF ONLY door, preparing to open it in a rush with a bright smile on her face, and if necessary, a swift knee to the groin.
Who knew cafes had such strong internal security? Ashe gets the lock popped with ease, and behind it, very strangely, is a much, MUCH heavier steel door, more akin to a bank vault, down at the end of the hallway revealed by the STAFF ONLY door. The hall door had opened easily, but the muffled sounds of what become, now, apparent as the -aggressive- attempts by members of the convoy to break into whatever is beyond that steel door from outside, those sounds? They seep through. But they're tackling the problem from the outside in, and just down that hall, there's another door for Ashe. Trouble is, this hallway, unlike the bathroom hall, is -replete- with security cameras.
Ashe lets out a soft whistle at all the security. She doesn't have much time, but the opportunity to brag about this is too much for the coked up little blonde to pass up. To action! She dashes forward, barefoot, through the hall, throwing her jacket up over her head. The security cameras will catch her for certain, but she's got thirty seconds and a plan. And at least they won't be able to recognize her down later... Unless the security guard is a foot fetishest of particular refinement.
She dashes for that door, hoping that they wouldn't have bothered to double lock. That's what 3 seconds? She's just on time, and if she works this just right the people coming in from outside will meet the people coming in from inside!
A jacket isn't an invisibility cloak, but Ashe is one girl, instead of a 5-man convoy, and she's got the benefit of stealth, speed, and a lack of timetable on her side. Down the hall she goes, cameras whirring on their regular schedule - seeming automated, instead of manned. It's not a LONG hallway, which makes the density of security all the more concerning.
But she hits the door, and it becomes a beautiful test of how many lockpicking videos Ashe has watched on Youtube. The hall door was easy. This is up there with a bank vault. Multiple pins, two -different- latches, and a simplified pin-pad keycode next to the door.
She does her best, and to be fair, her best is about as good as any teenager could hope for, but Ashe is not strictly a finesse sort of cat burglar. If push comes to shove, she's got her rock. Key pad's easy enough, a little dusting of concealing to outline the fingerprints. Will that give her the order of the keypad? Certainly not, but it should narrow things down. Maybe that'll open it without the lockpicks? If not, well, speed helps you pick locks right?
Oh well, victory comes only to those willing to wish these feet! Oh, no that's Defeat. Well, whichever feet she's risking, she's gonna try.
Maybe Ashe is that good. Maybe Ashe is Lucky. Maybe it's just That Sort of Night. And so its off to the races. The keypad, oddly, seems to give-way to its secrets more readily than expected. A dusting, an outline of prints, Four numbers, each one seemingly abraded as much as the other three. So many combinations, but something emerges. A 1 is present. A year, perhaps? Didn't the coffee cups have a founding date on their logo? It's worth a risk.
It comes free quickly, though the physical locks are a bit more tricky and the noises beyond the vault door are getting a LOT louder.
Ashe sings her favorite song, well humms rather. It's the 'shoulda done it different' song, and this particular rendition has a verse about how she shoulda picked the employee's pockets for a key first. But she didn't so the song goes on for a while. In the meantime she practices all the various lies she's going to tell the people that walk in on her if she doesn't get it open. Innocent girlish little voice and all 'Oh, sorry, I'm lost. I thought this was the bathroom.' ... No that's way overused. 'Please help me, I ran in here. He's kidnapped me.' oooo, that one's good. Can she cry on command? She sniffles. Oh, she was already crying from the cold, bonus! Tappa tappa tapp, we'll see.
Blip. Bloop. Twist, click, tumblers rolling, pins lifted, care and caution balanced with a ticking clock, panicky plans rolling in Ashe's head, right up until....SSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHhh and it comes open, slipping free not with a squeal, but a hiss of decompression.
There is SO much shit in this vault, and the thing is the size of a bathroom. It's racks of papers, stacks of money in unfamiliar bills, and a small, wooden box. The box seems to -glow- from within. But the pounding gets louder. And the box is about the size of a shoebox. And the orders are being finished. What's Ashe going to do?
Ashe ignores the paper, ignores the money. She doesn't steal for greed, she steals for fun, and that box looks FUN with a capital... well, all the letters capitalized. She rushes in to snatch the box. If there's anything that can be considered an exit besides how she came in, that's where she's going. If not, back out the way she came, full spring, cameras be damned. Doesn't matter if they see her now.
She'll head out into the diner, snatch a set of car keys from some unsuspecting sort, and head to the parking lot if nothing stops her. Hopefully the fob will be in range to tell her what vehicle will be her escape.
There is, ironically, nothing in Ashe's way. Not really. She grabs the box, there's no alarm, no screaming, no blaring. And she tucks it into her arms, and quicksteps out, nabbing some keys. The chaos comes later, as the convoy manages to breach the walls and the cafe goes to hell, but that doesn't matter. Ashe has the box, and its contents, and she's already a few blocks away, making it out clean.
Inside the café, Ashe’s attention is captured by a woman with a peculiar tube, now absent. This woman orders a series of complex drinks, distracting the baristas. Ashe, undeterred by the security cameras, follows the woman's trail to a securely locked door, managing to unlock it through a combination of luck and skill. Behind the door lies a vault containing stacks of unfamiliar currency, papers, and a glowing wooden box, about the size of a shoebox. With the conviction that the box promises an adventure worthy of her efforts, Ashe grabs it, evades the chaos that ensues as the group breaches the café, and makes her escape into the snowy night, aiming to start a new escapade with the mysterious contents of the box in hand.
(Ashe's odd encounter(SRSean):SRSean)
[Wed Feb 26 2025]
In a guest bedroom
The spare bedroom is a serene and welcoming space, bathed in natural light from skylights overhead. The room features a comfortable queen-sized bed with crisp white linens and a cozy quilt. A minimalist design is complemented by a few tasteful pieces of furniture, including a small wooden nightstand with a reading lamp, and a sleek dresser for storage. A soft, neutral-toned rug covers the hardwood floor, adding warmth and comfort. A single armchair in the corner provides a quiet spot for reading or relaxing, with a small stack of books on the floor nearby. Potted plants add a touch of greenery, making the room feel fresh and inviting, perfect for guests to unwind and feel at home.
It is night, about 25F(-3C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside. There is a new moon.
squeals with practical delight as the excitement breaches the house she was crashing at "Oh, my landlord is gonna have such a fit." she says, rushing to the window, largely heedless of potentially danger as she leans against it to peer outside.
"I bet it's a manhunt. I wonder if it's for me? Oh, no too well armed I bet." she phbts, blowing her hair about. "Oh well, I'm sure someone needs my help." she decides, turning for the door to head outside.
Despite her reckless words, Ashe is quiet as a mouse as she slinks through the hallways towards the sound of activity.
Manhunt is almost accurate. The balaclava-clad group rumbling up the street, flanking darkly-painted Jeeps aren't exactly looking for a PERSON, or, at least, not just a person. And they're certainly not being quiet about it, at least as compared to Ashe's quick-footed flight. Thankfully, at the corner, right before the intersection, they stall out before Ashe's building. As she leans through the window, floodlights pierce through exterior windows, catching her heel and fixtures and sconces. They grow brighter, and ambient, dull voices seep through the walls.
"In here, Mac?" comes one voice, gruff, muffled, "No, no, scans say it's a bit u...." and a rumble of an engine, while conversation seems to bloom. No one else on Ashe's block seems eager to go out to look at the lights - the residents keenly aware of what happens to the nosy in Haven. Apparently Ashe hasn't learned that lesson yet. Maybe she's just a poor student? Eyes flit up to Ashe's eyes, something refracting off of a button on her jacket, but before anyone can act on the glint, Ashe is off, fleet-footed and free, slipping down the hallways of her building. The engine stalls, but does not quell entirely. There's the thud of heavy boots, crushing through snow and grass and gravel. "Movement. Eastward bound. Take a 'zard with you." The floodlight, apparently, is less the source of big, bad flashlights, as it is some sort of tube held by a harried looking, middle-aged woman. Some sort of contraption like science educators make on Youtube Shorts or something that might be seen on Bill Nye, whipping flashes of light back and forth across the block. "Neutralize if necessary. We're getting pings a few blocks up. Energy's concentrated there."
Ashe is indeed, high as a kite on amphetamines. Not great for clear thinking, but for quick and fearless action, there's nothing better! She manages to overhear snippets here and there of the conversation, but can't seem to put together the pieces. Are they looking for her? She hasn't stolen anything valuable enough for all of this. No, they've gotta be looking for someone interesting. And interesting people shouldn't be locked away.
A little suprised by the strange device, she might try to take a closer look but as it starts wailing the amphetamines and andrenaline kick into gear, and before she realizes it she's dashing away for someplace else, spooked like a startled deer by the strangeness and noise.
Wonderful! Everyone loves a twitch-happy tweaker in a crisis. Known for their level-headed approach, of course. Ashe catches snippets and decides that, for whatever reason, the BIG BLUE TUBE OF LIGHT and the people surrounding it are, apparently, worth investigating. The light whips around as Ashe makes her way downstairs and towards the exterior doors, and the light flashes, over and over again, a droning sound starting to accompany it before it suddenly goes dark, accompanied by a SLAP! and a loud clatter that echoes, like one of those big office fountain water bottles being dropped to the ground.
"Hey!" snaps a voice, and there's the faint clickety-clack of what sound like safeties being clicked off and guns being cocked. "Not in the windows, idiot. There could be-" People. Sleeping people. Awake people. Coked up people darting out and away into the dark, dressed for the club, instead of crawling around in the snow and dirt. There's a rustle as Ashe runs off, and lights, regular ones this time, seem to streak in her aftermath, always a hair too short to catch her. "Jesus, fuck, Allison," someone grunts to the woman who had, a moment ago, been holding the Big Fucking Tube. "That shit's for tracking, not for blinding. Did you even sense anything out there, or were you just playing with your new toy?" More noises, more conversation, and a click-beeeeeeppp of a comms interface coming to life around the corner of the wall that Ashe is aiming to dart free from. "Oi, Mac. Movement, snow's disturbed, but the signature's getting bigger up ahead. Something like a cafe? Sub-basement level?"
"Got it." grunts a voice, before there's a general round-up and the engines roar to life. "Two blocks down, boys. Triggers free."
As attention shifts to the cafe, Ashe's ears perk up. She's managed to find a spot not far away, scattered by the sudden flush of fight or flight, but now nice and calm and rational, she decides to follow the group to the cafe. "Oh, maybe they'll have pancakes... Night pancakes." she murmurs.
With a sly smile, stepping through the snow, the freezing cold barely felt as the rush of the high runs through her, the little doe stalks the wolf pack.
Afterall, this is the second most interesting thing she's ever seen, and she won't let the night end until she gets to see what they're after.
Night pancakes are a must, after all. Can't be a ... Cafe open at 9:30pm on a Wednesday without Night Pancakes. It'd be criminal otherwise. Up the street the convoy starts to roll, though, since whatever Ashe -is-, they seem to regard the noise as, most likely, raccoons, and state as such. Though the convoy moves with far less haste than it had used rolling up Ashe's block. There's people out there, maybe. Possibly. And they'd rather avoid a firefight. Death gets expensive, and the Golden Shadow don't like expensive, except when they're the ones doing the selling. So, out into the open Ashe goes, sticking to the shadows.
And it. is. Fucking. COLD. Coldy-cold. Definitely not 'microskirt and pumps' weather. But one does as one must in these circumstances, and down the road Ashe trails the convoy. In the dark, behind their lights and rolling engines, she can get a better glimpse of the totality of the convoy. One Big Fucking Jeep, blackened windows. The woman with the Tube, and about five or six other figures of indeterminate gender, carrying a variety of weapons, all wearing beanies or balaclavas. They're going for stealth, over lethality, though the glaring lights seem to belie that mission approach a bit. Down the block they go, hup-to'ing a bit, such that they start to outpace Ashe a bit. Now's the time to decide, little tweaker:
Run forward, or go 'round the back way?
Ashe doesn't carry a weapon, unless you count her smile, and as much as she loves a good mosh pit, these people seem slightly better armed than her usually hangouts. After a cluck of her tongue, the little tiny part of her brain that's been keeping her alive these last eighteen years finally gets it's way, and around the back she goes. She'll still move towards the danger of course. Just; circumventiously.
If she finds a blunt object on the way, all the better? What are they after, she HAS to know. Also... She has to get in out of the cold. The juice she's running on isn't going to keep her warm forever, or likely at all, since her heat is probably just a figment.
It's a semi-residential district. Of course there's shit everywhere. It just happens to be in recycling bins with 'DON'T TOUCH, NICOLE, OR I'LL CALL THE CITY COUNCIL' written on sharpie on them. A little rooting around, or a little tripping the not-so-light fantastic gives Ashe a veritable cornucopia of empty wine bottles, discarded brooms, and half-broken crates and pallets. Going the side-along route gives Ashe some breathing room. The convoy's attention is (mostly) on what's before them, rolling up the street towards the warm-lit frontage of the cafe. By taking backroads and sidestreets, the little mosher is given a moment to take stock, and take a breath. It's late and it's snowing and it's cold, and while she looks ready for a night out, this type of night out is likely not in the style guide for her outfit.
A couple of steps around the edge of an alleyway causes a jangle-clangle-rangle-dong as Ashe inadvertently toes what appears to be one of those heavy-bottomed, dull-labeled brown bottles from cheap corner liquor stores. The cafe a few blocks up, though? That looks -WARM-.
And it's currently being fanned out and flanked by a few people tucking away weapons, slinking off into the back-alley while the Jeep 'parks' across the street.
Ashe licks her lips, immediately regretting the ice cold her saliva turns as soon as it hits the air. It won't be her first or last foolish move tonight. Grabbing an old wine bottle, one perfectly prime by the frigid weather for shattering, she creeps forward. She's just gonna watch is all, that's it. She just needs to see what they're after. Ohhhhh, and if she can snag one of those fancy comms, wouldn't that be a fun thing to sell to Ethel? Good old Ethel, she loves getting ahold of things she shouldn't have.
Though she's high as a kite, the cold is slowing her down, making her clumsy, and numbing her hands. Mischief or not, she needs to be inside or she's going to die of hypothermia soon. While this doesn't quite register, she is quite uncomfortable. So she looks for someone isolated, or better yet, no one at all, a path to creep through the back exit? Or... With everyone moving into the diner, there's always a nice warm, poorly guarded Jeep. She'll keep an open mind. She could use a new Jeep though. At least for the half an hour it'll take to track down the gps.
If a path with one or fewer 'obstacles' is open to the cafe, that's where she'll head. Elsewise, joy ride time.
Most of the convoy's few members have broken off into two forks, rounding the side door and the back-alley of the cafe. For the most part, they approach like deliveryman. At 10pm. On a Wednesday. They seem less interested in the interior itself than they do in whatever lies in the walk-in behind the counter, or, perhaps in the basement and storage rooms. Three-and-two, two to the eastern flank, three to the north, rounding the back. And one Jeep, idling across the street, manned by one man sat behind tinted glass, barely visible off of the glint, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
The front door, if anything, looks the most inviting. No one's explicitly guarding there, and it would give off too much attention, too much warning. And look! No Night Pancakes, but scones! Freshly baked, too, surely that must count for something this late?
A wide-open slip, a dart across the street, avoiding street lights should Ashe wish it, and into the front door. The wine bottle MIGHT present an issue, but that can be dealt with later. Besides, who doesn't love a good glass of cabernet with their night-time tea?
looks longingly at that probably nice warm jeep, but if they locked the doors it'd take her at least half a minute to jimmy it open. More if her hand falls off from frostbite, so in the front door it is. Just in case she's spotted she discards the wine bottle, pretending to be a normal customer. I mean, who knows, she might be?
The disguise isn't so comitted to though that she doesn't wait for the jeeps driver to be distracted by the sound of comms before she slips in the door, shivering and red-cheeked. There's something interesting in here, and she needs to find it before its taken.
Ashe does a survey of the interior as she enters. What are the people who work here, who eat here, doing with all the hassle? Oh, they're incognito right. They're pobably just enjoying the night. But she bets there's at least one person who isn't. Her gaze searches for anyone that might look particularly anxious.
And they might have guns. You know, in side of the car with the tinted windows that are likely bullet proof? But that won't matter with a little grit and elbow grease and perseverance, Ashe might find herself with a BRAND NEW CAR! Sadly, she seems to choose the safe route, abandoning thoughts of grand theft auto and instead jaunting into the main doorway, all a'shiver and cold. A barista chirps up, perhaps glad for -anyone- to come through this late in the evening, or, maybe, instead, irritated at having to deal with a customer so late. Just wait till the poor college kid deals with all the rowdy customers coming up the back-way.
There's a handful of the usual suspects. Some wanna-be writers chopping away at laptops performatively, a few White Oak students taking the chance at the cold to do work, or pretend to do work while flirting. A handful of regulars, who seem mostly to be using the cafe as a waystation till the snow clears up, and two baristas, one at the register, another lackadaisically working away behind at all the steamers and pots and so forth. They're fine. They're normal.
The one that isn't is the Lady. The one with the Tube, but the Tube isn't here. She's walking out of the bathroom door - though that's one-way-in, one-way-out, no? She has no Tube, but she's got a little earpiece in, not-so-cleverly disguised as a bluetooth earbud. "Uh-huh, yeah. Large decaf. Chai Latte for Mac. Earl Gre- wait, really? Earl Grey for Madison? God, she's such a- Hiiiiiiii," she whines, rounding to the barista before someone can step forward, a bit too hasty for this late at night, "Can I get a-" and then she begins rattling off that order, layering drink upon drink - overly complex bullshit that'll keep the baristas too busy to look into the back.
And they might have guns. You know, in side of the car with the tinted windows that are likely bullet proof? But that won't matter with a little grit and elbow grease and perseverance, Ashe might find herself with a BRAND NEW CAR! Sadly, she seems to choose the safe route, abandoning thoughts of grand theft auto and instead jaunting into the main doorway, all a'shiver and cold. A barista chirps up, perhaps glad for -anyone- to come through this late in the evening, or, maybe, instead, irritated at having to deal with a customer so late. Just wait till the poor college kid deals with all the rowdy customers coming up the back-way.
There's a handful of the usual suspects. Some wanna-be writers chopping away at laptops performatively, a few White Oak students taking the chance at the cold to do work, or pretend to do work while flirting. A handful of regulars, who seem mostly to be using the cafe as a waystation till the snow clears up, and two baristas, one at the register, another lackadaisically working away behind at all the steamers and pots and so forth. They're fine. They're normal.
The one that isn't is the Lady. The one with the Tube, but the Tube isn't here. She's walking out of the bathroom door - though that's one-way-in, one-way-out, no? She has no Tube, but she's got a little earpiece in, not-so-cleverly disguised as a bluetooth earbud. "Uh-huh, yeah. Large decaf. Chai Latte for Mac. Earl Gre- wait, really? Earl Grey for Madison? God, she's such a- Hiiiiiiii," she whines, rounding to the barista before Ashe can step forward, a bit too hasty for this late at night, "Can I get a-" and then she begins rattling off that order, layering drink upon drink - overly complex bullshit that'll keep the baristas too busy to look into the back.
A special tube that she's never seen before? Why would she waste her time stealing scones... Oh allright, maybe just one. But then she's off to that bathroom, waiting for just an instant when the other distraction may be distracted herself. Ashe is like a shadow. Oh wait...
Ashe removes her shoes, ending the clacking of heels on the diner floor, replaced with stocking clad feet. Now she's like a shadow, creeping into the bathroom as she narrows her form to a sliver to avoid opening the door more than it has to be. Is the tube inside? Or did the Lady sneak it out. Only one way to find out.
Tube and Lady had come around with the convoy, around the back. Ashe had seen them, slink off around the back, Tube and all. And now the Lady's inside? With no Tube? Coming from the bathroom. Strange indeed. The Tube-no-Tube Lady is too busy playing distraction for the convoy to take notice of Ashe, who slinks off into the hallway towards the bathroom. There's a locked door halfway down the hall that says STAFF ONLY. Maybe that's where they came in? There's a strange heat around the cafe, as Ashe slinks to the bathroom.
A faint glowing comes from the slightly-ajar door of the bathroom, but there's an equally tempting noise behind that STAFF ONLY door. A sort of 'thrum-pum-pum', and beyond it, attempts to jiggle a lock.
Ashe is ever so helpful, if someone wants through a locked door, why she would be rude not to open it for them! And so she takes out her hairpin and twine and rocks, a lockpicking kit if ever you saw one, and gets to work on that STAFF ONLY door, preparing to open it in a rush with a bright smile on her face, and if necessary, a swift knee to the groin.
Who knew cafes had such strong internal security? Ashe gets the lock popped with ease, and behind it, very strangely, is a much, MUCH heavier steel door, more akin to a bank vault, down at the end of the hallway revealed by the STAFF ONLY door. The hall door had opened easily, but the muffled sounds of what become, now, apparent as the -aggressive- attempts by members of the convoy to break into whatever is beyond that steel door from outside, those sounds? They seep through. But they're tackling the problem from the outside in, and just down that hall, there's another door for Ashe. Trouble is, this hallway, unlike the bathroom hall, is -replete- with security cameras.
Ashe lets out a soft whistle at all the security. She doesn't have much time, but the opportunity to brag about this is too much for the coked up little blonde to pass up. To action! She dashes forward, barefoot, through the hall, throwing her jacket up over her head. The security cameras will catch her for certain, but she's got thirty seconds and a plan. And at least they won't be able to recognize her down later... Unless the security guard is a foot fetishest of particular refinement.
She dashes for that door, hoping that they wouldn't have bothered to double lock. That's what 3 seconds? She's just on time, and if she works this just right the people coming in from outside will meet the people coming in from inside!
A jacket isn't an invisibility cloak, but Ashe is one girl, instead of a 5-man convoy, and she's got the benefit of stealth, speed, and a lack of timetable on her side. Down the hall she goes, cameras whirring on their regular schedule - seeming automated, instead of manned. It's not a LONG hallway, which makes the density of security all the more concerning.
But she hits the door, and it becomes a beautiful test of how many lockpicking videos Ashe has watched on Youtube. The hall door was easy. This is up there with a bank vault. Multiple pins, two -different- latches, and a simplified pin-pad keycode next to the door.
She does her best, and to be fair, her best is about as good as any teenager could hope for, but Ashe is not strictly a finesse sort of cat burglar. If push comes to shove, she's got her rock. Key pad's easy enough, a little dusting of concealing to outline the fingerprints. Will that give her the order of the keypad? Certainly not, but it should narrow things down. Maybe that'll open it without the lockpicks? If not, well, speed helps you pick locks right?
Oh well, victory comes only to those willing to wish these feet! Oh, no that's Defeat. Well, whichever feet she's risking, she's gonna try.
Maybe Ashe is that good. Maybe Ashe is Lucky. Maybe it's just That Sort of Night. And so its off to the races. The keypad, oddly, seems to give-way to its secrets more readily than expected. A dusting, an outline of prints, Four numbers, each one seemingly abraded as much as the other three. So many combinations, but something emerges. A 1 is present. A year, perhaps? Didn't the coffee cups have a founding date on their logo? It's worth a risk.
It comes free quickly, though the physical locks are a bit more tricky and the noises beyond the vault door are getting a LOT louder.
Ashe sings her favorite song, well humms rather. It's the 'shoulda done it different' song, and this particular rendition has a verse about how she shoulda picked the employee's pockets for a key first. But she didn't so the song goes on for a while. In the meantime she practices all the various lies she's going to tell the people that walk in on her if she doesn't get it open. Innocent girlish little voice and all 'Oh, sorry, I'm lost. I thought this was the bathroom.' ... No that's way overused. 'Please help me, I ran in here. He's kidnapped me.' oooo, that one's good. Can she cry on command? She sniffles. Oh, she was already crying from the cold, bonus! Tappa tappa tapp, we'll see.
Blip. Bloop. Twist, click, tumblers rolling, pins lifted, care and caution balanced with a ticking clock, panicky plans rolling in Ashe's head, right up until....SSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHhh and it comes open, slipping free not with a squeal, but a hiss of decompression.
There is SO much shit in this vault, and the thing is the size of a bathroom. It's racks of papers, stacks of money in unfamiliar bills, and a small, wooden box. The box seems to -glow- from within. But the pounding gets louder. And the box is about the size of a shoebox. And the orders are being finished. What's Ashe going to do?
Ashe ignores the paper, ignores the money. She doesn't steal for greed, she steals for fun, and that box looks FUN with a capital... well, all the letters capitalized. She rushes in to snatch the box. If there's anything that can be considered an exit besides how she came in, that's where she's going. If not, back out the way she came, full spring, cameras be damned. Doesn't matter if they see her now.
She'll head out into the diner, snatch a set of car keys from some unsuspecting sort, and head to the parking lot if nothing stops her. Hopefully the fob will be in range to tell her what vehicle will be her escape.
There is, ironically, nothing in Ashe's way. Not really. She grabs the box, there's no alarm, no screaming, no blaring. And she tucks it into her arms, and quicksteps out, nabbing some keys. The chaos comes later, as the convoy manages to breach the walls and the cafe goes to hell, but that doesn't matter. Ashe has the box, and its contents, and she's already a few blocks away, making it out clean.