Encounterlogs
Ashs Odd Encounter Sr Ceryn 241201
In an unexpected turn of events, Ash and Victoria, entwined in the midst of their tranquil respite, are summoned by Fortune's comms into the shadowy embrace of the dense forest marking Haven's outskirts. Their mission, seemingly straightforward, quickly spirals into an odyssey through the grotesque and otherworldly as they seek to locate a civilian lost within the woods' insidious grasp. The narrative unfurls beneath the canopy of a dark thicket, a foreboding entrance guarded by a solitary, stark white gate, seemingly innocuous yet hiding within its confines a world skewed by gate magic and the palpable, eerie silence of an unseen choir. Ash, equipped with a crossbow and sword, and Victoria, armed with a blade, step into a realm where the natural order is grotesquely twisted, revealing the harrowing fate of those ensnared by the Fae's cruel artworks—a menagerie of humans entwined and morphed into the very fabric of the forest.
The heart of their journey throbs with dark revelations as they encounter a fae creature, a sinister gardener of flesh and flora, in the act of integrating their latest victim into its grotesque collection. The creature's domain, a fae garden of twisted human sculptures, stands as a testament to the Fae's macabre fascination with human suffering. Despite their efforts to negotiate and challenge the creature, Ash and Victoria are thrust into combat, utilizing magic and martial prowess in a frenzied bid to thwart further atrocities. The confrontation culminates in the creature's demise, its power dissolving and freeing them from the otherworldly thicket, leaving no trace of the wildling or the horror that transpired, save for their haunting memories and the grim reality that some battles yield no victors, only survivors marked by their encounters with the profound and perverse wonders of the Fae realm.
Transitioning to a stark contrast of tones, we are introduced to Eric, a man just freed from the exhausting task of quelling spirit unrest, now faced with a far more mundane but equally pressing concern. A frantic woman, hindered by her small stature and fervent worry for her shihtzu tangled high in a backyard tree, implores Eric for assistance. Her petrified canine companion, frightened into an arboreal prison by a neighboring dog, becomes the focus of Eric’s unexpected detour from the spectral to the pedestrian. Tasked with this unsuspecting rescue, Eric’s empathy shines as he agrees to lend his reach, weaving a tale of human connection grounded in the simple yet profound acts that weave the fabric of daily life, standing in poignant relief against the supernatural backdrop that envelops his existence.
(Ash's odd encounter(SRCeryn):SRCeryn)
[Sat Nov 30 2024]
In a Spacious, Lantern-Lit Treehouse
Whilst the outside of the treehouse blends in with the gnarled, moss-covered bark of the ancient elm it rests upon, the hatch into it reveals a comfortable, well-maintained room of lacquered wood and warm lighting provided by hanging, copper lanterns. The smooth panelling that makes up the flooring is covered by a myriad of blankets and rugs, all adorned with swirling patterns of various verdant and celtic iconography.
Adding a focal point to the treetop abode is a warm, low, Japanese kotatsu table. The plush, downy pillows surrounding it offer comfort against the hard wooden flooring and almost beckon one to find themselves underneath the table's heated blanket. Just behind it and opposite the hatch is a series of clustered shelves, full of an assortment of board games, plant pots and decorative wood carvings in a rather haphazard organization.
To the southern end of the treehouse is a set of hanging drapes, divvying the room up with a beige cotton that leaves all but dark silhouette visible from the main section. On the other side of the veil is a sizable, circular, hanging bed suspended from the ceiling by sinewy hemp ropes. This section of the treehouse abandons the consistent lighting of the lanterns in lieu of the flickering atmosphere of fleeting candlelight lined up along the windowsill.
It is afternoon, about 45F(7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
As noon passed and the afternoon sun began it's approach to the evening's dusk, Ash and Victoria found a bit of reprieve in the gaps of their exciting lives. The moment of mundane colours the rest of the weeks events in a momentary calm which would always be savoured. Yet, where there is haven, there's always more work to be done, and always circumstance that mean to mar the peace one may look for.
As both of them had their phones in hand, the notification of the Fortune's comms would make that all-too familiar 'blip' that'd mark the end of their break. Luckily, this time it seemed to be a simple thing. A wildling had wandered far from the gate and into the deep forests of Haven's outskirts. In fact, the reports would imply a rather purposeful path that the individual had taken, with no small room for situations which could cause such a thing.
Once tracked down to the last location, Victoria and Ash would find themselves at the entrance of a particularly dark thicket of apple trees. The canopy which hung over the pair cutting into the afternoon daylight with a particularly dense certainty. Even if one would peer deep inbetween the trees through natural or unnatural means, the inky blackness that dominated it wouldn't allow for more than a couple of feet of vision. More peculiarly, the spot they had found themselves in was marked by a gate.
No fence surrounded this gate, but it was rather stark in it's appearance. Painted with a clean white, the base of the gate seemed to be bare of any greenery. The earth below it was pale and lifeless, with no moss nor any other ivies and underbrush you'd expect to overtake such a thing this far out in the wilderness. Yet, it clearly marked where the wildling had been taken, the old fashioned post box that stood aside it designating it as some sort of home.
Ash seemed reluctant to leave their bed - well, someone's bed - but they did, after reading the situation. They don't seem to get it, at first, but if it showed up on comms, it must be something important. Fortunate that they'd gotten a change of clothes, so that by the time they end up meeting with Victoria, they smell far less like they went hinting and let the blood and mud dry.
Ash pulls up to the road in their luxury van, stepping out in block-heeled black sandals, and a sweaterdress made for a masculine form. They have three small bags around their waist on a belt, as well as a pair of sunglasses. Beads glitter in their long, ashen gray dreadlocks, one like a goddess' tear, another orange and fierce, like fire.
Hazel eyes - gold and green - look around carefully as the arrive, and they slide their crossbow and a sword from the trunk of the van. They wave a dark sienna hand at Victoria as they see her, asking, "Hey... no June? Ceryn went to take a nap, or I'm sure he'd come... you know what this is all about?" They sidle closer to their chestnut-haired sister from another mister, and gaze into the darkness with a suspicious air. The light colored freckles on their shoulders and back - highly visible in this dress - start to glow as they summon their will o' wisps to try and brighten things up.
"I didn't know anyone else lived out here..." Victoria murmurs, her voice thoughtful as she runs her tongue along her teeth, stepping off her bike. "Nope, I haven't heard from anyone else." She raises an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in her gaze. With a sigh, she glances down at her phone before slipping it into her pocket with a gentle motion, her attention now fully on Ash. "Looks normal enough, though. Yeah?" she adds, her tone uncertain.
Ash notes in their Tejano drawl, with ebonic slang peppered within, "Oh... I don't know... something about that impenetrable darkness strikes me as... off."
Victoria squints into the darkness, her shoulders shrugging in a casual gesture. "It's not too horrible," she muses aloud, though she doesnt seem to recall the difference between her eyes and those of the braided Darling standing beside her. "We never get to go anywhere tropical and vacation-like," she adds with a playful whine, folding her arms across her chest as if to further emphasize her pout. Her expression shifts slightly as she pulls her phone back out, her brows furrowing in mild frustration. "I only got one message. I have no clue whats going on."
Ash points out to Victoria, "I actually have a private island we can path to, if you like." Casually... this college student who was, just two months ago, scraping and looking for couches to sleep on.
Ash looks up at those apples suspiciously, as they see how... unreal they look. They don't step in just yet, eyeing the scene.
After a few moments upon their arrival, both of their phones updated with a scrawl of information. Yet, this wasn't as much information as one would like. The main point of contention is the apparent flux of gate magic in the area. While not as intense and vivid as those around haven's actual gates, something similar is apparently at play here.
With attuned ears and keen smell, both Victoria and Ash would catch a wisp of human voices in their myriad. Yet, faint as they were, the specifics of what was being said or what was being meant would be lost on the two. Accompanying this, the sickly-sweet sent of amber and what could only be told as cider drifted out from the depths, far further in than their sight would afford and right under the clear breeze of the cloverfields.
One thing each of them might notice was that the small red flag upon the mailbox had been pulled up, indicating that perhaps something had been left for the pair.
"A private..." Victoria lifts her brows in surprise, about to ask a question before her attention turns, her head whipping to the other side as she falls silent. Eventually her nose wrinkles, and she draws in a reluctant deep breath. "Scents I recognize, and some I don't," she says to Ash in a lowered voice. "I don't know what the hell is going on with the fruit." Eventually, her eyes come to rest on the mailbox. "Huh," she furrows her brow. "There's mail delivery...or someone thought there would be," she museds, pointing at it with one slender finger.
Ash makes a face at the mailbox, clearly not liking this... but they go for it, checking it carefully for explosives - Italy clearly in mind - before popping it open.
"The last package I received wasn't fun," Victoria grimaces, squinting her eyes nearly shut as Ash reaches out their hand.
Ash winces at that, making a sick face. "...I wish you hadn't reminded me... I had to give those to June, didn't feel right for me... and it would be an insult to Kah...."
As the two traded thoughts and words, the murmured sounds and words that came from the wood only drew in volume. Yet, whatever they were was muddied by the muffling of the foliage. The only thing the two could make out was the slightly pained tones that underdwelled it all.
But, the moment Ash touched the mailbox, the flag shunted down with a rusty, metallic scrape that clawed at the ears, only hiding the abrupt cessation of noise that came from the wood. The two were now left in the entrance to the grove, all sound eerily absent from the area. Not a single bird, not a single howl, not even the whistled wind between the trees gave ambience to the area.
Ash blinks, frowning, before trying to flip that flag back up, if there's nothing inside.
Stubbornly, the flag not only holds it's ground pinned to the side, but the flat edge of it turns out to be rather sharp, slicing open the tip of Ash's finger and smearing the metallic thing in an even darker crimson.
Having opened one eye in curiosity, Victoria frowns, "Shit." She steps forward, glancing carefully over Ash. "Are you alright?" she asks, leaning to peer at the flag. "I don't trust anything out here."
Ash sighs, nodding to Victoria. "I agree... and now I gave it my blood. There's nothing inside, so I guess *we* are the package. Lovely...." They eye the darkness now, before grumbling, "Might as well go in, then." They take a few steps in, holding their crossbow in one hand.
Just a few steps into the grove is all it needed to shut Ash from the outside world. The once rolling grasslands became an endless maze of gnarled, twisted apple trees, each gap between them only being shaded by the branches of another. Now, the sounds were all around them, clear as day and sickeningly vivid. Groans, murmured, weak pleas and pained gasps peppered what would usually be a serene atmosphere in such a dense, verdant forest.
With their trigger on the bow, Ash would quickly find the wooded growths misshapen and deformed. What one might think mere patterns in the bark cave way to skewed visages and tangled limbs. The further in they peered, the less the natural wonder of arboreal growth would be found, and instead, something more macabre and purposeful would lay way.
Wandering behind Ash leads to Victoria moving protectively a step ahead once they're in that grove. She makes a face, quickly scanning around them. "I'm never having fruit again," she tells Ash, eyes gazing ahead of her.
Ash reaches for magic in the air, to see if there is enough of the Other or the Wild, whichever world, for them to draw sorcery from. It would be both a sign, and a weapon. They stick close to Victoria, watching her back and taking that protection in stride. The sounds start to get to them, reminding them of a basement in New Orleans. One filled with viscera and rot, with screams and... *things*, that begged for death. "Mm... I can't blame you."
Just a tingle is what Ash feels at first, but the further they delve into the woods, the further they feel that tug, the unhuman and bewildering pull of the other. It's more than enough for Ash to draw upon their own sorcery, thick and almost smothering as if the cries and whimpers were infused with what makes up the heart of the fae.
A few steps is all it takes for the pair to finally see something in the distance. What seems to be a series of dancing, teal lights that weave back and forth. While this might be a reprieve to most in such a dark forest, the light it cast only unravelled the facade around them.
What were thought to be branches were gnarled limbs; arms and legs petrified in a layer of crimson-tinged bark. The swirls in the trunks of trees to be the frozen visages of pain and torment, eyes hollow and yet full of acute emotion. Even what were apples are revealed to be the dry, shrivelled up hearts of men and women alike, subtly beating in a languid, strained desperation.
Ash tells Victoria, "Oh, look. My fucking cousins at their fucking bullshit again. I *do* understand why people are sick again." Their voice is a mix of levity, wrong for the mood, with something... not hatred, not frustration, but a mix of both as they march forward. They reach for their clear bag - but the ensemble that they're looking for isn't there. But, it's fine, it's fine. They can use magic, with the glow of their bracelet, to show a glamour to whoever they're meeting here as their careful walk forward turns into angry stalking.
"Definitely, never having fruit again," Victoria repeats, recoiling for a moment as if the mere thought is enough to rattle her. She quickly recovers, though, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she plucks a blade from its sheath. "What /is/ this?" she asks, her tone sharp with curiosity and a hint of confusion, her gaze shifting to someone for answers.
"Definitely, never having fruit again," Victoria repeats, recoiling for a moment as if the mere thought is enough to rattle her. She quickly recovers, though, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she plucks a blade from its sheath. "What /is/ this?" she asks, her tone sharp with curiosity and a hint of confusion, her gaze shifting to Ash for answers.
Victoria says "Your cousins?"
Ash places over themself a glamour of 060The Witchfire King's Rainments`, an elaborate ethereal ensemble. This ethereal ensemble features a priceless dress, silken pants, long lace gloves, a bismuth crown, a witch's hat, a veil, a train, and high heeled boots.
This silk dress has a corset top with ruffled black and violet tulle shoulders, meant to resemble flickering dark fire. A choker collar attached to the shoulders has sapphire and amethyst gemstones shaped like flames embedded amongst reflective jeweled sequins. Tight, slimming sleeves end in tulle puffs around the elbow.
It comes with a waistcoat over the corset, combining feminine curves with masculine attire, yet with a square dcolletage on a flat chest. The dress itself is two-toned iridescent black and violet shot silk, but the black silk velvet cutwork covering most of it has a damask pattern of flames, hammers, and pawprints. Crystals and sequins are embroidered along a lot of the velvet, making the whole dress shimmer sharply.
Though a dress, the front of the skirt is cut open, to reveal long, luxurious silk pants whose gradient glides from rich royal violet to a midnight black, and seamlessly slides into long, black, leather boots. The pant legs are lined on each side in black opals, and the leather boots have stiletto heels, embellished and shaped like a lick of ghostly fire.
The skirt has more detailed damask on them, more emphasis given to the flame motifs. Layers and layers of black, violet, periwinkle, and pink tulle skirts float beneath give a sense of the ethereal. On the inner layer of the dress, iridescent violet satin shimmers when they walk.
Atop of their head is a crown of bismuth, the dark metal inherently iridescent, the spikes tipped with dark blue sapphires reminiscent of flames, and black diamonds encrust the circumference. It rests upon a wide brimmed hat, whose pointed tip folds down and back. From the edges of the brim dangle evenly spaced crystals that seem to turn whatever light touches them into a spectral glow. From it drops a veil of organza, a gradient that starts black, and ends purple, with silver and blue embroidery around the edges.
It matches the Watteau train coming from the shoulders, trailing behind the wearer, sometimes even caught floating in the breeze. When the dress shimmers, one can sometimes swear that they see ghostly will o' wisps dancing along the dress. Long black lace gloves, embroidered with silver thread, starts from the elbow and forms flame damask patterns down to their fingertips.
Ash tells Victoria in staccato Tejano, "We're in a shard of The Other. This is a fae garden... or perhaps menagerie? They've been playing with people... I think one of our compound Wildlings got pulled in to be their next fleshformed 'sculpture'...."
"Oh hell no," Victoria shakes her head, her tone laced with disbelief as she looks toward Ash. "Its like a bad dream." Her eyes narrow as she contemplates the situation, the weight of it settling on her shoulders. "If they got turned into one of these... things, theres nothing we can do, is there?" she asks, her voice tinged with frustration and resignation. With a sharp sigh, she turns about, her eyes scanning the surroundings carefully, every muscle in her body tense as she searches for any sign of movement or threat.
Ash warns Victoria, "I think the point of the message we got is to prevent it... but these? I want to learn fleshforming one day to fix them, but...." They press a gloves hand to a trunk, before shaking their head. "We can't save these as is. We can only hope that they don't suffer... it's like those fucking leech zombies."
Wrinkling her nose, Victoria continues to pace slightly, eyes searching through the dark. "If we're going to prevent it we'd have to find them," she says, blinking at what seems to be an endless expanse of 'trees'.
Ash tries to find a scent through the other unnatural scents.
Step by step, the pair approached the source of the macabre lights, the thicket of tangled, arboreal sculptures giving way to a bare clearing. The grass underfoot replaced with gnarled roots, tinged with crimson and entwining with countless bones and viscera. What is real and what is the result of the creator's will mangles into a singular display of the Fae's indifference to humans.
"More come to join the Choir." A melodic voice rings out from the middle of the clearing. The thing, forgotten or otherwise looms over a figure, the wildling who was tracked down; his red locks stained with his own crimson as his torso had been peeled in twine, revealing muscle, blood and organs. Miraculously, he seemed to still live, chest rising and falling with weak breaths, eyes glazed over with no apparent consciousness, at least some sort of momentary mercy.
But clear as day, the culprit of the scene was the twisted creature. It's pale, sickly limbs rose it high into the air, empty visage becoming one with the petrified limbs and extremities that made up the macabre. Where it's own limbs end and the emaciated width of it's trunk ended was unclear, almost irrelevant to the gaze that drew from it's irisless eyes, full of a clinical, warmthless vigor.
"Ash, you dont tell June that we killed a tree," Victoria says, her voice low but firm, her eyes never leaving the creature hovering over the unfortunate Wildling. Theres a sharp edge to her tone, and she takes a breath, her gaze flickering toward Ash before her expression hardens. "We're not here to join anything," she says, her voice rising just a bit louder, more authoritative now. "We're here for them." Her finger juts out, pointing directly at the victim, splayed open and vulnerable in a grim display.
Ash seems ready to flip, but hold silent as they let Victoria talk it out. it *is* a fae,after all.
"You have no choice." The thing continues in a detached tone. By now, it was clear that it's mouthless body wasn't the source of any of the words. Instead, those who had been petrified into the wood around them had their lips pry against the bark, straining to form whatever speech the thing desired. "You're here now, and that must mean you'll stay. You cannot leave." Each word was entwined by countless voices; male, female, young, old, havenites, wildling, all contributed to it's communication.
It didn't quite wait to parley, instead gesturing to the ground around it. Bones, roots, sinew and muscle twisted and distended, covering every inch of the clearing in sigils and circles that erratically overlapped. The surge of mana in the area was all the two would have as a warning before the woven magick was brought into play.
With a deep frown, Victoria flips her knife once in her hand, the sharp motion betraying her frustration. "There's always a choice," she mutters, almost to herself, her voice tight with the weight of her decision. She halts herself just before the blade plunges into the infestation creeping within the clearing, her breath catching for a moment. Her eyes flicker to Ash, the silent question in her gaze clear. "What now?"
Ash snarls, going for their first instinct. "Perish," they declare, pointing at the creature while their freckles light up like stars, surging for the fae and exploding into a supernova aimed at it.
Ash adds, perhaps bullshitting, "The Circus has already marked our people as safe, so you done fucked up. I can call Oberon's son in the Autumn Court if you won't kindly fuck off out of our territory, or just fucking die." Their voice now is sickly sweet, and polite, with a southern twang as staccato returns to a lazy drawl
Victoria flashes a grin at Ash as they speak. She gives an affirming nod, as if to say shes on the same page, but her stance remains ready for action. Her posture is defensive yet aggressive, every muscle coiled and prepared to spring into violence at a moments notice. The knife still rests in her hand, its presence a silent promise of what shes willing to do if the situation demands it.
The mouths, maws and lips of the wood surrounding them held to their murmured chanting, pouring their own vitae into the circles and sigils without responding to the pair. Thus, after a few moments of the ground quaking, it parted into cracks and fissures, allowing for the eruption and reach of macabre tendrils to lash towards them.
At the last moment, manipulated limbs dove in front of the creature, causing the bursting magics to fleck away flesh and bark in place of it's intended target. In an attempt to distract the two, one of the vicious tentacles, tipped with teeth and horns lashed towards the wildling that had been splayed out upon the ground, forcing them to make a choice.
Ash does not hesitate, both Russian mafia training and the blood that they share with this creature at play, as they ignore the distraction. Their prismatic sorcery comes for the fae again, undeterred as it tries to shift aroun the barriers. Ash tells Victoria in a cold drawl, "I can't fix the guy having no skin, he's gone. Shoot the hearts in the trees that it's using, put them out of of their misery."
Nodding once, Victoria wastes no time in drawing her bow, her movements swift and practiced. As Ash moves to deal with the creature, she stays firmly in place, her focus laser-sharp. She notches arrow after arrow with fluid precision, her body barely turning as she aims. The sharp twang of her bow fills the air as each arrow flies, cutting through the stillness toward the trees. "Got it," she says, her voice steady and confident, her eyes never straying from her target.
Ash noted that he's actually been cut open, and they *could* probably heal him. So, instead, they claim "I can't heal him from being cracked open like a hot potato ready for toppings," despite how inappropriate the comment is. After all, what do they care about a human? Their tone is flippant, focusing on the fact that the fae has stolen one of *their* toys.
With neither of them moving to the wildling, the poor victim is skewered on the serrated tendril, the sinewy growths of it piercing through his body and carving it into one of the many bastardized apple trees. Beyond it's own plans, the pair's relentless assault on it's already vitae-drained body served to quickly put it down. Capricious flesh that had been sapped from untold rituals sloughed off it's bone as arrow and sorcery tor it asunder. Yet, screams did not fall from the lips of the forest, nor did it's pale visage contort into any semblance of pain or regret.
The thing had clearly underestimated the pair as it fell into it's own pile of entrails and viscera, gangly form curled up among the roots. It only took a few moments of the life leaving it's body for the pocket of other that they had been dragged into to warp and shimmer. As if someone snapped their fingers, reality blinked; the pair were left in a quiet, sunny field. The birds above them chirped, the wind rustled distant branches, and all but that picket gate was left as if all was untouched. Sadly, there was no happy end for the entranced wildling, gone with the fleshwarped forest, there was naught trace of him but the footprints that lead here in the first place.
Lowering her bow, Victoria turns, looking bewildered. She stops when she sees Ash again. "That..." Eyes wide, she shakes her head in disbelief, before weapons are put back into place.
Ash curses as they're kicked out without a chance to save the wildling - but it was better than falling for the trap, possibly losing their sister or allowing the fae to continue its games.
The cursing turns into sudden vomit, over the grass, though if it's from disgust, guilt, stress, or just from the stench they've been suffering through.
"You okay?" Victoria asks Ash, nose wrinkling slightly as she gives them a concerned look. "I'm sorry," she sighs. "Wasn't a pretty sight at all."
Ash reaches into their fanny pack, pulling out a baby wipe to clean their lips off with. "Yeah... I need a vacation. I don't regret my decision... but I'm fucking tired of making these hard choices and ending lives. Of course it threw a fucking tantrum with it's last breath - I could have saved him!" Rather than horrified, Ash just looks pissed to Victoria.
"I know," Victoria nods to Ash. "At least we tried." There's an attempt at comfort with her words, and the added "A vacation sounds really nice right now."
(Your target has been flagged down by someone who wants their help getting their cat down from a tree.
)
Eric says "Bonsoir madame."
Eric has just gotten finished with the business that is banishing a veritable army of spirits fighting out some neverending feud. Between himself and a half-dozen others it's left him a little weary, a lot eager to get home, and so the tall, slender, pale-looking lanklet walks on down along the sidewalk to get himself on the road stretching home, the afternoon setting on just enough that the low winter sun can cast long shadows, and the cold can be enough that his thick clothing should prove quite useful.
Eric is happily on his way home. He turns out of cemetery lane, and heads in the direction of home. The streets growing more popular with people enjoying a Saturday afternoon out. The day seems quite normal, if a bit chilly with the sun soon to set, when he is accosted by a woman, who runs straight into him. "Oh excuse me!," she says, as she looks up at Eric. The woman is rather diminutive, barely reaching five feet if that, with voluminous curly red hair, that travels all the way down to her waist. She looks quite frantic and frazzled, and happened to be running full pelt when she's run into Eric. "I'm sorry," she says again, quite out of breath. "Really, I wasn't looking. But I wonder if you can help me?," the woman asks, looking beseechingly up at the man.
Eric might have been knocked aside or back quite severely, were it not for the person he body-checks being, somehow, even less tall and imposing than he really is. Confused, curious eyes glance a long ways down to look at whomever just ran into him, and a small frown shows before his expression clears up just as soon. "Err.. That's- alright, ma'am." It's an awkward moment, but he's really not got it in him to start a fight with a stressed-looking stranger over so little. "Sorry, help you?" It's an odd request, but it stops at odd, not reaching ridiculous or silly. He glances left, right, and decides he may focus on her strange figure another moment yet. "I guess I might. What seems to be the issue, yeah?"
"It's my little dog," The stranger says, looking quite beside herself. "My little puppy! Well... he's not a puppy anymore. I mean... he's like eight years old now. So he's not a puppy. But you know, he's cute and small. He's a shihtzu see," she says, getting quite distracted. "A purebred shihtzu. And his fur is a mix of black and white, and super long now. What with the winter coming. Oh but..." she sighs, as she realizes she's tangented. 'My dog," she explains to Eric once more. "He's a big scarity cat see. We were out in my backyard," she explains, "when he got scared by another dog passing by. He didn't mean to, he wasn't doing anything, besides barking. The german shepherd down the street you know? And so like... he ran away, and he's always been good at jumping. Not as much as a cat perhaps, but dog's got serious aerial," she tries to explain. "And so he jumped, and landed in a tree. I'd get him down but..." she gestures at herself, and her rather short stature. "I can't reach, and he won't come. I was on my way to get my husband from work,' she explains, "but seeing as you're here please/ Can you help?"down, he's scared of heights see.""
Eric blinks over at the short woman all owlishly, sincerely struggling with all the details he'll probably be fine without, with hearing all she's got to say, everything all at once extremely fast and without filter. Whew. Lifting up a hand, he just shows a flat palm: "Lady, lady, I- fh- it's fine, probably. Lemme just. Look. If the dog's really that good, and just, er. Scared to get down?" It's the kindest explanation he can quite think of. "I don't mind reaching over with the old gorilla arms and seeing if the dog won't come down with me. Just lead on, yeah?" He doesn't see a car. How far can it be? "I'll be right with you, mrs..?"
The heart of their journey throbs with dark revelations as they encounter a fae creature, a sinister gardener of flesh and flora, in the act of integrating their latest victim into its grotesque collection. The creature's domain, a fae garden of twisted human sculptures, stands as a testament to the Fae's macabre fascination with human suffering. Despite their efforts to negotiate and challenge the creature, Ash and Victoria are thrust into combat, utilizing magic and martial prowess in a frenzied bid to thwart further atrocities. The confrontation culminates in the creature's demise, its power dissolving and freeing them from the otherworldly thicket, leaving no trace of the wildling or the horror that transpired, save for their haunting memories and the grim reality that some battles yield no victors, only survivors marked by their encounters with the profound and perverse wonders of the Fae realm.
Transitioning to a stark contrast of tones, we are introduced to Eric, a man just freed from the exhausting task of quelling spirit unrest, now faced with a far more mundane but equally pressing concern. A frantic woman, hindered by her small stature and fervent worry for her shihtzu tangled high in a backyard tree, implores Eric for assistance. Her petrified canine companion, frightened into an arboreal prison by a neighboring dog, becomes the focus of Eric’s unexpected detour from the spectral to the pedestrian. Tasked with this unsuspecting rescue, Eric’s empathy shines as he agrees to lend his reach, weaving a tale of human connection grounded in the simple yet profound acts that weave the fabric of daily life, standing in poignant relief against the supernatural backdrop that envelops his existence.
(Ash's odd encounter(SRCeryn):SRCeryn)
[Sat Nov 30 2024]
In a Spacious, Lantern-Lit Treehouse
Whilst the outside of the treehouse blends in with the gnarled, moss-covered bark of the ancient elm it rests upon, the hatch into it reveals a comfortable, well-maintained room of lacquered wood and warm lighting provided by hanging, copper lanterns. The smooth panelling that makes up the flooring is covered by a myriad of blankets and rugs, all adorned with swirling patterns of various verdant and celtic iconography.
Adding a focal point to the treetop abode is a warm, low, Japanese kotatsu table. The plush, downy pillows surrounding it offer comfort against the hard wooden flooring and almost beckon one to find themselves underneath the table's heated blanket. Just behind it and opposite the hatch is a series of clustered shelves, full of an assortment of board games, plant pots and decorative wood carvings in a rather haphazard organization.
To the southern end of the treehouse is a set of hanging drapes, divvying the room up with a beige cotton that leaves all but dark silhouette visible from the main section. On the other side of the veil is a sizable, circular, hanging bed suspended from the ceiling by sinewy hemp ropes. This section of the treehouse abandons the consistent lighting of the lanterns in lieu of the flickering atmosphere of fleeting candlelight lined up along the windowsill.
It is afternoon, about 45F(7C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
As noon passed and the afternoon sun began it's approach to the evening's dusk, Ash and Victoria found a bit of reprieve in the gaps of their exciting lives. The moment of mundane colours the rest of the weeks events in a momentary calm which would always be savoured. Yet, where there is haven, there's always more work to be done, and always circumstance that mean to mar the peace one may look for.
As both of them had their phones in hand, the notification of the Fortune's comms would make that all-too familiar 'blip' that'd mark the end of their break. Luckily, this time it seemed to be a simple thing. A wildling had wandered far from the gate and into the deep forests of Haven's outskirts. In fact, the reports would imply a rather purposeful path that the individual had taken, with no small room for situations which could cause such a thing.
Once tracked down to the last location, Victoria and Ash would find themselves at the entrance of a particularly dark thicket of apple trees. The canopy which hung over the pair cutting into the afternoon daylight with a particularly dense certainty. Even if one would peer deep inbetween the trees through natural or unnatural means, the inky blackness that dominated it wouldn't allow for more than a couple of feet of vision. More peculiarly, the spot they had found themselves in was marked by a gate.
No fence surrounded this gate, but it was rather stark in it's appearance. Painted with a clean white, the base of the gate seemed to be bare of any greenery. The earth below it was pale and lifeless, with no moss nor any other ivies and underbrush you'd expect to overtake such a thing this far out in the wilderness. Yet, it clearly marked where the wildling had been taken, the old fashioned post box that stood aside it designating it as some sort of home.
Ash seemed reluctant to leave their bed - well, someone's bed - but they did, after reading the situation. They don't seem to get it, at first, but if it showed up on comms, it must be something important. Fortunate that they'd gotten a change of clothes, so that by the time they end up meeting with Victoria, they smell far less like they went hinting and let the blood and mud dry.
Ash pulls up to the road in their luxury van, stepping out in block-heeled black sandals, and a sweaterdress made for a masculine form. They have three small bags around their waist on a belt, as well as a pair of sunglasses. Beads glitter in their long, ashen gray dreadlocks, one like a goddess' tear, another orange and fierce, like fire.
Hazel eyes - gold and green - look around carefully as the arrive, and they slide their crossbow and a sword from the trunk of the van. They wave a dark sienna hand at Victoria as they see her, asking, "Hey... no June? Ceryn went to take a nap, or I'm sure he'd come... you know what this is all about?" They sidle closer to their chestnut-haired sister from another mister, and gaze into the darkness with a suspicious air. The light colored freckles on their shoulders and back - highly visible in this dress - start to glow as they summon their will o' wisps to try and brighten things up.
"I didn't know anyone else lived out here..." Victoria murmurs, her voice thoughtful as she runs her tongue along her teeth, stepping off her bike. "Nope, I haven't heard from anyone else." She raises an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in her gaze. With a sigh, she glances down at her phone before slipping it into her pocket with a gentle motion, her attention now fully on Ash. "Looks normal enough, though. Yeah?" she adds, her tone uncertain.
Ash notes in their Tejano drawl, with ebonic slang peppered within, "Oh... I don't know... something about that impenetrable darkness strikes me as... off."
Victoria squints into the darkness, her shoulders shrugging in a casual gesture. "It's not too horrible," she muses aloud, though she doesnt seem to recall the difference between her eyes and those of the braided Darling standing beside her. "We never get to go anywhere tropical and vacation-like," she adds with a playful whine, folding her arms across her chest as if to further emphasize her pout. Her expression shifts slightly as she pulls her phone back out, her brows furrowing in mild frustration. "I only got one message. I have no clue whats going on."
Ash points out to Victoria, "I actually have a private island we can path to, if you like." Casually... this college student who was, just two months ago, scraping and looking for couches to sleep on.
Ash looks up at those apples suspiciously, as they see how... unreal they look. They don't step in just yet, eyeing the scene.
After a few moments upon their arrival, both of their phones updated with a scrawl of information. Yet, this wasn't as much information as one would like. The main point of contention is the apparent flux of gate magic in the area. While not as intense and vivid as those around haven's actual gates, something similar is apparently at play here.
With attuned ears and keen smell, both Victoria and Ash would catch a wisp of human voices in their myriad. Yet, faint as they were, the specifics of what was being said or what was being meant would be lost on the two. Accompanying this, the sickly-sweet sent of amber and what could only be told as cider drifted out from the depths, far further in than their sight would afford and right under the clear breeze of the cloverfields.
One thing each of them might notice was that the small red flag upon the mailbox had been pulled up, indicating that perhaps something had been left for the pair.
"A private..." Victoria lifts her brows in surprise, about to ask a question before her attention turns, her head whipping to the other side as she falls silent. Eventually her nose wrinkles, and she draws in a reluctant deep breath. "Scents I recognize, and some I don't," she says to Ash in a lowered voice. "I don't know what the hell is going on with the fruit." Eventually, her eyes come to rest on the mailbox. "Huh," she furrows her brow. "There's mail delivery...or someone thought there would be," she museds, pointing at it with one slender finger.
Ash makes a face at the mailbox, clearly not liking this... but they go for it, checking it carefully for explosives - Italy clearly in mind - before popping it open.
"The last package I received wasn't fun," Victoria grimaces, squinting her eyes nearly shut as Ash reaches out their hand.
Ash winces at that, making a sick face. "...I wish you hadn't reminded me... I had to give those to June, didn't feel right for me... and it would be an insult to Kah...."
As the two traded thoughts and words, the murmured sounds and words that came from the wood only drew in volume. Yet, whatever they were was muddied by the muffling of the foliage. The only thing the two could make out was the slightly pained tones that underdwelled it all.
But, the moment Ash touched the mailbox, the flag shunted down with a rusty, metallic scrape that clawed at the ears, only hiding the abrupt cessation of noise that came from the wood. The two were now left in the entrance to the grove, all sound eerily absent from the area. Not a single bird, not a single howl, not even the whistled wind between the trees gave ambience to the area.
Ash blinks, frowning, before trying to flip that flag back up, if there's nothing inside.
Stubbornly, the flag not only holds it's ground pinned to the side, but the flat edge of it turns out to be rather sharp, slicing open the tip of Ash's finger and smearing the metallic thing in an even darker crimson.
Having opened one eye in curiosity, Victoria frowns, "Shit." She steps forward, glancing carefully over Ash. "Are you alright?" she asks, leaning to peer at the flag. "I don't trust anything out here."
Ash sighs, nodding to Victoria. "I agree... and now I gave it my blood. There's nothing inside, so I guess *we* are the package. Lovely...." They eye the darkness now, before grumbling, "Might as well go in, then." They take a few steps in, holding their crossbow in one hand.
Just a few steps into the grove is all it needed to shut Ash from the outside world. The once rolling grasslands became an endless maze of gnarled, twisted apple trees, each gap between them only being shaded by the branches of another. Now, the sounds were all around them, clear as day and sickeningly vivid. Groans, murmured, weak pleas and pained gasps peppered what would usually be a serene atmosphere in such a dense, verdant forest.
With their trigger on the bow, Ash would quickly find the wooded growths misshapen and deformed. What one might think mere patterns in the bark cave way to skewed visages and tangled limbs. The further in they peered, the less the natural wonder of arboreal growth would be found, and instead, something more macabre and purposeful would lay way.
Wandering behind Ash leads to Victoria moving protectively a step ahead once they're in that grove. She makes a face, quickly scanning around them. "I'm never having fruit again," she tells Ash, eyes gazing ahead of her.
Ash reaches for magic in the air, to see if there is enough of the Other or the Wild, whichever world, for them to draw sorcery from. It would be both a sign, and a weapon. They stick close to Victoria, watching her back and taking that protection in stride. The sounds start to get to them, reminding them of a basement in New Orleans. One filled with viscera and rot, with screams and... *things*, that begged for death. "Mm... I can't blame you."
Just a tingle is what Ash feels at first, but the further they delve into the woods, the further they feel that tug, the unhuman and bewildering pull of the other. It's more than enough for Ash to draw upon their own sorcery, thick and almost smothering as if the cries and whimpers were infused with what makes up the heart of the fae.
A few steps is all it takes for the pair to finally see something in the distance. What seems to be a series of dancing, teal lights that weave back and forth. While this might be a reprieve to most in such a dark forest, the light it cast only unravelled the facade around them.
What were thought to be branches were gnarled limbs; arms and legs petrified in a layer of crimson-tinged bark. The swirls in the trunks of trees to be the frozen visages of pain and torment, eyes hollow and yet full of acute emotion. Even what were apples are revealed to be the dry, shrivelled up hearts of men and women alike, subtly beating in a languid, strained desperation.
Ash tells Victoria, "Oh, look. My fucking cousins at their fucking bullshit again. I *do* understand why people are sick again." Their voice is a mix of levity, wrong for the mood, with something... not hatred, not frustration, but a mix of both as they march forward. They reach for their clear bag - but the ensemble that they're looking for isn't there. But, it's fine, it's fine. They can use magic, with the glow of their bracelet, to show a glamour to whoever they're meeting here as their careful walk forward turns into angry stalking.
"Definitely, never having fruit again," Victoria repeats, recoiling for a moment as if the mere thought is enough to rattle her. She quickly recovers, though, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she plucks a blade from its sheath. "What /is/ this?" she asks, her tone sharp with curiosity and a hint of confusion, her gaze shifting to someone for answers.
"Definitely, never having fruit again," Victoria repeats, recoiling for a moment as if the mere thought is enough to rattle her. She quickly recovers, though, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she plucks a blade from its sheath. "What /is/ this?" she asks, her tone sharp with curiosity and a hint of confusion, her gaze shifting to Ash for answers.
Victoria says "Your cousins?"
Ash places over themself a glamour of 060The Witchfire King's Rainments`, an elaborate ethereal ensemble. This ethereal ensemble features a priceless dress, silken pants, long lace gloves, a bismuth crown, a witch's hat, a veil, a train, and high heeled boots.
This silk dress has a corset top with ruffled black and violet tulle shoulders, meant to resemble flickering dark fire. A choker collar attached to the shoulders has sapphire and amethyst gemstones shaped like flames embedded amongst reflective jeweled sequins. Tight, slimming sleeves end in tulle puffs around the elbow.
It comes with a waistcoat over the corset, combining feminine curves with masculine attire, yet with a square dcolletage on a flat chest. The dress itself is two-toned iridescent black and violet shot silk, but the black silk velvet cutwork covering most of it has a damask pattern of flames, hammers, and pawprints. Crystals and sequins are embroidered along a lot of the velvet, making the whole dress shimmer sharply.
Though a dress, the front of the skirt is cut open, to reveal long, luxurious silk pants whose gradient glides from rich royal violet to a midnight black, and seamlessly slides into long, black, leather boots. The pant legs are lined on each side in black opals, and the leather boots have stiletto heels, embellished and shaped like a lick of ghostly fire.
The skirt has more detailed damask on them, more emphasis given to the flame motifs. Layers and layers of black, violet, periwinkle, and pink tulle skirts float beneath give a sense of the ethereal. On the inner layer of the dress, iridescent violet satin shimmers when they walk.
Atop of their head is a crown of bismuth, the dark metal inherently iridescent, the spikes tipped with dark blue sapphires reminiscent of flames, and black diamonds encrust the circumference. It rests upon a wide brimmed hat, whose pointed tip folds down and back. From the edges of the brim dangle evenly spaced crystals that seem to turn whatever light touches them into a spectral glow. From it drops a veil of organza, a gradient that starts black, and ends purple, with silver and blue embroidery around the edges.
It matches the Watteau train coming from the shoulders, trailing behind the wearer, sometimes even caught floating in the breeze. When the dress shimmers, one can sometimes swear that they see ghostly will o' wisps dancing along the dress. Long black lace gloves, embroidered with silver thread, starts from the elbow and forms flame damask patterns down to their fingertips.
Ash tells Victoria in staccato Tejano, "We're in a shard of The Other. This is a fae garden... or perhaps menagerie? They've been playing with people... I think one of our compound Wildlings got pulled in to be their next fleshformed 'sculpture'...."
"Oh hell no," Victoria shakes her head, her tone laced with disbelief as she looks toward Ash. "Its like a bad dream." Her eyes narrow as she contemplates the situation, the weight of it settling on her shoulders. "If they got turned into one of these... things, theres nothing we can do, is there?" she asks, her voice tinged with frustration and resignation. With a sharp sigh, she turns about, her eyes scanning the surroundings carefully, every muscle in her body tense as she searches for any sign of movement or threat.
Ash warns Victoria, "I think the point of the message we got is to prevent it... but these? I want to learn fleshforming one day to fix them, but...." They press a gloves hand to a trunk, before shaking their head. "We can't save these as is. We can only hope that they don't suffer... it's like those fucking leech zombies."
Wrinkling her nose, Victoria continues to pace slightly, eyes searching through the dark. "If we're going to prevent it we'd have to find them," she says, blinking at what seems to be an endless expanse of 'trees'.
Ash tries to find a scent through the other unnatural scents.
Step by step, the pair approached the source of the macabre lights, the thicket of tangled, arboreal sculptures giving way to a bare clearing. The grass underfoot replaced with gnarled roots, tinged with crimson and entwining with countless bones and viscera. What is real and what is the result of the creator's will mangles into a singular display of the Fae's indifference to humans.
"More come to join the Choir." A melodic voice rings out from the middle of the clearing. The thing, forgotten or otherwise looms over a figure, the wildling who was tracked down; his red locks stained with his own crimson as his torso had been peeled in twine, revealing muscle, blood and organs. Miraculously, he seemed to still live, chest rising and falling with weak breaths, eyes glazed over with no apparent consciousness, at least some sort of momentary mercy.
But clear as day, the culprit of the scene was the twisted creature. It's pale, sickly limbs rose it high into the air, empty visage becoming one with the petrified limbs and extremities that made up the macabre. Where it's own limbs end and the emaciated width of it's trunk ended was unclear, almost irrelevant to the gaze that drew from it's irisless eyes, full of a clinical, warmthless vigor.
"Ash, you dont tell June that we killed a tree," Victoria says, her voice low but firm, her eyes never leaving the creature hovering over the unfortunate Wildling. Theres a sharp edge to her tone, and she takes a breath, her gaze flickering toward Ash before her expression hardens. "We're not here to join anything," she says, her voice rising just a bit louder, more authoritative now. "We're here for them." Her finger juts out, pointing directly at the victim, splayed open and vulnerable in a grim display.
Ash seems ready to flip, but hold silent as they let Victoria talk it out. it *is* a fae,after all.
"You have no choice." The thing continues in a detached tone. By now, it was clear that it's mouthless body wasn't the source of any of the words. Instead, those who had been petrified into the wood around them had their lips pry against the bark, straining to form whatever speech the thing desired. "You're here now, and that must mean you'll stay. You cannot leave." Each word was entwined by countless voices; male, female, young, old, havenites, wildling, all contributed to it's communication.
It didn't quite wait to parley, instead gesturing to the ground around it. Bones, roots, sinew and muscle twisted and distended, covering every inch of the clearing in sigils and circles that erratically overlapped. The surge of mana in the area was all the two would have as a warning before the woven magick was brought into play.
With a deep frown, Victoria flips her knife once in her hand, the sharp motion betraying her frustration. "There's always a choice," she mutters, almost to herself, her voice tight with the weight of her decision. She halts herself just before the blade plunges into the infestation creeping within the clearing, her breath catching for a moment. Her eyes flicker to Ash, the silent question in her gaze clear. "What now?"
Ash snarls, going for their first instinct. "Perish," they declare, pointing at the creature while their freckles light up like stars, surging for the fae and exploding into a supernova aimed at it.
Ash adds, perhaps bullshitting, "The Circus has already marked our people as safe, so you done fucked up. I can call Oberon's son in the Autumn Court if you won't kindly fuck off out of our territory, or just fucking die." Their voice now is sickly sweet, and polite, with a southern twang as staccato returns to a lazy drawl
Victoria flashes a grin at Ash as they speak. She gives an affirming nod, as if to say shes on the same page, but her stance remains ready for action. Her posture is defensive yet aggressive, every muscle coiled and prepared to spring into violence at a moments notice. The knife still rests in her hand, its presence a silent promise of what shes willing to do if the situation demands it.
The mouths, maws and lips of the wood surrounding them held to their murmured chanting, pouring their own vitae into the circles and sigils without responding to the pair. Thus, after a few moments of the ground quaking, it parted into cracks and fissures, allowing for the eruption and reach of macabre tendrils to lash towards them.
At the last moment, manipulated limbs dove in front of the creature, causing the bursting magics to fleck away flesh and bark in place of it's intended target. In an attempt to distract the two, one of the vicious tentacles, tipped with teeth and horns lashed towards the wildling that had been splayed out upon the ground, forcing them to make a choice.
Ash does not hesitate, both Russian mafia training and the blood that they share with this creature at play, as they ignore the distraction. Their prismatic sorcery comes for the fae again, undeterred as it tries to shift aroun the barriers. Ash tells Victoria in a cold drawl, "I can't fix the guy having no skin, he's gone. Shoot the hearts in the trees that it's using, put them out of of their misery."
Nodding once, Victoria wastes no time in drawing her bow, her movements swift and practiced. As Ash moves to deal with the creature, she stays firmly in place, her focus laser-sharp. She notches arrow after arrow with fluid precision, her body barely turning as she aims. The sharp twang of her bow fills the air as each arrow flies, cutting through the stillness toward the trees. "Got it," she says, her voice steady and confident, her eyes never straying from her target.
Ash noted that he's actually been cut open, and they *could* probably heal him. So, instead, they claim "I can't heal him from being cracked open like a hot potato ready for toppings," despite how inappropriate the comment is. After all, what do they care about a human? Their tone is flippant, focusing on the fact that the fae has stolen one of *their* toys.
With neither of them moving to the wildling, the poor victim is skewered on the serrated tendril, the sinewy growths of it piercing through his body and carving it into one of the many bastardized apple trees. Beyond it's own plans, the pair's relentless assault on it's already vitae-drained body served to quickly put it down. Capricious flesh that had been sapped from untold rituals sloughed off it's bone as arrow and sorcery tor it asunder. Yet, screams did not fall from the lips of the forest, nor did it's pale visage contort into any semblance of pain or regret.
The thing had clearly underestimated the pair as it fell into it's own pile of entrails and viscera, gangly form curled up among the roots. It only took a few moments of the life leaving it's body for the pocket of other that they had been dragged into to warp and shimmer. As if someone snapped their fingers, reality blinked; the pair were left in a quiet, sunny field. The birds above them chirped, the wind rustled distant branches, and all but that picket gate was left as if all was untouched. Sadly, there was no happy end for the entranced wildling, gone with the fleshwarped forest, there was naught trace of him but the footprints that lead here in the first place.
Lowering her bow, Victoria turns, looking bewildered. She stops when she sees Ash again. "That..." Eyes wide, she shakes her head in disbelief, before weapons are put back into place.
Ash curses as they're kicked out without a chance to save the wildling - but it was better than falling for the trap, possibly losing their sister or allowing the fae to continue its games.
The cursing turns into sudden vomit, over the grass, though if it's from disgust, guilt, stress, or just from the stench they've been suffering through.
"You okay?" Victoria asks Ash, nose wrinkling slightly as she gives them a concerned look. "I'm sorry," she sighs. "Wasn't a pretty sight at all."
Ash reaches into their fanny pack, pulling out a baby wipe to clean their lips off with. "Yeah... I need a vacation. I don't regret my decision... but I'm fucking tired of making these hard choices and ending lives. Of course it threw a fucking tantrum with it's last breath - I could have saved him!" Rather than horrified, Ash just looks pissed to Victoria.
"I know," Victoria nods to Ash. "At least we tried." There's an attempt at comfort with her words, and the added "A vacation sounds really nice right now."
(Your target has been flagged down by someone who wants their help getting their cat down from a tree.
)
Eric says "Bonsoir madame."
Eric has just gotten finished with the business that is banishing a veritable army of spirits fighting out some neverending feud. Between himself and a half-dozen others it's left him a little weary, a lot eager to get home, and so the tall, slender, pale-looking lanklet walks on down along the sidewalk to get himself on the road stretching home, the afternoon setting on just enough that the low winter sun can cast long shadows, and the cold can be enough that his thick clothing should prove quite useful.
Eric is happily on his way home. He turns out of cemetery lane, and heads in the direction of home. The streets growing more popular with people enjoying a Saturday afternoon out. The day seems quite normal, if a bit chilly with the sun soon to set, when he is accosted by a woman, who runs straight into him. "Oh excuse me!," she says, as she looks up at Eric. The woman is rather diminutive, barely reaching five feet if that, with voluminous curly red hair, that travels all the way down to her waist. She looks quite frantic and frazzled, and happened to be running full pelt when she's run into Eric. "I'm sorry," she says again, quite out of breath. "Really, I wasn't looking. But I wonder if you can help me?," the woman asks, looking beseechingly up at the man.
Eric might have been knocked aside or back quite severely, were it not for the person he body-checks being, somehow, even less tall and imposing than he really is. Confused, curious eyes glance a long ways down to look at whomever just ran into him, and a small frown shows before his expression clears up just as soon. "Err.. That's- alright, ma'am." It's an awkward moment, but he's really not got it in him to start a fight with a stressed-looking stranger over so little. "Sorry, help you?" It's an odd request, but it stops at odd, not reaching ridiculous or silly. He glances left, right, and decides he may focus on her strange figure another moment yet. "I guess I might. What seems to be the issue, yeah?"
"It's my little dog," The stranger says, looking quite beside herself. "My little puppy! Well... he's not a puppy anymore. I mean... he's like eight years old now. So he's not a puppy. But you know, he's cute and small. He's a shihtzu see," she says, getting quite distracted. "A purebred shihtzu. And his fur is a mix of black and white, and super long now. What with the winter coming. Oh but..." she sighs, as she realizes she's tangented. 'My dog," she explains to Eric once more. "He's a big scarity cat see. We were out in my backyard," she explains, "when he got scared by another dog passing by. He didn't mean to, he wasn't doing anything, besides barking. The german shepherd down the street you know? And so like... he ran away, and he's always been good at jumping. Not as much as a cat perhaps, but dog's got serious aerial," she tries to explain. "And so he jumped, and landed in a tree. I'd get him down but..." she gestures at herself, and her rather short stature. "I can't reach, and he won't come. I was on my way to get my husband from work,' she explains, "but seeing as you're here please/ Can you help?"down, he's scared of heights see.""
Eric blinks over at the short woman all owlishly, sincerely struggling with all the details he'll probably be fine without, with hearing all she's got to say, everything all at once extremely fast and without filter. Whew. Lifting up a hand, he just shows a flat palm: "Lady, lady, I- fh- it's fine, probably. Lemme just. Look. If the dog's really that good, and just, er. Scared to get down?" It's the kindest explanation he can quite think of. "I don't mind reaching over with the old gorilla arms and seeing if the dog won't come down with me. Just lead on, yeah?" He doesn't see a car. How far can it be? "I'll be right with you, mrs..?"