Encounterlogs
Calistas Odd Encounter Sr Aristotle 240617
In a grim, dust-cloaked basement cluttered with relics of the past, Iakres Androulakis, bound and beleaguered, finds himself the unlikely captive of Frederick Vaughn. The air, thick with the weight of desperation and despair, tells of Vaughn's tumultuous journey—a man shattered by loss, clinging to the faint hope of reuniting with his deceased wife and daughter through the rumored powers of an obscure artifact known as the Whispering Willow. Despite his initial confusion and discomfort, Iakres listens to Frederick's fervent plea, his heart aching with empathy for another soul ensnared by grief. The revelation of such pain prompts an unexpected bond between captor and captive, a shared understanding of love's relentless grip beyond the veil of death.
Iakres, moved by Frederick's anguished yearning, agrees to aid him, albeit skeptically, mindful of the perilous path that Frederick treads in his quest. With a grave warning against seeking darkness for solace, he provides potential contacts who might lead Frederick to the Whispering Willow but cautions him against the cruel deceptions of Hell's false promises. As they part ways, a somber air envelops their farewell, heavy with the unspoken fears of what may lie ahead. Frederick, emboldened by hope yet shadowed by the looming specter of despair, steps back into the night's embrace, leaving Iakres to ponder the delicate balance between holding on and letting go. It's a tale of grief, desperation, and the lengths to which love will go to reclaim what was lost, underscored by the wisdom of a life lived long enough to understand the true cost of such endeavors.
(Calista's odd encounter(SRAristotle):SRAristotle)
[Sun Jun 16 2024]
In the dining area of Petite Cuisine
Walking into the farmhouse-style Petite Cuisine is to be surrounded by food, warmth, and comfort. The flooring is made from reclaimed walnut planks, and the walls painted a soft white with a shiplap accent along the eastern wall. Decorated with elements of wrought iron, candlelight, and fresh greenery, it achieves an elegant yet casual atmosphere that invites one to relax and connect over a meal. Comfortable booth seating and tables are both available in the dining room to chat over their meal, while the bar can be seen beyond a walnut-framed arch to the west.
It is night, about 85F(29C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target and their allies encounter a werewolf who's been injured in a fight with a vampire and is too weak to revert to human form. The characters must decide whether to help or abandon the creature.)
OOC: Hello! Go ahead and emote what you were doing, and we'll get started!""
Calista is sitting next to Elanora in a booth at Petite Cuisine, chatting in hushed tones over salad and chowder. Both women appear to have slightly red eyes from crying, though Elanora's seem quite the bit more fresh. Calista making a small laughing sound at the statement Elanora makes and then replies, "I've never been to Vancouver, so I can neither confirm nor deny." A small sense of ease seems to pass over the brunette when conversation turns to the mundane once more.
OOC: Okay - go ahead and repost once more for Elanora and we will proceed
Calista is sitting next to Elanora in a booth at Petite Cuisine, chatting in hushed tones over salad and chowder. Both women appear to have slightly red eyes from crying, though Elanora's seem quite the bit more fresh. Calista making a small laughing sound at the statement Elanora makes and then replies, "I've never been to Vancouver, so I can neither confirm nor deny." A small sense of ease seems to pass over the brunette when conversation turns to the mundane once more.
Elanora nods to Calista, "Ohh I guess in san fran as well.. That's actually where I was thinking... Something about some pier with alot of sea lions lying on wooden pallets... And holding bowls of chowdar..." She rubs her cheek against Calista's shoulder as she takes another spoonful of the aforementioned food. "Sea lions smell bad though when they're in that big a group..."
What seems like a quiet night on the outside, silence broken only by the perceived emotional tension that spawned red, teary eyes from both Elanora and Calista during their late night get-together. The restaurant is mostly quiet, a little sparse given the time which gives the girls all the privacy they may need. There's a bit of a bustling in the back, likely from the kitchen as whomever is on dishwasher duty probably dropped something, and in the distance, the howl of a wolf can be heard.
Calista makes a strange sort of face as she tries to follow this thread of conversation about sea lions holding bowls of chowder. "I uh," she begins to say in slow confusion before she exhales a short laugh. "I don't even really like sea food all that much and now you've got me thinking about stinky sea lions... thanks Ells." She clears her throat a little bit, wrinkling her nose at the bowl her friend has in front of her and reaching for her own glass of sparkling lemon water.
The sounds from the back draw the usual small amount of curiosity from the woman, though without any further drama, it slips away from mind just as quickly as it happened.
General clatter continues, but most who remain in the restaurant see it flowing from their minds just as easily as it did for Calista. There's another howl that is heard, now. A bit closer than it was just moments ago - though in the restaurant it still comes a bit muffled. A glance out of the nearest window wouldn't reveal too much, though, but the howling starts to come a bit more frequently now, each one a bit shorter and closer.
Elanora snorts softly at Calista's words and she seems to relax just a bit, her shoulders lowering, "Sorry! You're not eating seafood though..." Her hand goes down to her phone as she recieves a message just as the wolf howls and she frowns as she tries to send a message back, "No connection out here..." She mumbles with a throughtful furrowing of her brow as the howling grows louder and closer. Her topaz eyes flick to the door, "Maybe we can lock the door?" She calls out to one of the passing waitresses.
The sound of a wolf isn't all the unusual - but the frequency and volume has Calista stiffening in the booth next to Elanora. Already, the other woman is trying to grab the attention of the passing waitress and Calista is nodding her agreement to this statement. "Would that... even matter?" she asks her friend in a slightly stressed, whispered tone. "I'm trying to remember what Mikhael was telling me last time about why the door was steel."
A passing waitress stops to regard Elanora as she's petitioned, and she gives the woman a polite smile. "Oh, it's just the wild-life hon, probably just a coyote." she says, reassuring her. "It's very rare any animal wanders too close to the town. We're just fine." She promises. And with that, she gives another smile and carries on with her duties, door remaining unlocked. There is silence now - a break from the howling before a simple glance to the window by either Calista or Elanora would have them spotting what looks like someone running for their life. A man, clothing a bit tattered and arm scratched to all hell. He runs past the window, panting a bit. And, a beat later, a wolf can be seen chasing after.
With how sparse the restaurant is at this time of night, there isn't anyone else to witness that save for the two girls here. The waitress has resumed her duties, back turned to the window as her path takes her to the back of the restaurant.
Topaz eyes glance out through the glass towards the dark streets outside. "I don't know... But it's better than a ...real wolf finding their way in here right?" She asks as she wraps an arm around Calista's shoulder, "I'm sure we wo...." Elanora's words die off as her keen eyes spot the man running around outside and the wolf in persuit. Her mouth is opened as she pokes Calista without turning from the window. Her head jerks back to the waitress. "Hey!" She snaps, her amber eyes glowing luminious as soon as the waitress looks her way. "Lock the door. Right now." Her voice is commanding as she hypnotizes the woman, compelling her to follow her instructions.
"Oh my God!" Calista states, standing up abruptly from within the booth, leaning to try to get a better look out the window. She's already side stepping out from the table to get free from its confines to spring to action or... anything. Elanora's command to the waitress comes first though, and Calista remains motionless, as if her movements might ruin something preciously important here.
"We need to call someone for that man," Calista tells Elanora. "You said you're not getting reception in here?? What kind of nonsense is that?" She looks around the woman who was commanded by Elanora. "Hey, is there like a phone we can use that's working?"
That commanding snap from Elanora has the waitress flinching a bit. She didn't quite make it to the back so far that she wouldn't be heard. Eye contact is made, naturally, and soon that supernatural influence is forcing Elanora's desires into this waitresses mind. She acquiesces, immediately. A nod is given before she sets down her belongings and flees into the back, presumably to get the keys.
As Calista rises to look out the window with a bit more leverage, she'd note in time to see the man who was fleeing being pounced on by the wolf. It's difficult though to make out precisely what's happening, but the snarls and yowls that resound carry with them a bit of a blood splatter. It's not going to be such a pretty sight if aid is brought sooner than later.
It doesn't seem the waitress registered Calista's request for a phone, as she's retreated to the back to find a set of keys. She has yet to return.
Gets to her feet as Calista stands as well, she steps out from behind Calista and turns to look outside the window at the man being mauled. "Fuck well... That wasn't what I expected tonight.. But I guess if the wolf gets fed..." She turns to glance at Calista as she presses 000 on her phone.... remembers that wasn't the right number and presses 911 like an american weirdo. She frowns as she continues to get no connection, "I can't get any signal Callie.." Elanora murmurs as she looks through the windows, clearly not exactly foremost caring about the life of the man out there.
"Oh shit shit shit," Calista exhales in quick succession as she looks out the window. "Of course if I was carrying my..." She cuts off, making a frustrated noise at what she doesn't have, and how that's not helping the situation. "What do you mean if the wolf gets fed? You just want to..." she gestures to the window with a pointed gesture. "To..." She's losing steam, trying to figure out what exactly she's trying to fight about here. "We need to do -something- though Ella!"
If both girls are now looking out of the window, they'd find the vantage point is a bit difficult to see clearly. But, as they peer, they're suddenly met with a large, hairy, beastly shape being flung towards the window. It's abrupt, swift, and the collision of this beast to the window cracks it something fierce. It'd be enough to startle anyone close enough to see. While there's not traditional signal available to the girls at the moment, SOS does seem to kick in on Calista's phone once she dials 911, and the line does start to ring.
Calista makes a surprised pitch of a scream when the beast hits the window suddenly. It's a jarring scene and she steps away from that cracked window just a tad, as its integrity begins to fail. An attempt at 911 seems to work though now, she wracks her brain on what she wishes to say. Is it about the man? The beast? "Ella," she hisses at her friend for her attention. "If they even -have- a shotgun or something in the back... would it matter?"
Elanora lets out a breath at Calista's response and she looks out at the window watching the fight happen and... BANG... the wolf gets tossed into the window of the diner. She shrieks in pure girly response at the impact and then, careful not to get too close to the cracking glass, gets on a chair so that she can look down at the wolf presumed at the bottom of the glass. She is also wondering how big the wolf is if it looked like a normal sized wolf or the larger supernatural kind. "I... don't know..." She says honestly.
The waitress returns shortly after the startled screams, and with keys in hand she moves to lock the door as she was compelled to do so. The wolf, which was flung somehow to the window, hasn't gotten up yet. Startled, likely, just like the girls. The line that rings on Calista's end connects to HSD, and the typical, "911, what's the nature of your emergency?" The operator waits patiently for a response, and the girls would soon see the man that was being chased - or mauled, perhaps, stalking over towards the wolf. Elanora's vision would be able to clearly reveal to her, now that the wolf is closer, that it's sizable, larger than the already large wolfbreed, but not ancient or anything. Neither the wolf nor the man that approaches it seem to notice the pair of onlookers within the restaurant. Or, perhaps he doesn't care. He bares his teeth, exposing fangs, and revealing that this is a conflict between a wolf and bloodsucker.
Calista looks at the window and kind of barely registers the voice on the phone before she snaps out of it. "Hi, I-" she begins to say into her phone. There's a pause as she struggles to find the right words. "I'm at the Petite Cuisine on Beech Street, and there's a," another pause, "... a man outside with... a wolf. I don't know what's going on but there's blood and it's just dangerous and I don't want anyone else to get hurt here, please!" She ends her rambling, not entirely true sentence with that pleading statement. Hopefully, law enforcement with guns could have a better influence on this night's circumstances than these two ladies with wide eyes.
Elanora walks over to Calista as she speaks on the phone, a breath leaving her as she realizes it's a fight between a vampire and a werewolf. She slings a protective arm over Calista's shoulders and starts pushing her towards one of the side booths which was far from the window and where they can hide behind and watch from over the top at the action. "Come on.." She hisses as she shoves the other woman into the booth before her so that she can protect Calista. "I don't think it's smart getting between a vamp and a werewolf..."
Elanora(Ooc) Has to go to work now, so will be afk for 15 then have slow responses
Calista whispers back to Elanora in furtive tones, "I'm not trying to myself but- what? Are we just supposed to sit here and let it play out?" She looks imploringly at Elanora. "I'm just trying to... I don't know. Keep anyone else from getting hurt or maybe to startle them out of this fight!"
Calista's plea is understood, and the response given is, "Alright, stay inside. We will send someone right away. Is this wolf... bigger than a normal-sized one?" The operator asks. It's a question posed delicately, but she clarifies with, "Just to know if the special deputies are needed, or animal control, alongside paramedics of course." As the operator waits, the man outside begins to scuffle once more with the wolf. Quite a public display of supernatural prowess that sees him with the upper hand, much to the wolf's chagrin. And, exposure becomes an issue now, given that the waitress has returned with a gasp of an, "Oh, my..." which has her watching the scene in fearful fascination.
"Big. Bigger. Yes, that," Calista practically stumbles over her reply to the operator on the phone with her. She seems instantly relieved that her blunders have been potentially picked up on.
Elanora doesn't even turn her head as she continues to watch the fight. "Getting inbetween a wolf and a vampire in a turf war is nottttt a good idea Callie." She whispers, "They're like twilight.. natural enemies.... Plus which one do you even want to save?" Her soft voice hisses
"Understood. Stay inside, make sure to lock the doors and close the blinds. Someone is en route." The operator orders. If either of the girls are part of groups that have access to police channels, they'd hear the request go out to deal with a wolf at Petite, and a few minutes pass after that before sirens can be heard on the wind.
"Hey, Can... you start writing up an incident report or something in the back?" Calista casts her voice loudly over to the nosey waitress looking out the window.
"Understood." Calista says in a clipped voice back to her phone before she is casting it away from her mouth once more to whisper to Elanora. "I'm not going to pretend I know what it's about but we can at least try and put a stop to it before -either- one is lost."
Elanora shifts out from the booth looking skeptical.. "Alright... if you have bright ideas"
The sirens on the wind start to get louder - enough that it has pulled the attention of the vampire currently assaulting the wolf. He's a bloodied mess, but it doesn't seem it's his blood. He looks down at the wolf, the poor creature now much too injured to effeciently move, let alone shift back. It seems it could all be over with one more blow, but the Vampire instead opts to spit down at the wolf, blood-tinged saliva staining it's maw. And then, he vanishes, stepping into the Nightmare to evade any kind of unwanted attention - more than he's already been given. The waitress, of course, was around to see this, but the effect of the Vampire stepping into the nightmare has her looking momentarily forgetful. It's quite effective, because when her awareness returns, she's looking at the wolf and gasping again, "Oh no! That poor --- wait, what happened to the window?" She starts to take a step back, piecing together what she can despite the biggest supernatural piece of the riddle missing. "I'm so sorry about that, ladies... I need to step away and call animal control." It doesn't seem she's gathered that the sirens are part of the situation, but it isn't long before a squad car can be seen coming from up the road.
Calista had been shuffling to get out of the booth with Elanora when the sirens got loud enough to stop the aggressor in its tracks and vanish. Calista might have opened her mouth to try and say something to the waitress, but, she lets the woman retreat to the back - accepting the clearance of her presence as a win to their situation. She leans up close to the window, peering down to where the body of the wolf could be seen by her and waiting on the response of the authorities called. "Ella..." she says quietly looking out the window with a stillness to her. "She's not going to remember that is she?"
Elanora wraps an arm around the other woman. "No the police will make sure she wont and...." She gestures towards the wolf, "I'm sure this one will be out and hopping about by tomorrow too. They heal up pretty fast..." She looks relieved at the squad car's appearance. "Maybe this restaurant is cursed." She giggled as she looks around at the mess of the glass.
Calista nods distractedly, eyes still peeled to the outside as if worried the answer of the authorities too good to be true. There is a small, low laugh made though at Elanora's mention of a curse. "I've got to stop trying to have dinner here," she mutters back in an almost playful tone once more, letting some of the anxiety slip from her shoulders while Elanora keeps her arm around the small brunette.
One squad car turns into two, which turns into a third. Whatever precaution the deputies had turn to a lesser tenseness once they see the wolf is quite terribly injured. One radios it in, and though paramedics have arrived, there's no bipedal human for them to tend to. A body bag and a gurney is brought out regardless, along with silver restraints. The wolf is bagged, restrained, and lifted into the back of the ambulance. Not their usual fare, but ordered by the deputies they acquiesce. The scene seems to tend to itself without either Elanora or Calista needing to interfere aside from calling the police initially. Hindsight might insinuate their physical interference might've led to something much, much worse. It isn't long before the scene is cleared up and silence returns to the restaurant, just in time for the waitress to return to find that everything... cleaned itself up.
Elanora nods to Calista, keeping an arm around her as she watches the action. Being restrained means it wasnt dead but being body bagged...She turns Calista's face towards her shoulder as they haul the wolf into the bag like so much meat. "Yeah... Maybe we should have to go next time and eat it on the beach"
Elanora says "I want to try the tartare sometime but uh....."
Elanora says "Not after that..."
OOC: And that's that! A pretty simple encounter, but I'm glad you both chose to spend the time with me! When you're ready, head down, and if you need a summon somewhere specific, stalk to let me know!
"No, not after that," Calista agrees in a soft, distracted voice. Her brows pull together in her small, worried fashion - but it is all she says.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Iakres comes to slowly, the waking of a man who is too used to his soft mattress perfectly in accordance with his needs to stay asleep for too long on a concrete floor with poor cushioning - and that's exactly where he is, currently, a constant 'tick-tick-tick' sound his companion even before his eyes open. His surroundings are unfamiliar, and the damp air carries the musty smell of mildew mixed with the distinct aroma of old wood and antique polish. His wrists are bound together behind his back, though his legs have been left free; perhaps whoever had stolen him from his bed and trussed him up like a turkey thought he looked too pitiful and decrepit to be hogtied all the way.
The room comes into further detail once Iakres's eyes adjust to the dim lighting: it's a cluttered basement of some sort, filled with shelves crammed full of forgotten knick-knacks and peculiar trinkets, all covered in a coating of dust, the chaos contrasting sharply with the heavy, oppressive stillness in the air. There's an aging bookshelf in the corner, with wooden shelves sagging under the weight of their ancient contents: tarnished silverware, faded leather-bound books, cracked porcelain dolls, and rusted metal tools, and the floor is home to a number of old, worn-out rugs strewn across it, their intricate patterns barely visible under layers of grime and dirt, the nightmare of any asthmatic person.
Above him, a single flicking light bulb hangs from the ceiling, casting long, eerie shadows across the room that dare not penetrate into its darkest corners. It lets him make out the outline of other pieces of furniture present in the room - a heavy wooden table against the wall, a massive grandfather clock where the ticking must be coming from. The wall furthest from him bears a heavy metal door, reinforced with iron bars and presumable locked from the other end, while next to it is a small, high window boarded up, allowing only slivers of moonlight to seep through the cracks, providing just enough illumination to highlight the motes of dust hanging in the air. He's all alone, for the time being, no sound to be heard from beyond the room apart from a steady dripping of water, and the occasional noise of a passing car far away - wherever he is, it's not far from town. Maybe it's /in/ town, even.
His shoulders aching sharply from the sustained strain, Iakres's eyes shut tight as he draws inwards upon himself, letting out a quiet groan. He'd been kidnapped before, but only once or twice, and both times had looked like they'd be the end for him. It wasn't a thing he took lightly - and that had been when he was young and fit. He couldn't dislocate his shoulders, thumbs or wrists anymore; he'd need to escape his bindings the hard way.
Finally shuffling up to his feet - hard to do with his hands behind his back, by the way - he curses softly in Greek as he examines the room, calling out a weary, "Hello? I am awake. You have demands for me?" He wanted to pull out the pendulum of that grandfather clock - the sound was annoying him. First, though, he needed to cut his bound wrists free. He shuffles over to the shelves - any shitty old blades amongst the pile of rusted tools?
In his search for shitty old blades, Iakres may find something that looks familiar to his eyes - with all the gardening his wife does, there's no way he'd miss the old, dulled pair of shears, lying next to a rusted saw blade and another jagged piece of metal that looks like it may have been a part of a farming implement once upon a time. Any of them may do, if he can reach them well enough without hurting himself in the process.
His call out didn't go unheard though. It's only a minute or two later, when Iakres may or may not be in the process of freeing himself of his bindings, that the heavy padlocks on the other end of the door rattle; Iakres may not have heard the sound of footsteps, what with his hearing as bad as it is, but it's hard to miss this jangling of heavy metal against metal, and the door is pushed open not too long after, revealing a man standing at the foot of the stairs leading up. This must be a basement, then, with the high window just above ground level.
He's younger than Iakres, like most people are, but well into his middle ages, somewhere between late forties and early sixties. It's hard to tell, considering how haggard the man looks, and the eerie lighting of the bulb certainly doesn't help with first impressions any. His hair is either a deep brown or black, though streaked with grey and looking like he hasn't had a proper haircut in months, and his cheeks and gaunt and hollowed in the way of someone who hasn't been eating well either. The scruffy beard upon his face is more salt than pepper, and his eyes, a deep, tired blue, are framed by dark circles.
There's a pause as he takes in Iakres's current position, /not/ on the ground where he'd been left, and there's a tired little sigh that escapes the man before he steps in further, closing the door behind him - it's not locked, while he's in here. "Mister Androulakis," he almost pronounces it right, even if it's in too American an accent, his voice rough but not unkind. That's got to earn him points, at least? As many points as one can get after kidnapping him. "Frederick Vaughn. I'm sorry for the... abruptness of all this, but I need your help, sir." He walks closer, sticking out a hand to shake, then realizes his problem a second too late and retrieves his hand back to his side all too casually as though he wasn't planning on shaking the hands of a bound man anyway. "You can try to get yourself freed like that, or I can do it for you, if you promise to hear me out."
"I have arthritis," complains Iakres, even if it's really not that bad. "You do it for me. I will listen." He turns around promptly and lifts his wrists just a little - any further and his shoulders would start screaming. "Just so you know - we Greek are usually more receptive when not kidnapped first. If you need to negotiate with others." He sniffs drily, but leaves it there. He was at a disadvantage, here, and he knows it. "You look like you have had it rough. Take the time to eat a meal and have a shower. It will make the rest easier, afterwards. Even if it feels like you don't have the time."
The man - Frederick - slips a small knife out of his pocket, and there's a steadying, callused hand upon one of Iakres's wrists before it's sliding through the bindings holding his hands together, and easing the pressure upon his shoulders. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry..." He's apologetic enough already, though the words dry up following Iakres's admonitions, the man looking a little guilty though he doesn't linger upon it long, instead clasping a hand upon the old man's shoulder to steer him towards a chair in the corner - he must have missed that in his earlier review of the room, because it blends in very well with the drab surroundings, more dirt and caked-on dust than wood at this point.
"You're right, I don't have the time, Mister Androulakis. I cannot rest yet..." Instead of explaining, he trails off and just exhales another despondent sigh, standing near Iakres still while he waits for him to take a seat - this would likely also be a good time to kick him in the balls and run away while the door is unlocked, really, if he wants to try his luck. The knife's gone back into his pocket and he doesn't seem that violent at all, considering the gentleness she's shown Iakres so far, the matter of kidnapping aside.
"I have been following the lead of an artifact for the last six months, one that I've heard the Temple is in possession of. I... didn't think you'd be willing to disclose the information I need without this- you can tell them I tortured you, if they come after you. I just-" There's a look of desperation on his face that's set in while he talks - he's not that good of a kidnapper this far, really. He could use some pointers on his kidnapping skills. It's clear that the man's desperate for whatever this artifact is, though, and he rummages through his pockets, distracted for long moments while he brings out a journal to rifle through. The first few pages are flipped through without a glance, but the rest of them are held out for Iakres's perusal, though Frederick doesn't let go of the journal itself while he shows it to the elderly man.
These are the scribblings of a madman, someone truly obsessed with this artifact. Beneath the dim light of the flickerig bulb, the heading on the top of the page claims it to be the Whispering Willow, with a number of theories scribbled across the pages, along with numbers, leads, coordinates - everything leading to a dead end. "Have you ever heard of this artifact, Mister Androulakis?" He asks, peering at the man with his ragged, yet intent gaze.
Damn. He didn't know about it, but Mister Vaughn here seemed desperate enough to try and force the issue. Iakres's lips turn down into a faint grimace, but he tells the truth: "No. Never heard of it. But I not run with the Temple for twenty years - I spend ten of those with the Order in New York, and ten of those traveling." He works his jaw for a moment, working his fingers between each other as his shoulders ache with complaints of their previous mistreatment, then offers up: "I can get in contact with New York Temple, but they probably recognise I'm being flipped if I ask for specific information. Temple does not even have Commander, here in Haven. They will be useless to you."
"They ARE useless, here," The frustration is rife in the man's voice, and he's just a single step away from starting to pull at his hair, which has certainly seen better, healthier days. "I've been tracking every bit of information I've been able to find all the way across the COUNTRY for the last six months, for THIS!" His hand reaches out in frustration, almost as though he's going to claw out the pages in a fit of rage, before Frederick manages to calm himself with a few, shallow breaths. His hands are trembling when he lowers the diary back, snapping it shut and sending motes of dust scattering across the air with the wind that snap generated.
"I don't know if it's an actual tree, or if it's just called that. Whatever information I've been able to find has been encrypted - all I know is that it's led me HERE and there's no fucking Temple operatives to talk to about it. Some of my leads say it's in another world, protected by things beyond the Temple's control - some of them say it's in another DIMENSION we can't even reach - what the fuck does that even mean?! I just- I need this, do you understand me?!"
He's raging by the time that rant is over, his breathing a ragged, furious thing, and then the man seems to realize he's just yelling at an elderly Hellene, and immediately looks regretful. "I'm sorry. I- it's said to extend beyond the veil. Communion with the dead, resurrection, everything. I just- I /need/ to reach it." His diary's slipped back into his pocket, and his hands go to clasp onto Iakres's, gentle for all the desperation in his gaze. "I need to go there. You understand me, right? My wife and my daughter, they're both- I need-" That's as far as he gets before he's breaking down into a big, ugly mess of tears, his hiccuping sobs echoing around the room.
Iakres might not have the strength he once had, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out a steadying hand and gently gripping Frederick's shoulder, using his dusty chair for leverage. "I see your pain," he says, soft and sympathetic. "I hear it. I will help you." And he does mean it, even if he doesn't think this magical tree will turn up much. "I have heard of imperfect resurrection. Not forever; not lasting. But enough to say goodbye. Rejoin them - and maybe go with them." He licks his lips nervously, then says, "You will need an arcanist. Or a godling. They will need to find their ghosts. Or it will not work."
"No- no. They deserve better than being turned into fucking /wights/. That's not- I won't put them through that so I can lose them again. I'm going to take proper care of them this time, they'll be properly protected. There's too many dangers in this world, so many more than I knew..." He's rambling under his breath, shaking his head at Iakres's words as though he's spoken of something unacceptable. This is likely a man who hadn't been /too/ aware of the supernatural aspects of the world, before all this, and he's on the brink of madness from all that he's gone through and learned. "They're not ghosts. I already tried that, I tried /everything/- they're not-" He's going to break down again, which is why he pauses, and takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily. "I need to find this tree. The willow. It's my last hope. I just need to figure out where it is, where the Temple are keeping it. I /know/ it will help. It's what I need. They'll come back to me... we'll be together again..." Frederick may have a screw or two loose by now, but surely he cannot be blamed for it, after having lost his wife and daughter. His eyes, that had previously been full of tears that pattered down upon Iakres's hand like warm raindrops, now look up at him with that startlingly blue gaze, clear and decisive. "I looked into the Temple's old connections, found you. I just need you to tell me all you know. Everything. There's a... Victor Ivanov, Jonathan Hayes, Nathaniel Carter. I need to reach them. Everyone who might be able to lead me to the right place. I need to figure out how to make them help me. I'll- I'll do anything for it." Haven's a dangerous place to be saying that, and the man looks unhinged enough that it's likely he'll probably end up on a path littered with Fae bargains and Demonic pacts if he continues on like this, gaunt and unhealthy and obsessive. The journal is brought out again, opened to a new, blank page, and it's shoved, along with a pen, into Iakres's hand. "I need you to write down everything you know and I'll let you go, I promise."
"No- no. They deserve better than being turned into fucking /wights/. That's not- I won't put them through that so I can lose them again. I'm going to take proper care of them this time, they'll be properly protected. There's too many dangers in this world, so many more than I knew..." He's rambling under his breath, shaking his head at Iakres's words as though he's spoken of something unacceptable. This is likely a man who hadn't been /too/ aware of the supernatural aspects of the world, before all this, and he's on the brink of madness from all that he's gone through and learned. "They're not ghosts. I already tried that, I tried /everything/- they're not-" He's going to break down again, which is why he pauses, and takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily. "I need to find this tree. The willow. It's my last hope. I just need to figure out where it is, where the Temple are keeping it. I /know/ it will help. It's what I need. They'll come back to me... we'll be together again..."
Frederick may have a screw or two loose by now, but surely he cannot be blamed for it, after having lost his wife and daughter. His eyes, that had previously been full of tears that pattered down upon Iakres's hand like warm raindrops, now look up at him with that startlingly blue gaze, clear and decisive. "I looked into the Temple's old connections, found you. I just need you to tell me all you know. Everything. There's a... Victor Ivanov, Jonathan Hayes, Nathaniel Carter. I need to reach them. Everyone who might be able to lead me to the right place. I need to figure out how to make them help me. I'll- I'll do anything for it." Haven's a dangerous place to be saying that, and the man looks unhinged enough that it's likely he'll probably end up on a path littered with Fae bargains and Demonic pacts if he continues on like this, gaunt and unhealthy and obsessive.
The journal is brought out again, opened to a new, blank page, and it's shoved, along with a pen, into Iakres's hand. "I need you to write down everything you know and I'll let you go, I promise." (Fixed to add linebreaks that should've been there, oops)
There's a quiet sigh of acceptance from Iakres, and he takes the journal and pen with a reluctant air. "If they aren't ghosts," he warns, "It means they were ready to move on, Vaughn." Still, he writes down Carter and Hayes' names; he doesn't know the Russian-sounding man. Hayes' name is underlined and a little note added: I know this one. Mention my name. Might help.
He tucks the pen into the crease between the pages and closes the book before offering it back, saying, "I have not heard of someone being brought back without a ghost. I am sorry. I do not know if the gods can do it - and may they have mercy on you if you forced to turn to them." He can see how badly the man's path is likely to go, but he lacks the spirit to break his hope wholly. "Do not turn to Hell for your answers. They give you a meat puppet they shape to look like your family; convince them they are your wife and daughter so they convince /you/. It is false hope. Don't turn to Hell."
He doesn't wish to hear it, even if Iakres has been nothing but compliant and helpful thus far, despite his lack of knowledge regarding the tree. "They weren't ready to move on," he tells him sharply. "My daughter had her whole life in front of her. She was- she was going to graduate from high school soon. I saved up for her college, I planned on walking her down the aisle one day. My wife was helping her with college applications. She got a scholarship, the letter came in after-" He breaks off with a sharp inhale before he can burst out into tears again, then composes himself so he can continue, "We were /happy/- we're going to be happy again, all together like we're supposed to be. Everyone else is so ready to move on. They think just because they're gone from HERE means we should move on too, because 'that's what they would have wanted'. They didn't know her like I did- they don't know what she wants. I know she wants to be back with me, they both do. I can FEEL it. I just want-... I just want to hold my girls close and tell them we'll all be okay..."
Great, now he's sad again. Iakres is given all the time he may need to write down what he knows regarding the men who have been mentioned, and Frederick looks over the newest entries of his journal with ravenous eyes, jittery as though he needs to get to following up as soon as possible - this is a man who's seen little rest in many months, and he's certainly not about to start now, even with the urging of a kindly old man.
The last mention - the talk of Hell - that gives him pause. He stares back at Iakres with haunted eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching after a brief moment as though he's considering the thought. "I have to be here for them, when they return. I can't give up myself to Hell. That's-" His gaze lowers to the ground, a slow blink of his eyes following. "This tree will get me what I want, or I will join my family instead of having them join me. Thank you, Mister Androulakis."
"I understand," Iakres replies, slightly hushed himself. "My wife, she has cancer. We are the right age, but it is still... very sad. Painful." He lets out a little sigh. "When she goes, I will probably join her. So I understand. But you must promise to yourself, you do not become something they do not want to live with, if you bring them back. Take care of yourself. Keep the principles that you can." He reaches out to give the mourner another clap on the shoulder, then uses the other man's weight to help himself up onto his feet. "If you can - take me back home. All this - no problem. I will not mention it. I can't walk far without my walking stick."
Iakres, moved by Frederick's anguished yearning, agrees to aid him, albeit skeptically, mindful of the perilous path that Frederick treads in his quest. With a grave warning against seeking darkness for solace, he provides potential contacts who might lead Frederick to the Whispering Willow but cautions him against the cruel deceptions of Hell's false promises. As they part ways, a somber air envelops their farewell, heavy with the unspoken fears of what may lie ahead. Frederick, emboldened by hope yet shadowed by the looming specter of despair, steps back into the night's embrace, leaving Iakres to ponder the delicate balance between holding on and letting go. It's a tale of grief, desperation, and the lengths to which love will go to reclaim what was lost, underscored by the wisdom of a life lived long enough to understand the true cost of such endeavors.
(Calista's odd encounter(SRAristotle):SRAristotle)
[Sun Jun 16 2024]
In the dining area of Petite Cuisine
Walking into the farmhouse-style Petite Cuisine is to be surrounded by food, warmth, and comfort. The flooring is made from reclaimed walnut planks, and the walls painted a soft white with a shiplap accent along the eastern wall. Decorated with elements of wrought iron, candlelight, and fresh greenery, it achieves an elegant yet casual atmosphere that invites one to relax and connect over a meal. Comfortable booth seating and tables are both available in the dining room to chat over their meal, while the bar can be seen beyond a walnut-framed arch to the west.
It is night, about 85F(29C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target and their allies encounter a werewolf who's been injured in a fight with a vampire and is too weak to revert to human form. The characters must decide whether to help or abandon the creature.)
OOC: Hello! Go ahead and emote what you were doing, and we'll get started!""
Calista is sitting next to Elanora in a booth at Petite Cuisine, chatting in hushed tones over salad and chowder. Both women appear to have slightly red eyes from crying, though Elanora's seem quite the bit more fresh. Calista making a small laughing sound at the statement Elanora makes and then replies, "I've never been to Vancouver, so I can neither confirm nor deny." A small sense of ease seems to pass over the brunette when conversation turns to the mundane once more.
OOC: Okay - go ahead and repost once more for Elanora and we will proceed
Calista is sitting next to Elanora in a booth at Petite Cuisine, chatting in hushed tones over salad and chowder. Both women appear to have slightly red eyes from crying, though Elanora's seem quite the bit more fresh. Calista making a small laughing sound at the statement Elanora makes and then replies, "I've never been to Vancouver, so I can neither confirm nor deny." A small sense of ease seems to pass over the brunette when conversation turns to the mundane once more.
Elanora nods to Calista, "Ohh I guess in san fran as well.. That's actually where I was thinking... Something about some pier with alot of sea lions lying on wooden pallets... And holding bowls of chowdar..." She rubs her cheek against Calista's shoulder as she takes another spoonful of the aforementioned food. "Sea lions smell bad though when they're in that big a group..."
What seems like a quiet night on the outside, silence broken only by the perceived emotional tension that spawned red, teary eyes from both Elanora and Calista during their late night get-together. The restaurant is mostly quiet, a little sparse given the time which gives the girls all the privacy they may need. There's a bit of a bustling in the back, likely from the kitchen as whomever is on dishwasher duty probably dropped something, and in the distance, the howl of a wolf can be heard.
Calista makes a strange sort of face as she tries to follow this thread of conversation about sea lions holding bowls of chowder. "I uh," she begins to say in slow confusion before she exhales a short laugh. "I don't even really like sea food all that much and now you've got me thinking about stinky sea lions... thanks Ells." She clears her throat a little bit, wrinkling her nose at the bowl her friend has in front of her and reaching for her own glass of sparkling lemon water.
The sounds from the back draw the usual small amount of curiosity from the woman, though without any further drama, it slips away from mind just as quickly as it happened.
General clatter continues, but most who remain in the restaurant see it flowing from their minds just as easily as it did for Calista. There's another howl that is heard, now. A bit closer than it was just moments ago - though in the restaurant it still comes a bit muffled. A glance out of the nearest window wouldn't reveal too much, though, but the howling starts to come a bit more frequently now, each one a bit shorter and closer.
Elanora snorts softly at Calista's words and she seems to relax just a bit, her shoulders lowering, "Sorry! You're not eating seafood though..." Her hand goes down to her phone as she recieves a message just as the wolf howls and she frowns as she tries to send a message back, "No connection out here..." She mumbles with a throughtful furrowing of her brow as the howling grows louder and closer. Her topaz eyes flick to the door, "Maybe we can lock the door?" She calls out to one of the passing waitresses.
The sound of a wolf isn't all the unusual - but the frequency and volume has Calista stiffening in the booth next to Elanora. Already, the other woman is trying to grab the attention of the passing waitress and Calista is nodding her agreement to this statement. "Would that... even matter?" she asks her friend in a slightly stressed, whispered tone. "I'm trying to remember what Mikhael was telling me last time about why the door was steel."
A passing waitress stops to regard Elanora as she's petitioned, and she gives the woman a polite smile. "Oh, it's just the wild-life hon, probably just a coyote." she says, reassuring her. "It's very rare any animal wanders too close to the town. We're just fine." She promises. And with that, she gives another smile and carries on with her duties, door remaining unlocked. There is silence now - a break from the howling before a simple glance to the window by either Calista or Elanora would have them spotting what looks like someone running for their life. A man, clothing a bit tattered and arm scratched to all hell. He runs past the window, panting a bit. And, a beat later, a wolf can be seen chasing after.
With how sparse the restaurant is at this time of night, there isn't anyone else to witness that save for the two girls here. The waitress has resumed her duties, back turned to the window as her path takes her to the back of the restaurant.
Topaz eyes glance out through the glass towards the dark streets outside. "I don't know... But it's better than a ...real wolf finding their way in here right?" She asks as she wraps an arm around Calista's shoulder, "I'm sure we wo...." Elanora's words die off as her keen eyes spot the man running around outside and the wolf in persuit. Her mouth is opened as she pokes Calista without turning from the window. Her head jerks back to the waitress. "Hey!" She snaps, her amber eyes glowing luminious as soon as the waitress looks her way. "Lock the door. Right now." Her voice is commanding as she hypnotizes the woman, compelling her to follow her instructions.
"Oh my God!" Calista states, standing up abruptly from within the booth, leaning to try to get a better look out the window. She's already side stepping out from the table to get free from its confines to spring to action or... anything. Elanora's command to the waitress comes first though, and Calista remains motionless, as if her movements might ruin something preciously important here.
"We need to call someone for that man," Calista tells Elanora. "You said you're not getting reception in here?? What kind of nonsense is that?" She looks around the woman who was commanded by Elanora. "Hey, is there like a phone we can use that's working?"
That commanding snap from Elanora has the waitress flinching a bit. She didn't quite make it to the back so far that she wouldn't be heard. Eye contact is made, naturally, and soon that supernatural influence is forcing Elanora's desires into this waitresses mind. She acquiesces, immediately. A nod is given before she sets down her belongings and flees into the back, presumably to get the keys.
As Calista rises to look out the window with a bit more leverage, she'd note in time to see the man who was fleeing being pounced on by the wolf. It's difficult though to make out precisely what's happening, but the snarls and yowls that resound carry with them a bit of a blood splatter. It's not going to be such a pretty sight if aid is brought sooner than later.
It doesn't seem the waitress registered Calista's request for a phone, as she's retreated to the back to find a set of keys. She has yet to return.
Gets to her feet as Calista stands as well, she steps out from behind Calista and turns to look outside the window at the man being mauled. "Fuck well... That wasn't what I expected tonight.. But I guess if the wolf gets fed..." She turns to glance at Calista as she presses 000 on her phone.... remembers that wasn't the right number and presses 911 like an american weirdo. She frowns as she continues to get no connection, "I can't get any signal Callie.." Elanora murmurs as she looks through the windows, clearly not exactly foremost caring about the life of the man out there.
"Oh shit shit shit," Calista exhales in quick succession as she looks out the window. "Of course if I was carrying my..." She cuts off, making a frustrated noise at what she doesn't have, and how that's not helping the situation. "What do you mean if the wolf gets fed? You just want to..." she gestures to the window with a pointed gesture. "To..." She's losing steam, trying to figure out what exactly she's trying to fight about here. "We need to do -something- though Ella!"
If both girls are now looking out of the window, they'd find the vantage point is a bit difficult to see clearly. But, as they peer, they're suddenly met with a large, hairy, beastly shape being flung towards the window. It's abrupt, swift, and the collision of this beast to the window cracks it something fierce. It'd be enough to startle anyone close enough to see. While there's not traditional signal available to the girls at the moment, SOS does seem to kick in on Calista's phone once she dials 911, and the line does start to ring.
Calista makes a surprised pitch of a scream when the beast hits the window suddenly. It's a jarring scene and she steps away from that cracked window just a tad, as its integrity begins to fail. An attempt at 911 seems to work though now, she wracks her brain on what she wishes to say. Is it about the man? The beast? "Ella," she hisses at her friend for her attention. "If they even -have- a shotgun or something in the back... would it matter?"
Elanora lets out a breath at Calista's response and she looks out at the window watching the fight happen and... BANG... the wolf gets tossed into the window of the diner. She shrieks in pure girly response at the impact and then, careful not to get too close to the cracking glass, gets on a chair so that she can look down at the wolf presumed at the bottom of the glass. She is also wondering how big the wolf is if it looked like a normal sized wolf or the larger supernatural kind. "I... don't know..." She says honestly.
The waitress returns shortly after the startled screams, and with keys in hand she moves to lock the door as she was compelled to do so. The wolf, which was flung somehow to the window, hasn't gotten up yet. Startled, likely, just like the girls. The line that rings on Calista's end connects to HSD, and the typical, "911, what's the nature of your emergency?" The operator waits patiently for a response, and the girls would soon see the man that was being chased - or mauled, perhaps, stalking over towards the wolf. Elanora's vision would be able to clearly reveal to her, now that the wolf is closer, that it's sizable, larger than the already large wolfbreed, but not ancient or anything. Neither the wolf nor the man that approaches it seem to notice the pair of onlookers within the restaurant. Or, perhaps he doesn't care. He bares his teeth, exposing fangs, and revealing that this is a conflict between a wolf and bloodsucker.
Calista looks at the window and kind of barely registers the voice on the phone before she snaps out of it. "Hi, I-" she begins to say into her phone. There's a pause as she struggles to find the right words. "I'm at the Petite Cuisine on Beech Street, and there's a," another pause, "... a man outside with... a wolf. I don't know what's going on but there's blood and it's just dangerous and I don't want anyone else to get hurt here, please!" She ends her rambling, not entirely true sentence with that pleading statement. Hopefully, law enforcement with guns could have a better influence on this night's circumstances than these two ladies with wide eyes.
Elanora walks over to Calista as she speaks on the phone, a breath leaving her as she realizes it's a fight between a vampire and a werewolf. She slings a protective arm over Calista's shoulders and starts pushing her towards one of the side booths which was far from the window and where they can hide behind and watch from over the top at the action. "Come on.." She hisses as she shoves the other woman into the booth before her so that she can protect Calista. "I don't think it's smart getting between a vamp and a werewolf..."
Elanora(Ooc) Has to go to work now, so will be afk for 15 then have slow responses
Calista whispers back to Elanora in furtive tones, "I'm not trying to myself but- what? Are we just supposed to sit here and let it play out?" She looks imploringly at Elanora. "I'm just trying to... I don't know. Keep anyone else from getting hurt or maybe to startle them out of this fight!"
Calista's plea is understood, and the response given is, "Alright, stay inside. We will send someone right away. Is this wolf... bigger than a normal-sized one?" The operator asks. It's a question posed delicately, but she clarifies with, "Just to know if the special deputies are needed, or animal control, alongside paramedics of course." As the operator waits, the man outside begins to scuffle once more with the wolf. Quite a public display of supernatural prowess that sees him with the upper hand, much to the wolf's chagrin. And, exposure becomes an issue now, given that the waitress has returned with a gasp of an, "Oh, my..." which has her watching the scene in fearful fascination.
"Big. Bigger. Yes, that," Calista practically stumbles over her reply to the operator on the phone with her. She seems instantly relieved that her blunders have been potentially picked up on.
Elanora doesn't even turn her head as she continues to watch the fight. "Getting inbetween a wolf and a vampire in a turf war is nottttt a good idea Callie." She whispers, "They're like twilight.. natural enemies.... Plus which one do you even want to save?" Her soft voice hisses
"Understood. Stay inside, make sure to lock the doors and close the blinds. Someone is en route." The operator orders. If either of the girls are part of groups that have access to police channels, they'd hear the request go out to deal with a wolf at Petite, and a few minutes pass after that before sirens can be heard on the wind.
"Hey, Can... you start writing up an incident report or something in the back?" Calista casts her voice loudly over to the nosey waitress looking out the window.
"Understood." Calista says in a clipped voice back to her phone before she is casting it away from her mouth once more to whisper to Elanora. "I'm not going to pretend I know what it's about but we can at least try and put a stop to it before -either- one is lost."
Elanora shifts out from the booth looking skeptical.. "Alright... if you have bright ideas"
The sirens on the wind start to get louder - enough that it has pulled the attention of the vampire currently assaulting the wolf. He's a bloodied mess, but it doesn't seem it's his blood. He looks down at the wolf, the poor creature now much too injured to effeciently move, let alone shift back. It seems it could all be over with one more blow, but the Vampire instead opts to spit down at the wolf, blood-tinged saliva staining it's maw. And then, he vanishes, stepping into the Nightmare to evade any kind of unwanted attention - more than he's already been given. The waitress, of course, was around to see this, but the effect of the Vampire stepping into the nightmare has her looking momentarily forgetful. It's quite effective, because when her awareness returns, she's looking at the wolf and gasping again, "Oh no! That poor --- wait, what happened to the window?" She starts to take a step back, piecing together what she can despite the biggest supernatural piece of the riddle missing. "I'm so sorry about that, ladies... I need to step away and call animal control." It doesn't seem she's gathered that the sirens are part of the situation, but it isn't long before a squad car can be seen coming from up the road.
Calista had been shuffling to get out of the booth with Elanora when the sirens got loud enough to stop the aggressor in its tracks and vanish. Calista might have opened her mouth to try and say something to the waitress, but, she lets the woman retreat to the back - accepting the clearance of her presence as a win to their situation. She leans up close to the window, peering down to where the body of the wolf could be seen by her and waiting on the response of the authorities called. "Ella..." she says quietly looking out the window with a stillness to her. "She's not going to remember that is she?"
Elanora wraps an arm around the other woman. "No the police will make sure she wont and...." She gestures towards the wolf, "I'm sure this one will be out and hopping about by tomorrow too. They heal up pretty fast..." She looks relieved at the squad car's appearance. "Maybe this restaurant is cursed." She giggled as she looks around at the mess of the glass.
Calista nods distractedly, eyes still peeled to the outside as if worried the answer of the authorities too good to be true. There is a small, low laugh made though at Elanora's mention of a curse. "I've got to stop trying to have dinner here," she mutters back in an almost playful tone once more, letting some of the anxiety slip from her shoulders while Elanora keeps her arm around the small brunette.
One squad car turns into two, which turns into a third. Whatever precaution the deputies had turn to a lesser tenseness once they see the wolf is quite terribly injured. One radios it in, and though paramedics have arrived, there's no bipedal human for them to tend to. A body bag and a gurney is brought out regardless, along with silver restraints. The wolf is bagged, restrained, and lifted into the back of the ambulance. Not their usual fare, but ordered by the deputies they acquiesce. The scene seems to tend to itself without either Elanora or Calista needing to interfere aside from calling the police initially. Hindsight might insinuate their physical interference might've led to something much, much worse. It isn't long before the scene is cleared up and silence returns to the restaurant, just in time for the waitress to return to find that everything... cleaned itself up.
Elanora nods to Calista, keeping an arm around her as she watches the action. Being restrained means it wasnt dead but being body bagged...She turns Calista's face towards her shoulder as they haul the wolf into the bag like so much meat. "Yeah... Maybe we should have to go next time and eat it on the beach"
Elanora says "I want to try the tartare sometime but uh....."
Elanora says "Not after that..."
OOC: And that's that! A pretty simple encounter, but I'm glad you both chose to spend the time with me! When you're ready, head down, and if you need a summon somewhere specific, stalk to let me know!
"No, not after that," Calista agrees in a soft, distracted voice. Her brows pull together in her small, worried fashion - but it is all she says.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
Iakres comes to slowly, the waking of a man who is too used to his soft mattress perfectly in accordance with his needs to stay asleep for too long on a concrete floor with poor cushioning - and that's exactly where he is, currently, a constant 'tick-tick-tick' sound his companion even before his eyes open. His surroundings are unfamiliar, and the damp air carries the musty smell of mildew mixed with the distinct aroma of old wood and antique polish. His wrists are bound together behind his back, though his legs have been left free; perhaps whoever had stolen him from his bed and trussed him up like a turkey thought he looked too pitiful and decrepit to be hogtied all the way.
The room comes into further detail once Iakres's eyes adjust to the dim lighting: it's a cluttered basement of some sort, filled with shelves crammed full of forgotten knick-knacks and peculiar trinkets, all covered in a coating of dust, the chaos contrasting sharply with the heavy, oppressive stillness in the air. There's an aging bookshelf in the corner, with wooden shelves sagging under the weight of their ancient contents: tarnished silverware, faded leather-bound books, cracked porcelain dolls, and rusted metal tools, and the floor is home to a number of old, worn-out rugs strewn across it, their intricate patterns barely visible under layers of grime and dirt, the nightmare of any asthmatic person.
Above him, a single flicking light bulb hangs from the ceiling, casting long, eerie shadows across the room that dare not penetrate into its darkest corners. It lets him make out the outline of other pieces of furniture present in the room - a heavy wooden table against the wall, a massive grandfather clock where the ticking must be coming from. The wall furthest from him bears a heavy metal door, reinforced with iron bars and presumable locked from the other end, while next to it is a small, high window boarded up, allowing only slivers of moonlight to seep through the cracks, providing just enough illumination to highlight the motes of dust hanging in the air. He's all alone, for the time being, no sound to be heard from beyond the room apart from a steady dripping of water, and the occasional noise of a passing car far away - wherever he is, it's not far from town. Maybe it's /in/ town, even.
His shoulders aching sharply from the sustained strain, Iakres's eyes shut tight as he draws inwards upon himself, letting out a quiet groan. He'd been kidnapped before, but only once or twice, and both times had looked like they'd be the end for him. It wasn't a thing he took lightly - and that had been when he was young and fit. He couldn't dislocate his shoulders, thumbs or wrists anymore; he'd need to escape his bindings the hard way.
Finally shuffling up to his feet - hard to do with his hands behind his back, by the way - he curses softly in Greek as he examines the room, calling out a weary, "Hello? I am awake. You have demands for me?" He wanted to pull out the pendulum of that grandfather clock - the sound was annoying him. First, though, he needed to cut his bound wrists free. He shuffles over to the shelves - any shitty old blades amongst the pile of rusted tools?
In his search for shitty old blades, Iakres may find something that looks familiar to his eyes - with all the gardening his wife does, there's no way he'd miss the old, dulled pair of shears, lying next to a rusted saw blade and another jagged piece of metal that looks like it may have been a part of a farming implement once upon a time. Any of them may do, if he can reach them well enough without hurting himself in the process.
His call out didn't go unheard though. It's only a minute or two later, when Iakres may or may not be in the process of freeing himself of his bindings, that the heavy padlocks on the other end of the door rattle; Iakres may not have heard the sound of footsteps, what with his hearing as bad as it is, but it's hard to miss this jangling of heavy metal against metal, and the door is pushed open not too long after, revealing a man standing at the foot of the stairs leading up. This must be a basement, then, with the high window just above ground level.
He's younger than Iakres, like most people are, but well into his middle ages, somewhere between late forties and early sixties. It's hard to tell, considering how haggard the man looks, and the eerie lighting of the bulb certainly doesn't help with first impressions any. His hair is either a deep brown or black, though streaked with grey and looking like he hasn't had a proper haircut in months, and his cheeks and gaunt and hollowed in the way of someone who hasn't been eating well either. The scruffy beard upon his face is more salt than pepper, and his eyes, a deep, tired blue, are framed by dark circles.
There's a pause as he takes in Iakres's current position, /not/ on the ground where he'd been left, and there's a tired little sigh that escapes the man before he steps in further, closing the door behind him - it's not locked, while he's in here. "Mister Androulakis," he almost pronounces it right, even if it's in too American an accent, his voice rough but not unkind. That's got to earn him points, at least? As many points as one can get after kidnapping him. "Frederick Vaughn. I'm sorry for the... abruptness of all this, but I need your help, sir." He walks closer, sticking out a hand to shake, then realizes his problem a second too late and retrieves his hand back to his side all too casually as though he wasn't planning on shaking the hands of a bound man anyway. "You can try to get yourself freed like that, or I can do it for you, if you promise to hear me out."
"I have arthritis," complains Iakres, even if it's really not that bad. "You do it for me. I will listen." He turns around promptly and lifts his wrists just a little - any further and his shoulders would start screaming. "Just so you know - we Greek are usually more receptive when not kidnapped first. If you need to negotiate with others." He sniffs drily, but leaves it there. He was at a disadvantage, here, and he knows it. "You look like you have had it rough. Take the time to eat a meal and have a shower. It will make the rest easier, afterwards. Even if it feels like you don't have the time."
The man - Frederick - slips a small knife out of his pocket, and there's a steadying, callused hand upon one of Iakres's wrists before it's sliding through the bindings holding his hands together, and easing the pressure upon his shoulders. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry..." He's apologetic enough already, though the words dry up following Iakres's admonitions, the man looking a little guilty though he doesn't linger upon it long, instead clasping a hand upon the old man's shoulder to steer him towards a chair in the corner - he must have missed that in his earlier review of the room, because it blends in very well with the drab surroundings, more dirt and caked-on dust than wood at this point.
"You're right, I don't have the time, Mister Androulakis. I cannot rest yet..." Instead of explaining, he trails off and just exhales another despondent sigh, standing near Iakres still while he waits for him to take a seat - this would likely also be a good time to kick him in the balls and run away while the door is unlocked, really, if he wants to try his luck. The knife's gone back into his pocket and he doesn't seem that violent at all, considering the gentleness she's shown Iakres so far, the matter of kidnapping aside.
"I have been following the lead of an artifact for the last six months, one that I've heard the Temple is in possession of. I... didn't think you'd be willing to disclose the information I need without this- you can tell them I tortured you, if they come after you. I just-" There's a look of desperation on his face that's set in while he talks - he's not that good of a kidnapper this far, really. He could use some pointers on his kidnapping skills. It's clear that the man's desperate for whatever this artifact is, though, and he rummages through his pockets, distracted for long moments while he brings out a journal to rifle through. The first few pages are flipped through without a glance, but the rest of them are held out for Iakres's perusal, though Frederick doesn't let go of the journal itself while he shows it to the elderly man.
These are the scribblings of a madman, someone truly obsessed with this artifact. Beneath the dim light of the flickerig bulb, the heading on the top of the page claims it to be the Whispering Willow, with a number of theories scribbled across the pages, along with numbers, leads, coordinates - everything leading to a dead end. "Have you ever heard of this artifact, Mister Androulakis?" He asks, peering at the man with his ragged, yet intent gaze.
Damn. He didn't know about it, but Mister Vaughn here seemed desperate enough to try and force the issue. Iakres's lips turn down into a faint grimace, but he tells the truth: "No. Never heard of it. But I not run with the Temple for twenty years - I spend ten of those with the Order in New York, and ten of those traveling." He works his jaw for a moment, working his fingers between each other as his shoulders ache with complaints of their previous mistreatment, then offers up: "I can get in contact with New York Temple, but they probably recognise I'm being flipped if I ask for specific information. Temple does not even have Commander, here in Haven. They will be useless to you."
"They ARE useless, here," The frustration is rife in the man's voice, and he's just a single step away from starting to pull at his hair, which has certainly seen better, healthier days. "I've been tracking every bit of information I've been able to find all the way across the COUNTRY for the last six months, for THIS!" His hand reaches out in frustration, almost as though he's going to claw out the pages in a fit of rage, before Frederick manages to calm himself with a few, shallow breaths. His hands are trembling when he lowers the diary back, snapping it shut and sending motes of dust scattering across the air with the wind that snap generated.
"I don't know if it's an actual tree, or if it's just called that. Whatever information I've been able to find has been encrypted - all I know is that it's led me HERE and there's no fucking Temple operatives to talk to about it. Some of my leads say it's in another world, protected by things beyond the Temple's control - some of them say it's in another DIMENSION we can't even reach - what the fuck does that even mean?! I just- I need this, do you understand me?!"
He's raging by the time that rant is over, his breathing a ragged, furious thing, and then the man seems to realize he's just yelling at an elderly Hellene, and immediately looks regretful. "I'm sorry. I- it's said to extend beyond the veil. Communion with the dead, resurrection, everything. I just- I /need/ to reach it." His diary's slipped back into his pocket, and his hands go to clasp onto Iakres's, gentle for all the desperation in his gaze. "I need to go there. You understand me, right? My wife and my daughter, they're both- I need-" That's as far as he gets before he's breaking down into a big, ugly mess of tears, his hiccuping sobs echoing around the room.
Iakres might not have the strength he once had, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out a steadying hand and gently gripping Frederick's shoulder, using his dusty chair for leverage. "I see your pain," he says, soft and sympathetic. "I hear it. I will help you." And he does mean it, even if he doesn't think this magical tree will turn up much. "I have heard of imperfect resurrection. Not forever; not lasting. But enough to say goodbye. Rejoin them - and maybe go with them." He licks his lips nervously, then says, "You will need an arcanist. Or a godling. They will need to find their ghosts. Or it will not work."
"No- no. They deserve better than being turned into fucking /wights/. That's not- I won't put them through that so I can lose them again. I'm going to take proper care of them this time, they'll be properly protected. There's too many dangers in this world, so many more than I knew..." He's rambling under his breath, shaking his head at Iakres's words as though he's spoken of something unacceptable. This is likely a man who hadn't been /too/ aware of the supernatural aspects of the world, before all this, and he's on the brink of madness from all that he's gone through and learned. "They're not ghosts. I already tried that, I tried /everything/- they're not-" He's going to break down again, which is why he pauses, and takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily. "I need to find this tree. The willow. It's my last hope. I just need to figure out where it is, where the Temple are keeping it. I /know/ it will help. It's what I need. They'll come back to me... we'll be together again..." Frederick may have a screw or two loose by now, but surely he cannot be blamed for it, after having lost his wife and daughter. His eyes, that had previously been full of tears that pattered down upon Iakres's hand like warm raindrops, now look up at him with that startlingly blue gaze, clear and decisive. "I looked into the Temple's old connections, found you. I just need you to tell me all you know. Everything. There's a... Victor Ivanov, Jonathan Hayes, Nathaniel Carter. I need to reach them. Everyone who might be able to lead me to the right place. I need to figure out how to make them help me. I'll- I'll do anything for it." Haven's a dangerous place to be saying that, and the man looks unhinged enough that it's likely he'll probably end up on a path littered with Fae bargains and Demonic pacts if he continues on like this, gaunt and unhealthy and obsessive. The journal is brought out again, opened to a new, blank page, and it's shoved, along with a pen, into Iakres's hand. "I need you to write down everything you know and I'll let you go, I promise."
"No- no. They deserve better than being turned into fucking /wights/. That's not- I won't put them through that so I can lose them again. I'm going to take proper care of them this time, they'll be properly protected. There's too many dangers in this world, so many more than I knew..." He's rambling under his breath, shaking his head at Iakres's words as though he's spoken of something unacceptable. This is likely a man who hadn't been /too/ aware of the supernatural aspects of the world, before all this, and he's on the brink of madness from all that he's gone through and learned. "They're not ghosts. I already tried that, I tried /everything/- they're not-" He's going to break down again, which is why he pauses, and takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily. "I need to find this tree. The willow. It's my last hope. I just need to figure out where it is, where the Temple are keeping it. I /know/ it will help. It's what I need. They'll come back to me... we'll be together again..."
Frederick may have a screw or two loose by now, but surely he cannot be blamed for it, after having lost his wife and daughter. His eyes, that had previously been full of tears that pattered down upon Iakres's hand like warm raindrops, now look up at him with that startlingly blue gaze, clear and decisive. "I looked into the Temple's old connections, found you. I just need you to tell me all you know. Everything. There's a... Victor Ivanov, Jonathan Hayes, Nathaniel Carter. I need to reach them. Everyone who might be able to lead me to the right place. I need to figure out how to make them help me. I'll- I'll do anything for it." Haven's a dangerous place to be saying that, and the man looks unhinged enough that it's likely he'll probably end up on a path littered with Fae bargains and Demonic pacts if he continues on like this, gaunt and unhealthy and obsessive.
The journal is brought out again, opened to a new, blank page, and it's shoved, along with a pen, into Iakres's hand. "I need you to write down everything you know and I'll let you go, I promise." (Fixed to add linebreaks that should've been there, oops)
There's a quiet sigh of acceptance from Iakres, and he takes the journal and pen with a reluctant air. "If they aren't ghosts," he warns, "It means they were ready to move on, Vaughn." Still, he writes down Carter and Hayes' names; he doesn't know the Russian-sounding man. Hayes' name is underlined and a little note added: I know this one. Mention my name. Might help.
He tucks the pen into the crease between the pages and closes the book before offering it back, saying, "I have not heard of someone being brought back without a ghost. I am sorry. I do not know if the gods can do it - and may they have mercy on you if you forced to turn to them." He can see how badly the man's path is likely to go, but he lacks the spirit to break his hope wholly. "Do not turn to Hell for your answers. They give you a meat puppet they shape to look like your family; convince them they are your wife and daughter so they convince /you/. It is false hope. Don't turn to Hell."
He doesn't wish to hear it, even if Iakres has been nothing but compliant and helpful thus far, despite his lack of knowledge regarding the tree. "They weren't ready to move on," he tells him sharply. "My daughter had her whole life in front of her. She was- she was going to graduate from high school soon. I saved up for her college, I planned on walking her down the aisle one day. My wife was helping her with college applications. She got a scholarship, the letter came in after-" He breaks off with a sharp inhale before he can burst out into tears again, then composes himself so he can continue, "We were /happy/- we're going to be happy again, all together like we're supposed to be. Everyone else is so ready to move on. They think just because they're gone from HERE means we should move on too, because 'that's what they would have wanted'. They didn't know her like I did- they don't know what she wants. I know she wants to be back with me, they both do. I can FEEL it. I just want-... I just want to hold my girls close and tell them we'll all be okay..."
Great, now he's sad again. Iakres is given all the time he may need to write down what he knows regarding the men who have been mentioned, and Frederick looks over the newest entries of his journal with ravenous eyes, jittery as though he needs to get to following up as soon as possible - this is a man who's seen little rest in many months, and he's certainly not about to start now, even with the urging of a kindly old man.
The last mention - the talk of Hell - that gives him pause. He stares back at Iakres with haunted eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching after a brief moment as though he's considering the thought. "I have to be here for them, when they return. I can't give up myself to Hell. That's-" His gaze lowers to the ground, a slow blink of his eyes following. "This tree will get me what I want, or I will join my family instead of having them join me. Thank you, Mister Androulakis."
"I understand," Iakres replies, slightly hushed himself. "My wife, she has cancer. We are the right age, but it is still... very sad. Painful." He lets out a little sigh. "When she goes, I will probably join her. So I understand. But you must promise to yourself, you do not become something they do not want to live with, if you bring them back. Take care of yourself. Keep the principles that you can." He reaches out to give the mourner another clap on the shoulder, then uses the other man's weight to help himself up onto his feet. "If you can - take me back home. All this - no problem. I will not mention it. I can't walk far without my walking stick."