Encounterlogs
Castiels Odd Encounter Sr Emil 241225
On a remarkably quiet Christmas Eve within the tranquil setting of Fertile Valley Florists - Tea Room, the day took an unforeseen turn with the arrival of an amateur paranormal investigator, bursting with pride over his supposed discovery of the supernatural. As he confidently settled down to document his findings, he seemed oblivious to the discomfort his presence invoked in Castiel, a being whose mere existence posed a danger to those around him. As patrons and staff succumbed to an insidious lethargy, Castiel's attention was captured by the investigator’s boastful declarations, drawing him closer with a mix of curiosity and subtle amusement. The investigator, undisturbed by Castiel's sudden, menacing proximity, pointed out a photograph of "Santa" on his laptop, asserting his intention to unveil the existence of supernatural beings to the world.
Castiel's initially amused demeanor swiftly shifted to a more ominous one as he realized the potential consequences of the investigator's findings being publicized. Employing a mix of divine presence and psychic persuasion, Castiel sought to dissuade the investigator, inducing him to abandon his mission. However, a protective enchantment intervened, rendering Castiel's direct command to take a cold shower in the ocean ineffective, and instead leading the investigator to contemplate returning home and studying the Torah. Unphased, Castiel proceeded to destroy the evidence by silently incinerating the investigator’s laptop and phone, before watching him depart, potentially altered by the encounter but physically unharmed, leaving Castiel in contemplation of the night's peculiar events.
(Castiel's odd encounter(SREmil):SREmil)
[Tue Dec 24 2024]
In Fertile Valley Florists - Tea Room
As you step into the tea room cafe, you are greeted by a stunning display of royal floral arrangements that adorn every corner of the room. The aroma of fresh flowers fills the air, creating a soothing and serene atmosphere that invites you to relax and enjoy your tea. The walls are painted in a soft pastel hue, with intricate floral wallpaper adding a touch of whimsy and elegance to the space. The same floor of a reddish brick extends here, and the window sills have a rustic kick with their off white wooden trim.
The western wall is dominated by a large white shelving unit which houses many delicate china teacup and saucer sets of varying patterns, shapes and sizes. It would seem the patrons of this tea room are encouraged to select the set that most fits their mood for the day to enjoy their hot drinks. The rustic, wooden bakery counter with its domed glass coverings is adorned with an array of delicious treats, from freshly baked croissants and pastries to colorful cupcakes and cookies.
Along the southern wall, surrounding the stained glass windows that fill the room with a rainbow of colors throughout the day are the cafe tables with chairs upholstered in luxurious pastel fabrics.
It is afternoon, about 30F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky.
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
In a quaint, small corner of the shop, Castiel sits by the window with his hands in the pockets of his coat. His cowl of it barely falls over his head, half-masking, shading his features that are turned to the window. Lidded and distant eyes that seem far away and elsewhere peering past a reflection of his own face to stare at the folk wandering to and fro in the noon hours out there, in the cold, beneath the dark clouds.
Castiel on the other hand, is perfectly happy waiting as still as a statue, to the point a small porcelain cup of tea has gone cold on the table in front of him. Just as vacant as it is of warmth, so is the tea room, currently. It's nearly emptied out, sparse in the casual population- and what few have remained are uneasy on their feet, in their conversation, lethargic and weak. One by one, they too are leaving- and the staff are taking their shifts early for much the same reasons. It isn't that Castiel does anything to the effect - he simply exists, and that alone is a danger. Anathema to mundane, or really, all life.
It was Christmas Eve and the Tea Room saw its fair share of patrons from all walks of life, but none as distinct as the man that now marched in. He was a fairly burly man wearing a pair of stain`ed cargo pants, a red shirt with bold yellow letting reading 'I BELIEVE' stamped across its chest, an open fishing vest, a large carrier bag and a slew of cameras, both digital and analog. One of his hands rested against the carrier bag while the other held a smartphone up to his ear.
"I'm telling Mark, I'm gonna blow the lid right off this thing. Yeah, exactly. Dude, Santa, Leprechauns, Werewolves, all that stuff? I'm telling you, the dowsing rods led me right to where I needed, got photos and video and all that of them out in that forest." he spoke out with one hell of a prideful tone, slipping down to sit at one of the tables and pull out a ragged looking IBM laptop, clickity-clacking at it.
Every drop of dew, hanging perspiration on the windows that he peers through reflects a thousand things in Castiel's eyes. Burning amber, molten to stillness - they view the drift of water, the people behind it, and more, his own reflection, as nothing more than a frozen image. As if the world is paused in perpetuity, unwilling to move unless he does - because behind those eyes, Castiel operates on a different scale of time. It's slow, like the first strike of a match kindling the edge of paper, and the first blaze that travels and precedes the ash that comes after, the world filters into its own speed when his head lifts from the glass.
His attention is drawn near immediately to the one man that seems livelier than most in his proximity - earning the silent appraisal of distant, uncanny eyes. Until they shift, mercurial in how that melancholy becomes wry humor and his lips split with a faint smile. One perfect, but also perfectly cruel in the subtle hints of it. Castiel doesn't dare intrude, but he does listen with more vested interest than before, and make no attempt at all in hiding his blatant stare.
Clickity-Clackity went the man's keyboard as his fingers typed at it, the phone having been given a resting spot next to it for the time being. A couple of moments later, it's picked back up and spoken into: "Yeah, I got it right here, dude. A god damn werewolf and some other bastards, probably cabalistic cultist of the deep state, were hunting down this large leprechaun in this forest. What? Yeah, yeah, I'll send the photos over once I fully develop them and transfer them over, my cable isn't working yet so I'll need to go buy one." With that said, the phone was pocketed and the man's attention turned back to his little typing.
A good glance at the screen revealed a word processing application open, one in which the man was writing an article about the supernatural. A few photos were visible here and there depicting either people casting magic or outright supernatural creatures, some maybe even familiar to the usual folks of Haven.
Sadly, as it were, none of them are familiar to Castiel. No, even if they /might/ be, it doesn't appear like Castiel cares in the slightest. This breach of Understanding, the slip of information and the likelihood of retributional return later down the line by Vatican- why, maybe it even pleases him because his eyes are even more lidded in satisfaction, his smile subtly wider. He hasn't even blinked once. Catching Castiel's interest in such a manner was likely the worst thing anyone could do this very early afternoon. A push sets him forward, slowly standing with a slow screech of his seat--
Then he's gone. Before the sound of his chair's movement even ends, he's behind the man working on his laptop, like he just appeared from thin air. An intrusive arm is draped over his shoulders, with his own head put beside his head, eyes angled to the screen, all the text, all the pictures. His presence is simply oppressive, and the proximity makes what made everyone else flee even worse. Insidious lethargy by virtue of being in his presence. No normal man was ever meant to beheld this thing, Castiel, and yet, he's right here in public, seeking to be a menace to the investigator. "Which one is of this Santa? I have heard of his name plenty today, but I do not know whom it is."
It seems like the man didn't even observe the transition, nor seemed to mind it for the time being, apparently too drawn in by his own work and dedication. Being this close to him did however expose anyone, even the mightiest of beings, to a power achieved only through the most dire of alchemy: the smell of <229>sweat, <059>grime and <062>Axe bodyspray{x combined into a <229>st<059>en<062>ch{x that could be mistaken for insecticide. Once he aknowledged Castiel's presence, he didn't seem that much disturbed, instead scrolling up, up and up until he managed to point at a flying fat man in the cemetery surrounded by a few folks attempting to banish this rather peculiar ghost. "There he is, fat bastard apparently tried to hide in New England. But hey, we're gonna blow the lid off everything."
FIXED It seems like the man didn't even observe the transition, nor seemed to mind it for the time being, apparently too drawn in by his own work and dedication. Being this close to him did however expose anyone, even the mightiest of beings, to a power achieved only through the most dire of alchemy: the smell of sweat, grime and Axe bodyspray{x combined into a st`ench that could be mistaken for insecticide. Once he aknowledged Castiel's presence, he didn't seem that much disturbed, instead scrolling up, up and up until he managed to point at a flying fat man in the cemetery surrounded by a few folks attempting to banish this rather peculiar ghost. "There he is, fat bastard apparently tried to hide in New England. But hey, we're gonna blow the lid off everything."
All the rolling text scrolls its reflection through Castiel's eyes, that unblinking stare, up until Castiel is granted the view of that enigmatic Santa Claus picture. He, of course, notes what it is immediately - and it culminates in a mirthful, subtle chuckle. Some perfect sound that spills out of his throat, an examplary subdued yet genuine show of mirth. Yet, all the more mercurial, Castiel's eyes shift away from the screen, and unto the man once more.
The faded smile fades to a stoic line, and the way it does it grants his eyes a cruel bend. Offended of that alchemical concoction that constitutes the investigator's body odor, the divine presence weighing on the man and sapping his strength suddenly intensifies. Whereas Castiel's existence alone sapped the strength of others, it now does so actively, collectedly, right upon the man under his arm, while the fingers set upon his shoulder grips with a steel-bending fierceness to keep him still and sitting upright even if he were to desire otherwise.
"Pray, tell, what it is you wish to 'blow the lid off?'" With it comes the psychic, burrowing persuasion of a monster. "What does this grant you? To have this seen?" It is curiosity, genuine cluelessness even that desires an answer, forcing the man to answer - the rest of his words delivered in an even-tone doesn't carry the same weight. "Do you wish to see more?"
Maybe it was the fact that the man was already in poor health, but it seems he couldn't really get any more slouched even with his life force being sapped actively by someone's presence. He raises a finger up and points towards the photos, answering quite quickly with "It's truth, man, people need to know the truth. I've known all my life these things exist and now I found them. They thought I was insane when I told them vampires, cultist goons and so forth existed."
"You poor, lost, longing lamb." Castiel tuts- and his arm is drawn back while he stands upright. Fingers scale up the nape of his nameless investigator's neck, slip through his mess of a hair from behind to curl in and grab. It's wrathful strength still that bind the man lulled into a sense of ease by slowly waning bodily functions - and for a human, he's probably already spent far, far too long sitting there beside a creature of his caliber. A pull, and he yanks the man's head back to lock their eyes - a split second to meet with them.
In that moment, Castiel is everything. A perfect thing, unmentionable, dazzling, something that would leave anyone slack-jawed and wandering in the trance he's put them within. Ever slowly, Castiel's lips are brought to the investigator's ear, What comes through his mouth is a thousand voices, echoing in layers wrought unto one another in a spiral, in English but also another tongue, something that almost sounds like it wasn't meant to be spoken here. It's a compulsion speaking directly into his thoughts, clash against his will, as if Castiel has deigned there isn't much to note. "I want you to get up, leave all of this," His tools and trinkets, "with me, so you can take a cold shower in the ocean, right now."
While those charms took effect, he looks like he's about to stand up, which he does, but it appears that he simply says "I don't know what to tell you, but I'm not looking for an escort right now." Turns out that something greater than both of them kept the persuasion from taking root, that taking a dunk in the ocean in late December would result in such harm that the enchantment keeping people safe kicked in, likely breaking more than just that one command. "I... should I just go home?" He asked, a bit confused.
Sanctuary, that strange force of power looking after the well-being of others, for the sake of argument, deters Castiel from taking any notion that would cause harm upon the man. So, the last of his words are changed. Castiel seeks to instill the compulsion to leave all of his investigation here and get up to leave, naturally, but the garbled words make another sense. "Leave all of this with me and take a long walk, go and pray to your God." He doesn't do anything about the man's newfound information that's dug up - and naturally the investigator doesn't hear Castiel's whisper, not in as deep of a trance as he is. Castiel doesn't even care what the man prays to - be it money, women, or an actual deity he might seek solace in. It's just a distraction to have the man and his intrusive body odor leave the premises.
Whether he does or not, Castiel extends his hand over the laptop - draws a single digit through the center of laptop, and it starts to spark. Embers splinter from within the circuitry, and flames sprout, overheating and burning it to cinders from the inside in a slow smolder. The phone laid there next to it flies into Castiel's grasp to be squeezed tight in his grip, reduced to crumbling electronic scrap immediately that he lets slip as irrepairable pieces onto the floor.
A blank stare speckled on the man's face, he seems to ignore the explosive display he was presented with and simply nods, answering with a quick "I should indeed go study the Torah..." With those words lingering on his lips, he makes his way out of the parlor and likely heads home, none-the-wiser. More-so, it seems that instead of following strange phenomenon, he'd instead now become a rabbi, judging by what he was saying.
Castiel's initially amused demeanor swiftly shifted to a more ominous one as he realized the potential consequences of the investigator's findings being publicized. Employing a mix of divine presence and psychic persuasion, Castiel sought to dissuade the investigator, inducing him to abandon his mission. However, a protective enchantment intervened, rendering Castiel's direct command to take a cold shower in the ocean ineffective, and instead leading the investigator to contemplate returning home and studying the Torah. Unphased, Castiel proceeded to destroy the evidence by silently incinerating the investigator’s laptop and phone, before watching him depart, potentially altered by the encounter but physically unharmed, leaving Castiel in contemplation of the night's peculiar events.
(Castiel's odd encounter(SREmil):SREmil)
[Tue Dec 24 2024]
In Fertile Valley Florists - Tea Room
As you step into the tea room cafe, you are greeted by a stunning display of royal floral arrangements that adorn every corner of the room. The aroma of fresh flowers fills the air, creating a soothing and serene atmosphere that invites you to relax and enjoy your tea. The walls are painted in a soft pastel hue, with intricate floral wallpaper adding a touch of whimsy and elegance to the space. The same floor of a reddish brick extends here, and the window sills have a rustic kick with their off white wooden trim.
The western wall is dominated by a large white shelving unit which houses many delicate china teacup and saucer sets of varying patterns, shapes and sizes. It would seem the patrons of this tea room are encouraged to select the set that most fits their mood for the day to enjoy their hot drinks. The rustic, wooden bakery counter with its domed glass coverings is adorned with an array of delicious treats, from freshly baked croissants and pastries to colorful cupcakes and cookies.
Along the southern wall, surrounding the stained glass windows that fill the room with a rainbow of colors throughout the day are the cafe tables with chairs upholstered in luxurious pastel fabrics.
It is afternoon, about 30F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky.
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
In a quaint, small corner of the shop, Castiel sits by the window with his hands in the pockets of his coat. His cowl of it barely falls over his head, half-masking, shading his features that are turned to the window. Lidded and distant eyes that seem far away and elsewhere peering past a reflection of his own face to stare at the folk wandering to and fro in the noon hours out there, in the cold, beneath the dark clouds.
Castiel on the other hand, is perfectly happy waiting as still as a statue, to the point a small porcelain cup of tea has gone cold on the table in front of him. Just as vacant as it is of warmth, so is the tea room, currently. It's nearly emptied out, sparse in the casual population- and what few have remained are uneasy on their feet, in their conversation, lethargic and weak. One by one, they too are leaving- and the staff are taking their shifts early for much the same reasons. It isn't that Castiel does anything to the effect - he simply exists, and that alone is a danger. Anathema to mundane, or really, all life.
It was Christmas Eve and the Tea Room saw its fair share of patrons from all walks of life, but none as distinct as the man that now marched in. He was a fairly burly man wearing a pair of stain`ed cargo pants, a red shirt with bold yellow letting reading 'I BELIEVE' stamped across its chest, an open fishing vest, a large carrier bag and a slew of cameras, both digital and analog. One of his hands rested against the carrier bag while the other held a smartphone up to his ear.
"I'm telling Mark, I'm gonna blow the lid right off this thing. Yeah, exactly. Dude, Santa, Leprechauns, Werewolves, all that stuff? I'm telling you, the dowsing rods led me right to where I needed, got photos and video and all that of them out in that forest." he spoke out with one hell of a prideful tone, slipping down to sit at one of the tables and pull out a ragged looking IBM laptop, clickity-clacking at it.
Every drop of dew, hanging perspiration on the windows that he peers through reflects a thousand things in Castiel's eyes. Burning amber, molten to stillness - they view the drift of water, the people behind it, and more, his own reflection, as nothing more than a frozen image. As if the world is paused in perpetuity, unwilling to move unless he does - because behind those eyes, Castiel operates on a different scale of time. It's slow, like the first strike of a match kindling the edge of paper, and the first blaze that travels and precedes the ash that comes after, the world filters into its own speed when his head lifts from the glass.
His attention is drawn near immediately to the one man that seems livelier than most in his proximity - earning the silent appraisal of distant, uncanny eyes. Until they shift, mercurial in how that melancholy becomes wry humor and his lips split with a faint smile. One perfect, but also perfectly cruel in the subtle hints of it. Castiel doesn't dare intrude, but he does listen with more vested interest than before, and make no attempt at all in hiding his blatant stare.
Clickity-Clackity went the man's keyboard as his fingers typed at it, the phone having been given a resting spot next to it for the time being. A couple of moments later, it's picked back up and spoken into: "Yeah, I got it right here, dude. A god damn werewolf and some other bastards, probably cabalistic cultist of the deep state, were hunting down this large leprechaun in this forest. What? Yeah, yeah, I'll send the photos over once I fully develop them and transfer them over, my cable isn't working yet so I'll need to go buy one." With that said, the phone was pocketed and the man's attention turned back to his little typing.
A good glance at the screen revealed a word processing application open, one in which the man was writing an article about the supernatural. A few photos were visible here and there depicting either people casting magic or outright supernatural creatures, some maybe even familiar to the usual folks of Haven.
Sadly, as it were, none of them are familiar to Castiel. No, even if they /might/ be, it doesn't appear like Castiel cares in the slightest. This breach of Understanding, the slip of information and the likelihood of retributional return later down the line by Vatican- why, maybe it even pleases him because his eyes are even more lidded in satisfaction, his smile subtly wider. He hasn't even blinked once. Catching Castiel's interest in such a manner was likely the worst thing anyone could do this very early afternoon. A push sets him forward, slowly standing with a slow screech of his seat--
Then he's gone. Before the sound of his chair's movement even ends, he's behind the man working on his laptop, like he just appeared from thin air. An intrusive arm is draped over his shoulders, with his own head put beside his head, eyes angled to the screen, all the text, all the pictures. His presence is simply oppressive, and the proximity makes what made everyone else flee even worse. Insidious lethargy by virtue of being in his presence. No normal man was ever meant to beheld this thing, Castiel, and yet, he's right here in public, seeking to be a menace to the investigator. "Which one is of this Santa? I have heard of his name plenty today, but I do not know whom it is."
It seems like the man didn't even observe the transition, nor seemed to mind it for the time being, apparently too drawn in by his own work and dedication. Being this close to him did however expose anyone, even the mightiest of beings, to a power achieved only through the most dire of alchemy: the smell of <229>sweat, <059>grime and <062>Axe bodyspray{x combined into a <229>st<059>en<062>ch{x that could be mistaken for insecticide. Once he aknowledged Castiel's presence, he didn't seem that much disturbed, instead scrolling up, up and up until he managed to point at a flying fat man in the cemetery surrounded by a few folks attempting to banish this rather peculiar ghost. "There he is, fat bastard apparently tried to hide in New England. But hey, we're gonna blow the lid off everything."
FIXED It seems like the man didn't even observe the transition, nor seemed to mind it for the time being, apparently too drawn in by his own work and dedication. Being this close to him did however expose anyone, even the mightiest of beings, to a power achieved only through the most dire of alchemy: the smell of sweat, grime and Axe bodyspray{x combined into a st`ench that could be mistaken for insecticide. Once he aknowledged Castiel's presence, he didn't seem that much disturbed, instead scrolling up, up and up until he managed to point at a flying fat man in the cemetery surrounded by a few folks attempting to banish this rather peculiar ghost. "There he is, fat bastard apparently tried to hide in New England. But hey, we're gonna blow the lid off everything."
All the rolling text scrolls its reflection through Castiel's eyes, that unblinking stare, up until Castiel is granted the view of that enigmatic Santa Claus picture. He, of course, notes what it is immediately - and it culminates in a mirthful, subtle chuckle. Some perfect sound that spills out of his throat, an examplary subdued yet genuine show of mirth. Yet, all the more mercurial, Castiel's eyes shift away from the screen, and unto the man once more.
The faded smile fades to a stoic line, and the way it does it grants his eyes a cruel bend. Offended of that alchemical concoction that constitutes the investigator's body odor, the divine presence weighing on the man and sapping his strength suddenly intensifies. Whereas Castiel's existence alone sapped the strength of others, it now does so actively, collectedly, right upon the man under his arm, while the fingers set upon his shoulder grips with a steel-bending fierceness to keep him still and sitting upright even if he were to desire otherwise.
"Pray, tell, what it is you wish to 'blow the lid off?'" With it comes the psychic, burrowing persuasion of a monster. "What does this grant you? To have this seen?" It is curiosity, genuine cluelessness even that desires an answer, forcing the man to answer - the rest of his words delivered in an even-tone doesn't carry the same weight. "Do you wish to see more?"
Maybe it was the fact that the man was already in poor health, but it seems he couldn't really get any more slouched even with his life force being sapped actively by someone's presence. He raises a finger up and points towards the photos, answering quite quickly with "It's truth, man, people need to know the truth. I've known all my life these things exist and now I found them. They thought I was insane when I told them vampires, cultist goons and so forth existed."
"You poor, lost, longing lamb." Castiel tuts- and his arm is drawn back while he stands upright. Fingers scale up the nape of his nameless investigator's neck, slip through his mess of a hair from behind to curl in and grab. It's wrathful strength still that bind the man lulled into a sense of ease by slowly waning bodily functions - and for a human, he's probably already spent far, far too long sitting there beside a creature of his caliber. A pull, and he yanks the man's head back to lock their eyes - a split second to meet with them.
In that moment, Castiel is everything. A perfect thing, unmentionable, dazzling, something that would leave anyone slack-jawed and wandering in the trance he's put them within. Ever slowly, Castiel's lips are brought to the investigator's ear, What comes through his mouth is a thousand voices, echoing in layers wrought unto one another in a spiral, in English but also another tongue, something that almost sounds like it wasn't meant to be spoken here. It's a compulsion speaking directly into his thoughts, clash against his will, as if Castiel has deigned there isn't much to note. "I want you to get up, leave all of this," His tools and trinkets, "with me, so you can take a cold shower in the ocean, right now."
While those charms took effect, he looks like he's about to stand up, which he does, but it appears that he simply says "I don't know what to tell you, but I'm not looking for an escort right now." Turns out that something greater than both of them kept the persuasion from taking root, that taking a dunk in the ocean in late December would result in such harm that the enchantment keeping people safe kicked in, likely breaking more than just that one command. "I... should I just go home?" He asked, a bit confused.
Sanctuary, that strange force of power looking after the well-being of others, for the sake of argument, deters Castiel from taking any notion that would cause harm upon the man. So, the last of his words are changed. Castiel seeks to instill the compulsion to leave all of his investigation here and get up to leave, naturally, but the garbled words make another sense. "Leave all of this with me and take a long walk, go and pray to your God." He doesn't do anything about the man's newfound information that's dug up - and naturally the investigator doesn't hear Castiel's whisper, not in as deep of a trance as he is. Castiel doesn't even care what the man prays to - be it money, women, or an actual deity he might seek solace in. It's just a distraction to have the man and his intrusive body odor leave the premises.
Whether he does or not, Castiel extends his hand over the laptop - draws a single digit through the center of laptop, and it starts to spark. Embers splinter from within the circuitry, and flames sprout, overheating and burning it to cinders from the inside in a slow smolder. The phone laid there next to it flies into Castiel's grasp to be squeezed tight in his grip, reduced to crumbling electronic scrap immediately that he lets slip as irrepairable pieces onto the floor.
A blank stare speckled on the man's face, he seems to ignore the explosive display he was presented with and simply nods, answering with a quick "I should indeed go study the Torah..." With those words lingering on his lips, he makes his way out of the parlor and likely heads home, none-the-wiser. More-so, it seems that instead of following strange phenomenon, he'd instead now become a rabbi, judging by what he was saying.