Encounterlogs
Coltons Odd Encounter Sr Sophie 250402
In the early hours of a foreboding morning, Colton Moore finds his solitude at the overlook near Underlook Beach interrupted by an unwelcome visitor, a willowy man with an odd scent and concealed eyes behind sunglasses. This stranger seeks Colton directly, bypassing the usual pleasantries for a more pressing dialogue. He proposes a transaction, offering a "quick buck" in exchange for something rather personal—Colton's blood. This request, coupled with the sight of the man's red eyes once the sunglasses are removed, sets the stage for a tense meeting between otherworldly entities. Colton’s territorial nature and inherent suspicion are piqued, especially when the mention of his family brings an uncomfortable closeness to the conversation. Despite the man’s nonchalant demeanor and tempting offer of mutual benefit, Colton remains guarded, his disdain palpable, facing what appears to be a demonborn with an unknown agenda.
The negotiation takes a turn when the man reveals his true desire, alongside a strange gem that exudes the scent of burnt cinnamon, intensifying the encounter's supernatural underpinnings. Colton staunchly refuses the request for his blood, his refusal underscored by an implicit threat of violence. As the conversation unfolds, it is revealed that the stranger knows of Colton and even suggests they could resolve their differences in a future brawl, hinting at a shared, if tumultuous, history in Navvere. Despite this, Colton resolves to end the encounter, using his telekinetic abilities to send the gem—clearly of significance to the man—tumbling into the refuse of the beach below. With a final warning to leave his family in peace, Colton departs, leaving the demonborn lounging on the bench, nonplussed by the failed negotiation yet ominously mentioning the Inigos’ potential interest in the gem. The confrontation closes on an uneasy truce, with the undercurrents of future conflicts and the unresolved matter of the "Demon's Eye" artifact looming in the air.
(Colton's odd encounter(SRSophie):SRSophie)
[Fri Mar 21 2025]
In the outer railing
The overlook is a large, mostly wooden construction of white painted
beams and a lattice embellished canopy that keeps elements from the
interior. The path leading up to it has been marked with logs from the
nearby wood and layered in gravel that almost keeps out most of the weeds.
Benches have been constructed along the outer rim of the structure just
before the railing that lines the edges. The center is kept clear,
presumably for events. It tends to gather some grit, but most major debris
is blown clear by the common wind gusts at this height.
It is morning, about 56F(13C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A member of The Destined Host has been spotted in Haven, causing a stir within the supernatural community. There's a rumor they are seeking an ancient artifact known as the "Demon's Eye," said to grant its holder a direct link to the demonic realm. Your target and their allies are tasked with preventing the Destined Host from obtaining the Eye, possibly needing to race against them to find it first, or perhaps even needing to steal it from under their noses once they've found it.)
Winter's grasp over the town has finally ceased, the weather nice and mellow for once - a good day to be spent out beneath the sun, even if the cover of dark stormclouds above foretells rain. Where Colton stands, leaning against the overlook and looking out over the beach littered with the occasional piece of trash despite his attempts to clean it up, most of the surroundings are still and silent. Nobody comes to this part of the beach when there's actual good, swimmable parts of the beach to hang out on instead.
Well, nobody except this one guy in particular, apparently. He ambles along the path up to the outlook with his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune under his breath. A good mood, evidently, though his eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. There's a vaguely familiar look to him, but not a scent he recognizes, like burnt cinnamon lingering in the air.
His attention drawn first by the quiet whistling interrupting the pleasant, quiet morning, Colton wanders from the northern railing of the large overlook to the southern, peering down the winding, creaking staircase to eyeball the man traipsing up Lover's Lane. The Moore frowns. This was /his/ quiet spot, after all, his is a rather territorial nature. Still, he can't do much to scare off anybody and everybody. Damn expectations of 'secrecy' and 'subtlety', always getting in the way. Instead, he leans over the railing a little and lifts his hand in a neighbourly wave, more welcoming than he really feels on the inside.
His stomach growls. He hasn't had his breakfast, and he's hungry. If only all his problems were so easy to solve as some others. He couldn't just eat random townsfolk. Something about not eating where you shit, and vice versa.
"Good morning," he calls, plastering a stupid, human smile over his stupid, human face. "Out on a jog?"
The sticky, sweet, acrid smell lingers in the air as the man ambles his way further towards Colton without a care in the world; he's willowy in appearance, that beanpole-like appearance as though a strong breeze would push him over, though the breeze so far hasn't succeeded in its attempt. Alas.
"Hey, hey," he calls out in response to Colton, following up with a lift of his shoulders in a lazy shrug up, then down. He's not a Boston native, going off the accent, his voice a lazy drawl, "Definitely not jogging. Strolling, at best. Maybe even meandering. Promenading, if the scenery wasn't so shit to call it that in good conscience. Dawdling...?" Thoughts of whether or not he's dawdling carry him the rest of the way, and the man ends up right in Colton's quiet spot. Now it's both of their quiet spot. Or not-so-quiet spot, considering there's conversation struck up already.
"Colton Moore, is it? Heard a lot. Good stuff, bad stuff," he starts, cutting right to the chase instead of making small talk. It's not like Colton particularly wants to go through breakfast plans with the guy, is it? "Been looking for you for an hour. Your cousins led me on a bit of a wild goose chase, won't lie. Shitty little bastards, aren't they?" he lets out an amused little snort, apparently not too put off - and why would he be, considering he's got Colton right here, after all? "You're an interesting one for a Moore, arentcha? What'd'ya say, wanna make a quick buck? It won't hurt." With how relaxed he is, coming to slump upon a bench and stretching out his beanpole legs in front of him, he's really not looking as though he expects Colton to be anything but obliging with whatever his offer is going to be - or maybe just doesn't consider the situation dire enough to be on his guard.
One of his hands finds its way out of his pockets, reaching up to shift his sunglasses to the top of his head.
Red eyes.
"You think a family as old as ours would still be in the trailer park if we were born with an itch to make a quick buck?" Colton replies, trading a question for a question. He looks the demonoid up and down, curling a lip in immediate distaste. Of course, the man was never going to accomplish any diplomacy with the russet-haired Moore; opening up with insults aimed at his family had instilled an immediate dislike in him. "Tell me what you want from me. I'll probably end up telling you to fuck off, but I'll hear you out. We'll see what happens from there." There's unhidden violence in his eyes; something about his posture suggests red-eyes over here might need to do his fucking off with a pronounced limp.
"Nah," red-eyes drawls out in response to the first question, even if it was rhetorical. "Worth a try, yeah? Would surprise you how often it works." If the demonborn senses any distaste, he doesn't outwardly react to it; in fact, he seems to relish in it, just slumping even further where he sits, like he's just planning on becoming one with the bench beneath him. "Juuuust some blood. Nothin' too much. A quick li'l pinch, in here, and all done." His other hand leaves his pocket now, fist closed around a large object. He turns it around, palm up, to reveal its contents to Colton a strange gem, almost passing as a ruby if it wasn't for the striations of darker red and gold that swirl deep in its depths, shifting ever so slightly in the light. The scent of burnt cinnamon grows stronger all at once, sharp enough to make Colton's nose sting.
Colton's eyes fix on the carmine cabochon, but he doesn't recognise it. Still, not many people come around asking after his blood, and far fewer than that had red eyes. The werewolf screws up his mouth into an unpleasant grimace, his answer written in his features before it's spoken aloud. "You can try and take it," he scowls. "But that's going to go real badly for you, unless you got some of that demon armour I hear so much about. And even then... I got sharper teeth. And more family." He smiles unpleasantly, letting the implicit and explicit qualities of his threat sink in for a moment. Maybe the Moore might have just started swinging with most people, but the red eyes had him alert and on-guard. Who knew for sure this man wasn't some lieutenant for a proper Demon? He'd always imagined his father might have been a red-eyes. He wasn't looking forward to the family reunion.
The man sighs out loud, as though Colton's inconveniencing him mightily by not giving up some of his blood on demand; and honestly, it's not even like he asked for a /lot/, you know. It's just a little pinch. Allegedly. Speaking of pinches, he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose as though Colton's giving him a headache. Surely, Colton can appreciate the mood-lift, if nothing else.
"Hey, look, I'm not here to brawl with you or your family - just here on business." Said no demonborn ever? "Help me out, I'll help you out, owe you a favor or something - I've got connections, and all that jazz. Let's not make this into a huge pain, yeah? We can duke it out in Navvere in a couple days," so /that's/ why he looks familiar, at least. There's an expectant look at Colton, waiting. Don't let him down now.
With the movement of his hands while he talks, the gem in the man's palm seems almost as though there's liquid in there - blood? It swirls around within, dark and rich - there's space for more, should Colton want his to join what's in there.
Colton looses a brief, lupine growl. He hated it when people wouldn't take no for an answer. And that ruby, or whatever it was, looked important. "This is the part where I tell you to fuck off," he sneers, then jerks a hand through the air. Invisible tendrils of telekinetic force loop around the demonborn's gemstone, yanking it loose from the man's grip, and the werewolf takes the opportunity to blindly backhand the thing down into the trash-strewn hands of Underlook Beach. His red-eyed friend would probably have to go digging to find it among all the tumbled seaglass and red plastic.
"I'm leaving," he says firmly. "Go find your toy, then get lost. Don't bother my family again, or we're going to go exploring which bones I can break under Sanctuary and which I can't."
Wheeeeeee, goes the not-ruby twinkling through the air towards the beach, and the man's eyebrows raise high as he watches, lifting a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun's rays. Whooooooooo, comes the not-ruby sparkling right back before it's ever even hit the ground of the trashy beach, right into his hand. He ponders it, then Colton, then shrugs, putting the stone safely back in his pocket. "Never bothered your family, man - just you." So at least he's self-aware enough to know he's being a bother. "'s fine, plenty other people around to ask. I hear Inigos are plenty interested in this little gem."
Instead of leaving like any polite person ought to, the man just makes himself at home on the bench after that, laying down on his back, and lets out a big yawn, closing his eyes. His spot now.
The negotiation takes a turn when the man reveals his true desire, alongside a strange gem that exudes the scent of burnt cinnamon, intensifying the encounter's supernatural underpinnings. Colton staunchly refuses the request for his blood, his refusal underscored by an implicit threat of violence. As the conversation unfolds, it is revealed that the stranger knows of Colton and even suggests they could resolve their differences in a future brawl, hinting at a shared, if tumultuous, history in Navvere. Despite this, Colton resolves to end the encounter, using his telekinetic abilities to send the gem—clearly of significance to the man—tumbling into the refuse of the beach below. With a final warning to leave his family in peace, Colton departs, leaving the demonborn lounging on the bench, nonplussed by the failed negotiation yet ominously mentioning the Inigos’ potential interest in the gem. The confrontation closes on an uneasy truce, with the undercurrents of future conflicts and the unresolved matter of the "Demon's Eye" artifact looming in the air.
(Colton's odd encounter(SRSophie):SRSophie)
[Fri Mar 21 2025]
In the outer railing
The overlook is a large, mostly wooden construction of white painted
beams and a lattice embellished canopy that keeps elements from the
interior. The path leading up to it has been marked with logs from the
nearby wood and layered in gravel that almost keeps out most of the weeds.
Benches have been constructed along the outer rim of the structure just
before the railing that lines the edges. The center is kept clear,
presumably for events. It tends to gather some grit, but most major debris
is blown clear by the common wind gusts at this height.
It is morning, about 56F(13C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A member of The Destined Host has been spotted in Haven, causing a stir within the supernatural community. There's a rumor they are seeking an ancient artifact known as the "Demon's Eye," said to grant its holder a direct link to the demonic realm. Your target and their allies are tasked with preventing the Destined Host from obtaining the Eye, possibly needing to race against them to find it first, or perhaps even needing to steal it from under their noses once they've found it.)
Winter's grasp over the town has finally ceased, the weather nice and mellow for once - a good day to be spent out beneath the sun, even if the cover of dark stormclouds above foretells rain. Where Colton stands, leaning against the overlook and looking out over the beach littered with the occasional piece of trash despite his attempts to clean it up, most of the surroundings are still and silent. Nobody comes to this part of the beach when there's actual good, swimmable parts of the beach to hang out on instead.
Well, nobody except this one guy in particular, apparently. He ambles along the path up to the outlook with his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune under his breath. A good mood, evidently, though his eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. There's a vaguely familiar look to him, but not a scent he recognizes, like burnt cinnamon lingering in the air.
His attention drawn first by the quiet whistling interrupting the pleasant, quiet morning, Colton wanders from the northern railing of the large overlook to the southern, peering down the winding, creaking staircase to eyeball the man traipsing up Lover's Lane. The Moore frowns. This was /his/ quiet spot, after all, his is a rather territorial nature. Still, he can't do much to scare off anybody and everybody. Damn expectations of 'secrecy' and 'subtlety', always getting in the way. Instead, he leans over the railing a little and lifts his hand in a neighbourly wave, more welcoming than he really feels on the inside.
His stomach growls. He hasn't had his breakfast, and he's hungry. If only all his problems were so easy to solve as some others. He couldn't just eat random townsfolk. Something about not eating where you shit, and vice versa.
"Good morning," he calls, plastering a stupid, human smile over his stupid, human face. "Out on a jog?"
The sticky, sweet, acrid smell lingers in the air as the man ambles his way further towards Colton without a care in the world; he's willowy in appearance, that beanpole-like appearance as though a strong breeze would push him over, though the breeze so far hasn't succeeded in its attempt. Alas.
"Hey, hey," he calls out in response to Colton, following up with a lift of his shoulders in a lazy shrug up, then down. He's not a Boston native, going off the accent, his voice a lazy drawl, "Definitely not jogging. Strolling, at best. Maybe even meandering. Promenading, if the scenery wasn't so shit to call it that in good conscience. Dawdling...?" Thoughts of whether or not he's dawdling carry him the rest of the way, and the man ends up right in Colton's quiet spot. Now it's both of their quiet spot. Or not-so-quiet spot, considering there's conversation struck up already.
"Colton Moore, is it? Heard a lot. Good stuff, bad stuff," he starts, cutting right to the chase instead of making small talk. It's not like Colton particularly wants to go through breakfast plans with the guy, is it? "Been looking for you for an hour. Your cousins led me on a bit of a wild goose chase, won't lie. Shitty little bastards, aren't they?" he lets out an amused little snort, apparently not too put off - and why would he be, considering he's got Colton right here, after all? "You're an interesting one for a Moore, arentcha? What'd'ya say, wanna make a quick buck? It won't hurt." With how relaxed he is, coming to slump upon a bench and stretching out his beanpole legs in front of him, he's really not looking as though he expects Colton to be anything but obliging with whatever his offer is going to be - or maybe just doesn't consider the situation dire enough to be on his guard.
One of his hands finds its way out of his pockets, reaching up to shift his sunglasses to the top of his head.
Red eyes.
"You think a family as old as ours would still be in the trailer park if we were born with an itch to make a quick buck?" Colton replies, trading a question for a question. He looks the demonoid up and down, curling a lip in immediate distaste. Of course, the man was never going to accomplish any diplomacy with the russet-haired Moore; opening up with insults aimed at his family had instilled an immediate dislike in him. "Tell me what you want from me. I'll probably end up telling you to fuck off, but I'll hear you out. We'll see what happens from there." There's unhidden violence in his eyes; something about his posture suggests red-eyes over here might need to do his fucking off with a pronounced limp.
"Nah," red-eyes drawls out in response to the first question, even if it was rhetorical. "Worth a try, yeah? Would surprise you how often it works." If the demonborn senses any distaste, he doesn't outwardly react to it; in fact, he seems to relish in it, just slumping even further where he sits, like he's just planning on becoming one with the bench beneath him. "Juuuust some blood. Nothin' too much. A quick li'l pinch, in here, and all done." His other hand leaves his pocket now, fist closed around a large object. He turns it around, palm up, to reveal its contents to Colton a strange gem, almost passing as a ruby if it wasn't for the striations of darker red and gold that swirl deep in its depths, shifting ever so slightly in the light. The scent of burnt cinnamon grows stronger all at once, sharp enough to make Colton's nose sting.
Colton's eyes fix on the carmine cabochon, but he doesn't recognise it. Still, not many people come around asking after his blood, and far fewer than that had red eyes. The werewolf screws up his mouth into an unpleasant grimace, his answer written in his features before it's spoken aloud. "You can try and take it," he scowls. "But that's going to go real badly for you, unless you got some of that demon armour I hear so much about. And even then... I got sharper teeth. And more family." He smiles unpleasantly, letting the implicit and explicit qualities of his threat sink in for a moment. Maybe the Moore might have just started swinging with most people, but the red eyes had him alert and on-guard. Who knew for sure this man wasn't some lieutenant for a proper Demon? He'd always imagined his father might have been a red-eyes. He wasn't looking forward to the family reunion.
The man sighs out loud, as though Colton's inconveniencing him mightily by not giving up some of his blood on demand; and honestly, it's not even like he asked for a /lot/, you know. It's just a little pinch. Allegedly. Speaking of pinches, he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose as though Colton's giving him a headache. Surely, Colton can appreciate the mood-lift, if nothing else.
"Hey, look, I'm not here to brawl with you or your family - just here on business." Said no demonborn ever? "Help me out, I'll help you out, owe you a favor or something - I've got connections, and all that jazz. Let's not make this into a huge pain, yeah? We can duke it out in Navvere in a couple days," so /that's/ why he looks familiar, at least. There's an expectant look at Colton, waiting. Don't let him down now.
With the movement of his hands while he talks, the gem in the man's palm seems almost as though there's liquid in there - blood? It swirls around within, dark and rich - there's space for more, should Colton want his to join what's in there.
Colton looses a brief, lupine growl. He hated it when people wouldn't take no for an answer. And that ruby, or whatever it was, looked important. "This is the part where I tell you to fuck off," he sneers, then jerks a hand through the air. Invisible tendrils of telekinetic force loop around the demonborn's gemstone, yanking it loose from the man's grip, and the werewolf takes the opportunity to blindly backhand the thing down into the trash-strewn hands of Underlook Beach. His red-eyed friend would probably have to go digging to find it among all the tumbled seaglass and red plastic.
"I'm leaving," he says firmly. "Go find your toy, then get lost. Don't bother my family again, or we're going to go exploring which bones I can break under Sanctuary and which I can't."
Wheeeeeee, goes the not-ruby twinkling through the air towards the beach, and the man's eyebrows raise high as he watches, lifting a hand up to shade his eyes from the sun's rays. Whooooooooo, comes the not-ruby sparkling right back before it's ever even hit the ground of the trashy beach, right into his hand. He ponders it, then Colton, then shrugs, putting the stone safely back in his pocket. "Never bothered your family, man - just you." So at least he's self-aware enough to know he's being a bother. "'s fine, plenty other people around to ask. I hear Inigos are plenty interested in this little gem."
Instead of leaving like any polite person ought to, the man just makes himself at home on the bench after that, laying down on his back, and lets out a big yawn, closing his eyes. His spot now.