Encounterlogs
Deans Odd Encounter Sr Elanora 240627
In a peculiar night in Haven, Dean faces an unexpected mission propelled by an anonymous tip revealing the transport of a dangerous artifact capable of controlling supernatural beings. This artifact, rumored to be in the hands of The Golden Shadow, poses a significant threat if used maliciously. With the mission clear, Dean finds himself intercepting an innocuous-looking truck, cleverly disguised as a fast-food delivery vehicle but manned by alert and tactically equipped individuals. Despite the oppressive heat and the quiet darkness enveloping White Oak college, Dean's extraordinary abilities allow him to surveil and approach the vehicle with an almost predatory precision. The conversation between the truck's occupants hints at their sinister intentions, revealing their ignorance of the true power lurking in the shadows of Haven's streets.
As the tension escalates, Dean boldly confronts the transport team, employing intimidation and brute force to achieve his objective. Using his enhanced strength, he ingeniously topples the truck, rendering it immobile and demanding the dangerous artifact. Despite the numerical advantage and armed resistance from the team, Dean's imposing presence and supernatural prowess lead to the artifact's retrieval—a mysteriously simple silver collar, the significance of which remains enigmatic. Ultimately, Dean ensures the artifact's safety by planning its delivery to a secure location, enlisting Phoebe's assistance without revealing his identity. This strategic move not only mitigates the immediate threat but also entangles Dean in a deeper web of mystery and alliances within the supernatural community of Haven. As the story concludes, the echoes of the night's events hint at unresolved tensions and the ever-present danger lurking within the town, leaving Dean's allegiances and the artifact's true power shrouded in mystery.
(Dean's odd encounter(SRElanora):SRElanora)
[Wed Jun 26 2024]
In a covered walkway
The white stone bricks that make up the path through campus are oddly shaped. Instead of typical interlocking cubes, many are elongated and impractically curved. They seem to entwine like vines or tentacles, but still form a perfectly flat surface, not unlike if the upper surface of a more rounded construct had been shaved down to a cross section.
It is night, about 97F(36C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target receives an anonymous tip about a dangerous artifact being transported through town by The Golden Shadow. The artifact is rumored to have the power to control supernatural beings, making it a major threat in the wrong hands. The characters must intercept the transport and secure the artifact before it can be used for nefarious purposes.)
The waning gibbous moon hangs over the sleepy town of Haven a few days after the summer solstice. The moon is still almost full, hanging heavily in the sky while a few wispy clouds float by, occasionally covering it.
It is still unbearably hot and humid with the temperature a scorching 36 degrees despite the lack of sun and it is no wonder people are still up and about after being unable to sleep in such a weather.
Of course, being Haven... there are more than just people who can't sleep and are staying up unusually late. Some beings only prowl through Haven at such times when the sun is below the sky. And others, prefer it making Haven one of the only towns in the entire continental United states of America to have an entire town that is open 24 hours a day. The overtime rates must be astronomical although given it's a small town with lots of people who prefer being up at night... mayhaps really not that bad.
On the outskirts of town a truck rumbles - although dead of the night in Haven is not the most quiet time of the night compared to elsewhere... It is quite compared to the day time in Haven and of course activities are of a more... questionable nature occur at these hours rather than any earlier in the day.
The truck driving through town looks innocuous - A five guys truck with it's logo splashed across the side of the white truck in fire engine red. A burger and chips on the side completes the picture and it would take one to look quite closely to realize that mayhaps usual shipments of chips and paddies, didn't quite occur with such sharp eyed looking drivers.
Infact, an entire team of 5 sits in the cramped cabin. A cap is pulled over the driver's head, also red, trying to pull off the standard trucker look - although they may have overlooked the fact that it was pitch black without a sun to be seen.
Both the people in the front of the cab are wearing full tactical gear and despite the aircon in the truck being turned up to max, sweat beads the foreheads of all sitting in that unfortunate tiny cabin.
If one had pulled over and stopped next to them like the sleepy family that just did at the lights, they would notice that everyone inside the cabin is just too alert.. looking around.. holding things in their lap.
"Fuckkkk it's hot." The truck driver growls in a Texan drawl as the lights change and they slowly make their way forward again entering the town itself. "Is it really fucking midnight? God there's something wrong with this town. You think Hell's spilling over?"
A rough hand, calloused and full of scars scratches at his cheek as the man beside him grunts, "The higher ups said this package was of the 'utmost importance'" The man rolls his eyes skywards and snorts softly before dropping his voice, "I heard .... it's an artifact. Some really powerful one too... The higher ups.. They heard someone powerful came into town. Someone who could really help their cause if they could be swayed." The man gives a high pitched giggle and the clouds move across the moon to show the scars that criss cross over his face, like someone had shoved him into a hot grill. "I wouldn't mind a round with it myself... Imagine enslaving one of those hot chicks... Heard there's a few sirens in town... Or some high class angelborn babe...." Scar face sighs happily as he lets his fantasies take over.
"Oi eyes on the road." Is the retort as the truck driver pulls into deadwood st, rumbling slowly past the red light district with the strip clubs. There were a few knocks on the side of the truck by people already drunk but they manage to continue undisturbed into the center of town. "We don't want anyone getting their hands on this artifact with the wrong idea eh? What if they use it on YOU." Growling, snapping fills the cavern as they banter with each other, slowly making their way up towards the college.
"Urg College." The word is muttered with distaste by the truck driver as he stares out into the trees that line the large, well reknown college for supernaturals. "Heard it's some high powered Golden shadow member that operates out of the college that wants it... Maybe we should've used a stationary van..."
Not so far away, infact just over the hedges, the bushes and the walls of the college with a fraternity or sorirty between him and the truck that had just pulled up to the front, Dean's phone buzzes in his pocket.
A message shows up. "Arti that controls supernaturals rumoured to be transported to someone in white oak tonight. 1am. Unknown method of transport. Secure if possible. Deadly in the wrong hands. Phoebe."
The night hasn't grown any colder but the school lies quieter now. The clubbers have already left for the greater part of town. And those that couldn't sleep have probably passed out with their windows open and the fan going on full blast. A cloud passes over the moon. And the quiet darkness settles over the academy of White oak.
At any other night, Dean, perhap, wouldn't have cared about a text message. Except, really, this wasn't /his/ phone. It was a burner, meant for only one thing - and he knew, instantly, that this had to be something important. A last resort, otherwise they wouldn't have asked him. And it had to be /them/, the pack, that made her send it. In his wait, Dean clenches his jaw left to right slightly, as if trying to fit his teeth into his mouth and failing to do it properly - but the hard look of his gaze remains on his phone for a little longer -- then he shoves it in his pocket.
He had been standing just by the waters that be, separating the college from the southward deadwood street by that shallow channel and nothing more - and maybe he had even seen the truck passing by afar, given just how unbearably good his eyesight was. Especially at night - where the astray street lights set his gaze alight in reflective yellow - moving slowly to follow like a predator any vehicle that passes by, now, slightly more alert. He turns on his heels, right back up the cobbled brick path, and before he takes even a few steps he's walking closer to the walls, the darker hollows off the beaten path and on the grass to cut a shortcut through the garden and head straight for the entrance in search of anything unusual.
The rumbling truck pulls up to the front entrance of the White Oak and the engine is kept on in a idle as the truck driver peers out through the darkness of warden's way towards the front of the college. "Fuck they don't even have a fire guys in White oak.." The truck driver mumbles under his breath as he elbows scar face. "Go out.. See if there's anyone out there waiting for us. We're here to deliver... Fuck I don't know. Chips." He bangs on the seperator towards the three in the backseat who pick up their weapons. "Be sharp. Something might happen." There are nods from the three in tactical gear in the back - they must be roasting even more so and the moonlight glints off the metal of assault rifle as they pick them up.
The door of the truck swings open, revealing the wan yellow light from the cabin as scar face hops out and walks over onto warden's way, peering about. There was no one to meet them. Yet.
And just off to the sidelines, Dean was already there. He had traversed the garden, the pathway, with some terrifying speed. A pace most definitely not human - and he had done so not under the covered walkway, but above it to stay out of the sightlines. Just at the end, he sneaks back down, keeps to the wall, and slips first into the reception. A wary glance cast aside at the receptionist who seems startled that he just appeared out of nowhere -- and he's off, out the door, and shutting it in his wake.
He doesn't hide away this time around- hands in his jacket pockets, Dean is striding forward towards the light of the truck that stares right to the entry - while the headlights glare off of his eyes, reflects the green in a shade of yellowed out glow back. His attention splits, drifts, glances and assesses each and every face that has made themselves known, and if they hadn't realized he was there, yet, he makes them know, by whistling once and clicking his teeth like he's calling on a bunch of dogs. "Hey." And his gaze turns, on the scar face of the transport team. "This is all of you?" A bluff, maybe. If they weren't his targets, it would be just an awkward moment. If they were, all the better.
The noises, clicking, whistling makes everyone bristle, scar face especially who is the only one out of the truck currently. The window is rolled down of the rear cab of the truck and it's only Dean's nightvision that allows him to see the tip of a rifle being braced over someone's shoulder pointed towards him in the darkness of the cabin.
Scar face makes a face as he sees Dean, spitting on the side of the road before he raises up his shoulders and lowers them again, almost as if he's readying himself for a fight. It's all posturing of course. But posturing is important when you're delivering the goods of your superiors. "Yeah mate... I hear the weather is supposed to be dry this time of the year." The man says almost converstionally, dark grown eyes fixed on Dean's face as the crew behind waits for Dean's response.
"Yeah, it sure ain't." Dean replies idly. Flatly. Toneless while he stares at the rifle, and only /smirks/. Doesn't make a single effort to hide the fact that he can see them, and that's only amused in how far his lips stretch, and how threateningly he displays his teeth, his fangs, visibly pronounced especially in the dead of the night - beneath the waning but still full moon. He looks back to the driver again, eventually. Doesn't remove his hands out of his pockets while he gives him an upnod. "So don't make me keep waiting until we sweat to a fucking puddle. Show me what you got in there."
"Nuh uh." Scar face peers at Dean as if wondering how thick the man infront of him really was. "Wrong answer." The back of the cab door opens and two men spill out the other side while the third makes it the rifle very obvious to Dean even if he was a normal sighted person. "Why don't you go mind your own business?" The truck driver sneers, "You're out numbered. And this doesn't concern you. We're just making a delivery of.... Special sauce to one of your teachers." Special sauce... yeah that seems to make the truck driver happy, He had come up with something.. at least semi plausible for why they have a five guys burger truck in a town with no five guys. "Guy doesn't want to go to boston you know?" Why there needed to be arm guard for special sauce...? Well that was anyone's guess.
While they filter out of the vehicle, all Dean does is take out his phone from his pocket and glance down at it. He stares at a text - blatantly ignorant of the rifles trained on him now, then slips it into his pocket. "Nah, see, /that/ was the wrong answer." He had only just perused the earlier message - and quickly sent one of his own. 'Got 'em.' Even though he hadn't, really. Not yet. Hands once more in his pockets, he starts to strie forward - straight up to the truck, to the side of its front. Everyone else gets a glare, a look over, and then, Dean simply kicks the van on the front wheel. The whole thing groans, careens aside and twists to topple over on its side. That truck wasn't going anywhere at all. "You got a minute to put down your guns, and get me the delivery out of that wreck." His modulated tone persists, deep, too demanding and demeaning. "If you don't, I'm going to grab you." He nods towards one of the rifle-bearing folk, then to scarface. "And beat you with him. And that's putting it mildly."
"What the FUCK???" Is the response to Dean just... collapsing the front wheel rim of the truck and the whole things tumbles to the ground with a loud bang. If it was hard for people to sleep before.... Lights start switching on in the street. "Shit!" Scarface looks clearly conflinted. On one hand Dean knows about the delivery.... On the other he didn't know the pass code... And to the first hand he had JUST toppled their truck... Which means they weren't going anywhere anytime soon and the haven police force - terrible as they were were JUST there and did they really want to deal with that? "Fuck fuck fuckity fine." Scarface mutters as he moves to the back of the truck - throws open the door and starts to crawl in on the truck on its side.
The other armed guards, seeing scar face getting into the truck, scrams, making off on foot right past the 'no weapons past this point' sign.
While scarface dives into the truck, Dean had every intention to make an example of the rest of the guards - but they scram, that looks as if it sours his attitude. He crack his neck, stretches his shoulders a little, and starts to approach the wreck again, from the side. Right behind the man crawling in the darkness, Dean plants a foot at the entry he's made for himself, and peers inside in silence. A silence that doesn't last while every second takes from his patience - and soon enough, Scarface would hear the sound of a low, rumbling growl at his back. One that borders on a snarl - and should he look behind, all he'd see would be Dean, his face darkened with the street lights at his back, and shadows drawing grim contours to his veiled expression. There is only a flash of fang, and entirely yellow eyes intently trained on the man in his wait.
There are boxes and boxes of different things that have spilled over in the back of the truck. Buns. Meat patties. Lettuce. Bottles of sauces and about 5000 potatos are suddenly loose in the compartment and scar face seems to be sorting through it all, trying to wade his way through to find the deliver. There is a terrified whimper at the snarl and only Dean's sharp night vision can pick out scar face going pale at the sight that greets him. He hurriedly sorts through boxes until he finally comes up with a small, slightly dented silver box. Made out of silver too. He offers it to Dean with a shakey hand, "Take it! that's the delivery!!"
Dean's nose twitches as soon as the box is presented, and his expression contorts into something distasteful. He doesn't touch it, removes his jacket instead, and throws it over the man's hands before his own follow to wrap the box in, and take it from him. He shimmes the leather, opens it to check its contents. "This better be it, dumbass. If it isn't, I know your scent. You're not getting away for life." And just like that -- he's walking away with the intention to deliver the box elsewhere - a drop off point for it to get retrieved later by the very contact that reached out to him, and arrange a delivery of their own for the Redwood Pack. While he goes, his other hand fishes out his phone again, to send another text. Simply reading, 'We're even now.' Then he turns the GPS to share its location with Phoebe and chuck the phone in the box, too, so she can track it.
The contents of the silver box is simply a silver collar... wether it was the right object or not for Dean's contact well... Only time will tell as the HSD patrol cars finally pull from up the parking lot next door and surround the truck. Without the armoured guards, the two truckies can only exclaim they stopped by Haven to grab a bite food at the holgar and ... SOMETHING happened to their trucks front wheel. They had no idea what.
As the tension escalates, Dean boldly confronts the transport team, employing intimidation and brute force to achieve his objective. Using his enhanced strength, he ingeniously topples the truck, rendering it immobile and demanding the dangerous artifact. Despite the numerical advantage and armed resistance from the team, Dean's imposing presence and supernatural prowess lead to the artifact's retrieval—a mysteriously simple silver collar, the significance of which remains enigmatic. Ultimately, Dean ensures the artifact's safety by planning its delivery to a secure location, enlisting Phoebe's assistance without revealing his identity. This strategic move not only mitigates the immediate threat but also entangles Dean in a deeper web of mystery and alliances within the supernatural community of Haven. As the story concludes, the echoes of the night's events hint at unresolved tensions and the ever-present danger lurking within the town, leaving Dean's allegiances and the artifact's true power shrouded in mystery.
(Dean's odd encounter(SRElanora):SRElanora)
[Wed Jun 26 2024]
In a covered walkway
The white stone bricks that make up the path through campus are oddly shaped. Instead of typical interlocking cubes, many are elongated and impractically curved. They seem to entwine like vines or tentacles, but still form a perfectly flat surface, not unlike if the upper surface of a more rounded construct had been shaved down to a cross section.
It is night, about 97F(36C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous moon.
(Your target receives an anonymous tip about a dangerous artifact being transported through town by The Golden Shadow. The artifact is rumored to have the power to control supernatural beings, making it a major threat in the wrong hands. The characters must intercept the transport and secure the artifact before it can be used for nefarious purposes.)
The waning gibbous moon hangs over the sleepy town of Haven a few days after the summer solstice. The moon is still almost full, hanging heavily in the sky while a few wispy clouds float by, occasionally covering it.
It is still unbearably hot and humid with the temperature a scorching 36 degrees despite the lack of sun and it is no wonder people are still up and about after being unable to sleep in such a weather.
Of course, being Haven... there are more than just people who can't sleep and are staying up unusually late. Some beings only prowl through Haven at such times when the sun is below the sky. And others, prefer it making Haven one of the only towns in the entire continental United states of America to have an entire town that is open 24 hours a day. The overtime rates must be astronomical although given it's a small town with lots of people who prefer being up at night... mayhaps really not that bad.
On the outskirts of town a truck rumbles - although dead of the night in Haven is not the most quiet time of the night compared to elsewhere... It is quite compared to the day time in Haven and of course activities are of a more... questionable nature occur at these hours rather than any earlier in the day.
The truck driving through town looks innocuous - A five guys truck with it's logo splashed across the side of the white truck in fire engine red. A burger and chips on the side completes the picture and it would take one to look quite closely to realize that mayhaps usual shipments of chips and paddies, didn't quite occur with such sharp eyed looking drivers.
Infact, an entire team of 5 sits in the cramped cabin. A cap is pulled over the driver's head, also red, trying to pull off the standard trucker look - although they may have overlooked the fact that it was pitch black without a sun to be seen.
Both the people in the front of the cab are wearing full tactical gear and despite the aircon in the truck being turned up to max, sweat beads the foreheads of all sitting in that unfortunate tiny cabin.
If one had pulled over and stopped next to them like the sleepy family that just did at the lights, they would notice that everyone inside the cabin is just too alert.. looking around.. holding things in their lap.
"Fuckkkk it's hot." The truck driver growls in a Texan drawl as the lights change and they slowly make their way forward again entering the town itself. "Is it really fucking midnight? God there's something wrong with this town. You think Hell's spilling over?"
A rough hand, calloused and full of scars scratches at his cheek as the man beside him grunts, "The higher ups said this package was of the 'utmost importance'" The man rolls his eyes skywards and snorts softly before dropping his voice, "I heard .... it's an artifact. Some really powerful one too... The higher ups.. They heard someone powerful came into town. Someone who could really help their cause if they could be swayed." The man gives a high pitched giggle and the clouds move across the moon to show the scars that criss cross over his face, like someone had shoved him into a hot grill. "I wouldn't mind a round with it myself... Imagine enslaving one of those hot chicks... Heard there's a few sirens in town... Or some high class angelborn babe...." Scar face sighs happily as he lets his fantasies take over.
"Oi eyes on the road." Is the retort as the truck driver pulls into deadwood st, rumbling slowly past the red light district with the strip clubs. There were a few knocks on the side of the truck by people already drunk but they manage to continue undisturbed into the center of town. "We don't want anyone getting their hands on this artifact with the wrong idea eh? What if they use it on YOU." Growling, snapping fills the cavern as they banter with each other, slowly making their way up towards the college.
"Urg College." The word is muttered with distaste by the truck driver as he stares out into the trees that line the large, well reknown college for supernaturals. "Heard it's some high powered Golden shadow member that operates out of the college that wants it... Maybe we should've used a stationary van..."
Not so far away, infact just over the hedges, the bushes and the walls of the college with a fraternity or sorirty between him and the truck that had just pulled up to the front, Dean's phone buzzes in his pocket.
A message shows up. "Arti that controls supernaturals rumoured to be transported to someone in white oak tonight. 1am. Unknown method of transport. Secure if possible. Deadly in the wrong hands. Phoebe."
The night hasn't grown any colder but the school lies quieter now. The clubbers have already left for the greater part of town. And those that couldn't sleep have probably passed out with their windows open and the fan going on full blast. A cloud passes over the moon. And the quiet darkness settles over the academy of White oak.
At any other night, Dean, perhap, wouldn't have cared about a text message. Except, really, this wasn't /his/ phone. It was a burner, meant for only one thing - and he knew, instantly, that this had to be something important. A last resort, otherwise they wouldn't have asked him. And it had to be /them/, the pack, that made her send it. In his wait, Dean clenches his jaw left to right slightly, as if trying to fit his teeth into his mouth and failing to do it properly - but the hard look of his gaze remains on his phone for a little longer -- then he shoves it in his pocket.
He had been standing just by the waters that be, separating the college from the southward deadwood street by that shallow channel and nothing more - and maybe he had even seen the truck passing by afar, given just how unbearably good his eyesight was. Especially at night - where the astray street lights set his gaze alight in reflective yellow - moving slowly to follow like a predator any vehicle that passes by, now, slightly more alert. He turns on his heels, right back up the cobbled brick path, and before he takes even a few steps he's walking closer to the walls, the darker hollows off the beaten path and on the grass to cut a shortcut through the garden and head straight for the entrance in search of anything unusual.
The rumbling truck pulls up to the front entrance of the White Oak and the engine is kept on in a idle as the truck driver peers out through the darkness of warden's way towards the front of the college. "Fuck they don't even have a fire guys in White oak.." The truck driver mumbles under his breath as he elbows scar face. "Go out.. See if there's anyone out there waiting for us. We're here to deliver... Fuck I don't know. Chips." He bangs on the seperator towards the three in the backseat who pick up their weapons. "Be sharp. Something might happen." There are nods from the three in tactical gear in the back - they must be roasting even more so and the moonlight glints off the metal of assault rifle as they pick them up.
The door of the truck swings open, revealing the wan yellow light from the cabin as scar face hops out and walks over onto warden's way, peering about. There was no one to meet them. Yet.
And just off to the sidelines, Dean was already there. He had traversed the garden, the pathway, with some terrifying speed. A pace most definitely not human - and he had done so not under the covered walkway, but above it to stay out of the sightlines. Just at the end, he sneaks back down, keeps to the wall, and slips first into the reception. A wary glance cast aside at the receptionist who seems startled that he just appeared out of nowhere -- and he's off, out the door, and shutting it in his wake.
He doesn't hide away this time around- hands in his jacket pockets, Dean is striding forward towards the light of the truck that stares right to the entry - while the headlights glare off of his eyes, reflects the green in a shade of yellowed out glow back. His attention splits, drifts, glances and assesses each and every face that has made themselves known, and if they hadn't realized he was there, yet, he makes them know, by whistling once and clicking his teeth like he's calling on a bunch of dogs. "Hey." And his gaze turns, on the scar face of the transport team. "This is all of you?" A bluff, maybe. If they weren't his targets, it would be just an awkward moment. If they were, all the better.
The noises, clicking, whistling makes everyone bristle, scar face especially who is the only one out of the truck currently. The window is rolled down of the rear cab of the truck and it's only Dean's nightvision that allows him to see the tip of a rifle being braced over someone's shoulder pointed towards him in the darkness of the cabin.
Scar face makes a face as he sees Dean, spitting on the side of the road before he raises up his shoulders and lowers them again, almost as if he's readying himself for a fight. It's all posturing of course. But posturing is important when you're delivering the goods of your superiors. "Yeah mate... I hear the weather is supposed to be dry this time of the year." The man says almost converstionally, dark grown eyes fixed on Dean's face as the crew behind waits for Dean's response.
"Yeah, it sure ain't." Dean replies idly. Flatly. Toneless while he stares at the rifle, and only /smirks/. Doesn't make a single effort to hide the fact that he can see them, and that's only amused in how far his lips stretch, and how threateningly he displays his teeth, his fangs, visibly pronounced especially in the dead of the night - beneath the waning but still full moon. He looks back to the driver again, eventually. Doesn't remove his hands out of his pockets while he gives him an upnod. "So don't make me keep waiting until we sweat to a fucking puddle. Show me what you got in there."
"Nuh uh." Scar face peers at Dean as if wondering how thick the man infront of him really was. "Wrong answer." The back of the cab door opens and two men spill out the other side while the third makes it the rifle very obvious to Dean even if he was a normal sighted person. "Why don't you go mind your own business?" The truck driver sneers, "You're out numbered. And this doesn't concern you. We're just making a delivery of.... Special sauce to one of your teachers." Special sauce... yeah that seems to make the truck driver happy, He had come up with something.. at least semi plausible for why they have a five guys burger truck in a town with no five guys. "Guy doesn't want to go to boston you know?" Why there needed to be arm guard for special sauce...? Well that was anyone's guess.
While they filter out of the vehicle, all Dean does is take out his phone from his pocket and glance down at it. He stares at a text - blatantly ignorant of the rifles trained on him now, then slips it into his pocket. "Nah, see, /that/ was the wrong answer." He had only just perused the earlier message - and quickly sent one of his own. 'Got 'em.' Even though he hadn't, really. Not yet. Hands once more in his pockets, he starts to strie forward - straight up to the truck, to the side of its front. Everyone else gets a glare, a look over, and then, Dean simply kicks the van on the front wheel. The whole thing groans, careens aside and twists to topple over on its side. That truck wasn't going anywhere at all. "You got a minute to put down your guns, and get me the delivery out of that wreck." His modulated tone persists, deep, too demanding and demeaning. "If you don't, I'm going to grab you." He nods towards one of the rifle-bearing folk, then to scarface. "And beat you with him. And that's putting it mildly."
"What the FUCK???" Is the response to Dean just... collapsing the front wheel rim of the truck and the whole things tumbles to the ground with a loud bang. If it was hard for people to sleep before.... Lights start switching on in the street. "Shit!" Scarface looks clearly conflinted. On one hand Dean knows about the delivery.... On the other he didn't know the pass code... And to the first hand he had JUST toppled their truck... Which means they weren't going anywhere anytime soon and the haven police force - terrible as they were were JUST there and did they really want to deal with that? "Fuck fuck fuckity fine." Scarface mutters as he moves to the back of the truck - throws open the door and starts to crawl in on the truck on its side.
The other armed guards, seeing scar face getting into the truck, scrams, making off on foot right past the 'no weapons past this point' sign.
While scarface dives into the truck, Dean had every intention to make an example of the rest of the guards - but they scram, that looks as if it sours his attitude. He crack his neck, stretches his shoulders a little, and starts to approach the wreck again, from the side. Right behind the man crawling in the darkness, Dean plants a foot at the entry he's made for himself, and peers inside in silence. A silence that doesn't last while every second takes from his patience - and soon enough, Scarface would hear the sound of a low, rumbling growl at his back. One that borders on a snarl - and should he look behind, all he'd see would be Dean, his face darkened with the street lights at his back, and shadows drawing grim contours to his veiled expression. There is only a flash of fang, and entirely yellow eyes intently trained on the man in his wait.
There are boxes and boxes of different things that have spilled over in the back of the truck. Buns. Meat patties. Lettuce. Bottles of sauces and about 5000 potatos are suddenly loose in the compartment and scar face seems to be sorting through it all, trying to wade his way through to find the deliver. There is a terrified whimper at the snarl and only Dean's sharp night vision can pick out scar face going pale at the sight that greets him. He hurriedly sorts through boxes until he finally comes up with a small, slightly dented silver box. Made out of silver too. He offers it to Dean with a shakey hand, "Take it! that's the delivery!!"
Dean's nose twitches as soon as the box is presented, and his expression contorts into something distasteful. He doesn't touch it, removes his jacket instead, and throws it over the man's hands before his own follow to wrap the box in, and take it from him. He shimmes the leather, opens it to check its contents. "This better be it, dumbass. If it isn't, I know your scent. You're not getting away for life." And just like that -- he's walking away with the intention to deliver the box elsewhere - a drop off point for it to get retrieved later by the very contact that reached out to him, and arrange a delivery of their own for the Redwood Pack. While he goes, his other hand fishes out his phone again, to send another text. Simply reading, 'We're even now.' Then he turns the GPS to share its location with Phoebe and chuck the phone in the box, too, so she can track it.
The contents of the silver box is simply a silver collar... wether it was the right object or not for Dean's contact well... Only time will tell as the HSD patrol cars finally pull from up the parking lot next door and surround the truck. Without the armoured guards, the two truckies can only exclaim they stopped by Haven to grab a bite food at the holgar and ... SOMETHING happened to their trucks front wheel. They had no idea what.