Encounterlogs
Elizabeths Odd Encounter Sr Bellatrix
In the clinical stillness of the Webster Mental Health Clinic's intervention wing, Elizabeth, a figure surrounded by the tormented cries and secrets of unseen patients, stands guard outside a door. As the air fills with an unnatural chill, Elizabeth's presence attracts an otherworldly entity, a ghost driven to the brink of insanity by fragmented memories. This specter, visually imperceptible yet clearly manifesting its presence through piercing cold and a disembodied voice, confronts Elizabeth, questioning her identity and asserting its eerie claim upon her essence. Elizabeth, steadfast and composed, engages with the ghost, hoping to calm it despite the numbing grip it extends upon her very being, feeling the shadows contort around her as the spectral assailant becomes increasingly agitated.
Determined to maintain her autonomy, Elizabeth attempts to negotiate with the ghost, offering it the opportunity to become one with her if it satisfies her conditions. As the ghost's desperation escalates, clawing at the ground and ravaging the air with chilling cries, she presses it for something of value—an artifact to serve as a vessel for its existence. The exchange reaches a fever pitch, with the entity's violent frenzy contrasting Elizabeth's soothing overtures. In the climactic moments, the ghost's form vaporizes into a misty escape, leaving Elizabeth unscathed and contemplative. The warmth returns to her body, an orderly passes by, oblivious to Elizabeth's eerie encounter, and she resumes her blind vigil—a quiet sentinel awaiting the ghost's hopeful return.
(Elizabeth's odd encounter(SRBellatrix):SRBellatrix)
[Wed Nov 22 2023]
In the intervention wing
In the intervention wing at the Webster Mental Health Clinic, a subdued tension hangs palpably in the air, underscored by the distant, muffled echoes of restrained sobs and whispered confessions that reverberate through the sterile, white-washed corridors. The flickering fluorescent lights cast disorienting shadows on the polished linoleum floor, illuminating the intricate network of closed doors and hushed conversations that betray the Institute's relentless efforts to exert control over the emotional turmoil of its troubled inhabitants.
It is about 55F(12C) degrees.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Elizabeth remains posted where she is. Arms crossed. Waiting outside a door. Face shifting to and fro. More-so out of a habit than anything else. Rolling her shoulders. Silent. It was an order. She wasn't forced to remain. She just wanted to.
And so Elizabeth stands, a dutiful soul posted outside the door she was assigned to in the sanitised misery of the intervention wing in Webster's mental health clinic. The flickering lights overhead punctuate distant wails of patients in the throes of their own worst personal demons, some merely demons of the mind, but this is Haven, some might be literal. Suddenly, there is silence and a chill brushes Elizabeth's back, the small hairs made to stand on end at the sense of something eerie and unnatural nearby.
Elizabeth remains calm. Vigilant. Immune to tricks of the eye. Yet that chill. Her body tenses up. And her head tilts back. Face towards the ceiling. Taking everything in. Still. Silent. Until? Tap. Tap. Her toe raps against the floor beneath her. Offering more spatial awareness. Focusing. something felt off. Right now all she can do is remain quiet and hope it comes to her.
A breeze? This far into the the hospital? Not impossible, but it's certainly improbable. And yet the cold wafts around Elizabeth, vaporous and frosty. Pressure builds in the air, a buzz as though the very molecules themselves were static with electricity and pulsing against Elizabeth's skin. The coldness in Elizabeth's feet becomes a deep, pins and needles numbness and to any other onlooker a second shadow casts itself from Elizabeth's feet now, hazy and without gender. Rasping a voice speaks to Elizabeth. "Who are you?" It hisses.
Elizabeth finds the cold iron grip of an unnatural chill coiling around her form. Her breath steaming. Goosebumps on her skin. Opaque lenses fogging up. She shifts her position. Hands drooping down at either side of her body. Her attuned mind first tries to figure out where the voice came from. Her head unmoving. She responds softly. "Rhodes." is her answer. A plume of steam. She doesn't speak further. Waiting.
"Who is RHODES!?!" The voice hisses, the shadow at Elizabeth's feet compressing tighter and closer to Elizabeth's feet, it's matter whilst two dimensional seeming heavy. It claws to bring itself closer to Elizabeth, adjoined to Elizabeth at the feet but it's hands dragging the rest of it nearer with strain, fingertips seeming to drag on the floor with audible scraping like stone being dragged over granite. "I might like to be Rhodes..." It whispers as though speaking to itself. "A pretty one this one. And I am not... I am not. I am not." It repeats that last phrase as though crazed, intense and fixated upon what it is not, desperate perhaps.
Elizabeth remains still. Breathing slower. Listening. Steeling herself. She didn't have the luxury of sight. Smell was useless. Sound only helped so much. Touch? Her legs lift. Trying to free themselves of the weight. Her shoulders tense. Expecting to be dragged into the inky black. But to her. Maybe she was already there. An awkward chuckle. "I would consider myself pretty.." She assures the nothingness. Perhaps trying to diffuse.
For the moment Elizabeth's foot rises from the floor the pervasive, numbing cold that had invaded it dissipates, but as with any shadow it remains attached to Elizabeth by the other foot and the silhouette on the floor snarls frantically as it is separated from the entity it has chosen to cast itself from. Cold sweeps like a flowing river up into the foot that remains upon the ground, numbing it up to the knee now. "MINE!" It screeches like teeth of metal nails grinding against one another. "I was something. I forgot. Now I am not. What you are will be mine." The next hand to claw at the ground leaves a mark, four nail scratches in the linoleum beneath Elizabeth. Whilst Elizabeth's shadow casts from the natural lighting of the room, this one seems to be facing an entirely different direction and it hasn't swivelled from that angle in all it's scrambling.
Elizabeth sets her foot back down. Soon, she tries to reason. Speak. Murmuring, "I have a question." A beat. "If you would like me to be yours. I will allow this. If your answers satisfy me." Another beat. A shaky breath. The scratches. She was getting nervous. It was a very real, present thing in her mind. Physically there. But she waits. To see if the thing beneath her reciprocates.
The instant Elizabeth's foot touches back to the ground the cold returns, but her words cease the entities scrabbling the shadow stopping in place like an ash shillouette in the aftermath of an explosion. It draws itself upright with the outline of the shadows chin dissapearing as it 'looks' at Elizabeth. At least as long as Elizabeth is reasoning with it, the cold doesn't spread further within Elizabeth for now. "It doesn't have answers it doesn't." The shadow tells Elizabeth in it's hissing tones. "It doesn't remember them... But it would like to be Rhodes, so Rhodes may ask it's questions." The sound echoes a little, a smell of cooking meat wafts in from nearby, odd for the mental health wing.
Elizabeth takes a moment to sniff. But she speaks as she does. "What can you offer me if I let you become one with me?" She asks, softly. Tone a touch soft. Caring. Steam wafting from her breath. Foot tapping the tile. Gathering surroundings. "And what would you consider your personal identity to be? A body like mine can only house a woman, after all." Her words are sort of measured. Gathered. Luring. Luring... or perhaps being lured.
"It is... it is... It does not. It..." Elizabeth's questions send the shadow into a frenzy, it's outline becoming less distinct as it is forced to confront it's own identity and apparently finds itself lacking. What were once hands with distinct fingers, now blurs, rise to the shadow's head, pressing against it as the shadow flails in psychotic anguish and then screeches at Elizabeth so loud the pressure of the room seems to change, flourescent bulbs shaking in their fixtures overhead. "IT WILL BE RHOOOOOODES!" The hazy outline claws at the ground once again, but this time it fails to mark the linolium, fingers slipping over the smooth ground without purchase.
Elizabeth seems to suddenly grip her ears. Trembling. She releases them though. Before bending down. Squatting. Finger on the ground. Requesting something of the entity. "Give me something of value. And I will be yours."
The frantic hazy clawing in Elizabeth's general direction is given focus by the new point of contact with the ground, those hands swiping for the finger and inflicting their cold upon it. Without the challenge to it's identity the shadow seems to again be becoming more sharp and distinct and it's predatory focus on Elizabeth more wild again. "It doesn't GIVE it TAKES RHODES." The shadow howls.
Elizabeth jolts her hands away as cold washes over. "Who are you?" She asks again. "Are you a man, or a woman?" She asks, slowly. Before her fingertip pushes back down. "You can only have me if you're a good, obedient soul. You want me, right? You'd do anything to take me?"
The cold withdraws from Elizabeth's hand as said hand is withdrawn from the shadow and it the question seems to impact upon it like a breeze hits smoke. The shadow swirls on the floor and vapor begins to rise from it again, the smell of burning meat becoming more intense. "What is it what is it whatisit?" It questions itself manically, voice starting loud but beginning to fade to a rasp as the shadow becomes less and less corporeal.
Elizabeth takes a soft breath. "Give me something of value. A ring. Or a pendant. It will be your vessel to live through me. Would you like that?" She offers. Smiling. Stroking the floor. Trying to soothe. "Surely you'll be a good girl and do that, right?" She inquires. Smiling. Hoping it's working.
As Elizabeth's hand reaches to the floor the vaporlike sensations that came with the beings arrival are once again tangible as they writhe about the silver-painted fingernails and hands of Elizabeth, the shadows panic is beyond the point of being subdued now and it clings to it's conundrum. "Whatisit? Whatisit? Whatisit?" It repeats over and over, the cold in Elizabeth's legs beginning to depart. Then it detaches in it's entirety, the last of the shadow rising into the gaseous mass over the floor. It slingshots off in the direction it's unnatural shadow had been cast, zipping into a vent and out of sight, the hospital wing seeming suddenly warmer and brighter to Elizabeth. An orderly passes, heedless of what just happened, another day, another dollar for the tired looking worker.
Elizabeth doesn't realize, for a while. Only as warmth returns to her body does she realize. And soon, she stands up straight. Offering a little, "I hope you come back one day." in comfort. Waving towards nothing. Then, she returns to her standing position. Her blind vigil finally back. After a brush with the cold. "Maybe when you do, you'll be ready."
Determined to maintain her autonomy, Elizabeth attempts to negotiate with the ghost, offering it the opportunity to become one with her if it satisfies her conditions. As the ghost's desperation escalates, clawing at the ground and ravaging the air with chilling cries, she presses it for something of value—an artifact to serve as a vessel for its existence. The exchange reaches a fever pitch, with the entity's violent frenzy contrasting Elizabeth's soothing overtures. In the climactic moments, the ghost's form vaporizes into a misty escape, leaving Elizabeth unscathed and contemplative. The warmth returns to her body, an orderly passes by, oblivious to Elizabeth's eerie encounter, and she resumes her blind vigil—a quiet sentinel awaiting the ghost's hopeful return.
(Elizabeth's odd encounter(SRBellatrix):SRBellatrix)
[Wed Nov 22 2023]
In the intervention wing
In the intervention wing at the Webster Mental Health Clinic, a subdued tension hangs palpably in the air, underscored by the distant, muffled echoes of restrained sobs and whispered confessions that reverberate through the sterile, white-washed corridors. The flickering fluorescent lights cast disorienting shadows on the polished linoleum floor, illuminating the intricate network of closed doors and hushed conversations that betray the Institute's relentless efforts to exert control over the emotional turmoil of its troubled inhabitants.
It is about 55F(12C) degrees.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Elizabeth remains posted where she is. Arms crossed. Waiting outside a door. Face shifting to and fro. More-so out of a habit than anything else. Rolling her shoulders. Silent. It was an order. She wasn't forced to remain. She just wanted to.
And so Elizabeth stands, a dutiful soul posted outside the door she was assigned to in the sanitised misery of the intervention wing in Webster's mental health clinic. The flickering lights overhead punctuate distant wails of patients in the throes of their own worst personal demons, some merely demons of the mind, but this is Haven, some might be literal. Suddenly, there is silence and a chill brushes Elizabeth's back, the small hairs made to stand on end at the sense of something eerie and unnatural nearby.
Elizabeth remains calm. Vigilant. Immune to tricks of the eye. Yet that chill. Her body tenses up. And her head tilts back. Face towards the ceiling. Taking everything in. Still. Silent. Until? Tap. Tap. Her toe raps against the floor beneath her. Offering more spatial awareness. Focusing. something felt off. Right now all she can do is remain quiet and hope it comes to her.
A breeze? This far into the the hospital? Not impossible, but it's certainly improbable. And yet the cold wafts around Elizabeth, vaporous and frosty. Pressure builds in the air, a buzz as though the very molecules themselves were static with electricity and pulsing against Elizabeth's skin. The coldness in Elizabeth's feet becomes a deep, pins and needles numbness and to any other onlooker a second shadow casts itself from Elizabeth's feet now, hazy and without gender. Rasping a voice speaks to Elizabeth. "Who are you?" It hisses.
Elizabeth finds the cold iron grip of an unnatural chill coiling around her form. Her breath steaming. Goosebumps on her skin. Opaque lenses fogging up. She shifts her position. Hands drooping down at either side of her body. Her attuned mind first tries to figure out where the voice came from. Her head unmoving. She responds softly. "Rhodes." is her answer. A plume of steam. She doesn't speak further. Waiting.
"Who is RHODES!?!" The voice hisses, the shadow at Elizabeth's feet compressing tighter and closer to Elizabeth's feet, it's matter whilst two dimensional seeming heavy. It claws to bring itself closer to Elizabeth, adjoined to Elizabeth at the feet but it's hands dragging the rest of it nearer with strain, fingertips seeming to drag on the floor with audible scraping like stone being dragged over granite. "I might like to be Rhodes..." It whispers as though speaking to itself. "A pretty one this one. And I am not... I am not. I am not." It repeats that last phrase as though crazed, intense and fixated upon what it is not, desperate perhaps.
Elizabeth remains still. Breathing slower. Listening. Steeling herself. She didn't have the luxury of sight. Smell was useless. Sound only helped so much. Touch? Her legs lift. Trying to free themselves of the weight. Her shoulders tense. Expecting to be dragged into the inky black. But to her. Maybe she was already there. An awkward chuckle. "I would consider myself pretty.." She assures the nothingness. Perhaps trying to diffuse.
For the moment Elizabeth's foot rises from the floor the pervasive, numbing cold that had invaded it dissipates, but as with any shadow it remains attached to Elizabeth by the other foot and the silhouette on the floor snarls frantically as it is separated from the entity it has chosen to cast itself from. Cold sweeps like a flowing river up into the foot that remains upon the ground, numbing it up to the knee now. "MINE!" It screeches like teeth of metal nails grinding against one another. "I was something. I forgot. Now I am not. What you are will be mine." The next hand to claw at the ground leaves a mark, four nail scratches in the linoleum beneath Elizabeth. Whilst Elizabeth's shadow casts from the natural lighting of the room, this one seems to be facing an entirely different direction and it hasn't swivelled from that angle in all it's scrambling.
Elizabeth sets her foot back down. Soon, she tries to reason. Speak. Murmuring, "I have a question." A beat. "If you would like me to be yours. I will allow this. If your answers satisfy me." Another beat. A shaky breath. The scratches. She was getting nervous. It was a very real, present thing in her mind. Physically there. But she waits. To see if the thing beneath her reciprocates.
The instant Elizabeth's foot touches back to the ground the cold returns, but her words cease the entities scrabbling the shadow stopping in place like an ash shillouette in the aftermath of an explosion. It draws itself upright with the outline of the shadows chin dissapearing as it 'looks' at Elizabeth. At least as long as Elizabeth is reasoning with it, the cold doesn't spread further within Elizabeth for now. "It doesn't have answers it doesn't." The shadow tells Elizabeth in it's hissing tones. "It doesn't remember them... But it would like to be Rhodes, so Rhodes may ask it's questions." The sound echoes a little, a smell of cooking meat wafts in from nearby, odd for the mental health wing.
Elizabeth takes a moment to sniff. But she speaks as she does. "What can you offer me if I let you become one with me?" She asks, softly. Tone a touch soft. Caring. Steam wafting from her breath. Foot tapping the tile. Gathering surroundings. "And what would you consider your personal identity to be? A body like mine can only house a woman, after all." Her words are sort of measured. Gathered. Luring. Luring... or perhaps being lured.
"It is... it is... It does not. It..." Elizabeth's questions send the shadow into a frenzy, it's outline becoming less distinct as it is forced to confront it's own identity and apparently finds itself lacking. What were once hands with distinct fingers, now blurs, rise to the shadow's head, pressing against it as the shadow flails in psychotic anguish and then screeches at Elizabeth so loud the pressure of the room seems to change, flourescent bulbs shaking in their fixtures overhead. "IT WILL BE RHOOOOOODES!" The hazy outline claws at the ground once again, but this time it fails to mark the linolium, fingers slipping over the smooth ground without purchase.
Elizabeth seems to suddenly grip her ears. Trembling. She releases them though. Before bending down. Squatting. Finger on the ground. Requesting something of the entity. "Give me something of value. And I will be yours."
The frantic hazy clawing in Elizabeth's general direction is given focus by the new point of contact with the ground, those hands swiping for the finger and inflicting their cold upon it. Without the challenge to it's identity the shadow seems to again be becoming more sharp and distinct and it's predatory focus on Elizabeth more wild again. "It doesn't GIVE it TAKES RHODES." The shadow howls.
Elizabeth jolts her hands away as cold washes over. "Who are you?" She asks again. "Are you a man, or a woman?" She asks, slowly. Before her fingertip pushes back down. "You can only have me if you're a good, obedient soul. You want me, right? You'd do anything to take me?"
The cold withdraws from Elizabeth's hand as said hand is withdrawn from the shadow and it the question seems to impact upon it like a breeze hits smoke. The shadow swirls on the floor and vapor begins to rise from it again, the smell of burning meat becoming more intense. "What is it what is it whatisit?" It questions itself manically, voice starting loud but beginning to fade to a rasp as the shadow becomes less and less corporeal.
Elizabeth takes a soft breath. "Give me something of value. A ring. Or a pendant. It will be your vessel to live through me. Would you like that?" She offers. Smiling. Stroking the floor. Trying to soothe. "Surely you'll be a good girl and do that, right?" She inquires. Smiling. Hoping it's working.
As Elizabeth's hand reaches to the floor the vaporlike sensations that came with the beings arrival are once again tangible as they writhe about the silver-painted fingernails and hands of Elizabeth, the shadows panic is beyond the point of being subdued now and it clings to it's conundrum. "Whatisit? Whatisit? Whatisit?" It repeats over and over, the cold in Elizabeth's legs beginning to depart. Then it detaches in it's entirety, the last of the shadow rising into the gaseous mass over the floor. It slingshots off in the direction it's unnatural shadow had been cast, zipping into a vent and out of sight, the hospital wing seeming suddenly warmer and brighter to Elizabeth. An orderly passes, heedless of what just happened, another day, another dollar for the tired looking worker.
Elizabeth doesn't realize, for a while. Only as warmth returns to her body does she realize. And soon, she stands up straight. Offering a little, "I hope you come back one day." in comfort. Waving towards nothing. Then, she returns to her standing position. Her blind vigil finally back. After a brush with the cold. "Maybe when you do, you'll be ready."