Encounterlogs
Emmanuels Odd Encounter Sr Ash 240906
On a peculiarly quiet night in the eerie town of Haven, Emmanuel finds himself walking down Elm Street, armed with mischief and a bright yellow spray paint can, after a day that fits well within the realm of his chaotic normalcy. The Frenchman's intent to vandalize the storefront of Hogar del Mundo, an oddly lit bodega-caf-bar hybrid that stands boldly amidst the town's supernatural unease, is interrupted by the enigmatic appearance of Illyana. Dressed in a way that suggests she's no stranger to the night's dangers, she piques Emmanuel's interest. Meanwhile, the town itself seems to be holding a secret—the usual ghosts that haunt the streets have mysteriously vanished, leaving behind an unsettling silence that both Emmanuel and Illyana can't help but notice. Despite the apparent absence of these spirits, there's a palpable sense of something amiss, a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit into the night's already strange ambiance.
The narrative thickens as a report comes through, indicating a woman named Selina Guierra has wandered into the woods—a civilian potentially valuable to the local factions' cause. This development adds a layer of complexity to the evening. Emmanuel, momentarily distracted by his petty vandalism, and Illyana, initially dismissive of the situation, find themselves entangled not just with the curiosity of the store and the missing ghosts but now also with the fate of the lost woman. Illyana's approach toward Emmanuel, questioning his fixation on the store, shifts the narrative to an investigative partnership, albeit momentarily formed out of circumstance rather than choice. Their dynamic, charged with the tension of unspoken hierarchies and past encounters, seems to suggest that the night’s events could lead them down a path neither expected, driven by the hidden currents of Haven's deeply entwined supernatural and mundane secrets.
(Emmanuel's odd encounter(SRAsh):SRAsh)
[Thu Sep 5 2024]
On Elm Street
It is night, about 63F(17C) degrees, There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
It's an average early morning for Emmanuel, really. Entailing battling creatures in hell, tearing down swatches of protected forest, spilling coffee all over the lodge, and rummaging through employee belongings in the back of Rosie's. So, yeah, normal day thus far. Now the Frenchman is wandering down Elm Street, having delivered some chalk to a friend, and collected a can of bright yellow spray paint from the hardware store in the process.
There's a very pleased smirk catching at his lips as he sneaks over towards the terrible storefront of the worse yet store, Hogar del Mundo, clearly intent on performing some mischief.
Illyana Walks down the street with her gaze on her phone. It's the early hours and so it's preditor time. Dressed like an up-town tramp, there's a high likelyhood of some small amount of sadism having taken place, dare I say even a lot? No one normal would walk through haven with impunity unless they had the ability to protect themselves, after all. It's curious though, as Illyana seems to be perfectly at home in the emptyness; That is until she comes across her archenemy, the french race.
It's a cool September night, the kind that invites a creeping chill to settle in one's bones despite the lingering warmth of early fall. The world, for the most part, is quiet - almost eerily so. The usual night sounds seem muted, as if the town itself is holding its breath. Somewhere above and to the north, on one of the higher floors of the Elm Street Apartment Complex, a TV screen flickers silently in a dark room, casting a pale, ghostly glow onto the street below. The light dances across the pavement, almost ghostly in appearance.
The streetlights, old but reliable, bathe Elm Street in a wash of yellow that should feel comforting. Instead, it only amplifies the emptiness. Their glow stretches long shadows that waver and shift with the slightest movement - shadows that seem just a bit too eager to cling to the corners where the light doesn't quite reach.
The White Oak Institute looms to the west, a hulking mass of dark stone and creeping ivy. Its towers stand sentinel over the road, barely visible through the gnarled and twisted old trees that frame it like ents. The branches curl like claws, their twisted shapes resembling the twisted fate that lies in wait for those unfortunate enough to stumble upon Haven's supernatural secrets. It's a place of learning, of healing - theoretically -and yet it glowers as an edifice of monstrocity. A place that draws the supernaturals like moths to a flame.
To the east, Hogar del Mundo stands in sharp contrast to the foreboding institute. The bodega-caf-bar hybrid is lit garishly, its neon Open sign buzzing faintly in the night air. The glow of its windows spills onto the street like a challenge to the darkness - a defiantly bright beacon in a town where light doesn't always mean safety. The building itself seems to wear its identity like armor, daring anyone to question its oddities. Especially daring the French, with gall, audacity, and general ridiculousness. Inside, the usual mix of oddities goes about their night, either blissfully unaware of the chaos that lurks just beyond the door or too entrenched in it to care.
But there's something off about tonight. Something more than just the unsettling quiet, the eerie flicker of the TV, the oppressive presence of White Oak, or the arrogant glow of Hogar del Mundo. It's subtle - so subtle that it takes Emmanuel a moment to realize what it is.
The ghosts are gone.
For the past week, Haven has been a hive of restless spirits. They drifted through walls, whispered through the trees, and left icy breath in their wake. Some had been harmless, others far less so. Their presence had become a part of the town's daily routine at this point - a reminder that in Haven, the dead never really leave. But tonight, they're nowhere to be found. No flicker of a translucent figure in the corner of the eye, no cold chill down the spine. It's as if they've all just... vanished.
As Emmanuel stands in the middle of Elm Street, can of bright yellow spray paint clutched in his hand, the oppressive silence presses down on him, more noticeable now that he's aware of what's missing. Something is definitely wrong. Or right? After all, fewer ghosts might just mean fewer complications for his planned mischief.
But then again, this is Haven. Things are never that simple.
He may slink toward Hogar del Mundo, intent on marking the faade with his mischief, but his every step feels watched - observed by something unseen, something waiting. A rustle of fabric draws his attention, and he looks up to see a figure approaching. It's Illyana, her gaze fixed on her phone, her stride purposeful despite the late hour. She looks completely at home in the empty street, but perhaps Emmanuel knows better than to be fooled. No one normal walks through Haven unafraid unless they have the means to protect themselves - or unless they're the kind of person who should be feared themselves.
Illyana can already sense it, before the French man could - though the ghosts are not here, they are not *gone*. No, something is off, something is amiss. Tonight, with the ghosts gone and the air heavy with anticipation, neither can't shake the feeling that their encounter might carry some clue of the mystery of this recent haunting. As she approaches, the night seems to hold its breath, the streetlights casting their long shadows over them both. Something is off tonight, and it feels like they're about to find out what.
[Sep 4 3:00] The scouts report seeing a confused looking long lady wandering into the woods around.
Simultaneously, on your comms, a voice announces, "Haven Venetian Representative here. Lost woman, Selina Guierra, seems to have wandered into the woods. We request that local factions investigate and retrieve this civilian. She is unaware, but may have value to the cause. Recruiting her is up to your discretion, but a rescue is required."
Is it really a problem if some ghosts are missing? I mean, maybe, but the bigger problem? At least for Emmanuel ? It's this ugly-arse, chaotic mess of a store. Chicka-chicka-chicka. He shakes his can of spray paint, and slinks closer toward the storefront, pausing for a moment as he notes Illyana and her approach. There's a flicker of his amber gaze up and down her, and assessing and measuring thing that she seems to pass with flying colours, as he affords her a little nod.
Then there's that text message, and the voice over the comms, and that decision starts to become a little harder.
Chicka-chicka-chicka.
He could probably get a /little/ vandalism done first, right? ..Right?
taking note of the report, both over the coms and her phone, Illyana frowns. She heard the name Selina and instinct is to ignore it; Only expectation and discord lays that way and Illyana doesn't need that noise. And yet... That's not /that/ Selina's name. And she is forced to replay the information in her mind. Her expression shifts, her lips straighten into a hard line and she curses. But there's more here; The ghosts are not as active as they should be, and Illyana doesn't like it. It lingers at the edge of sensation, pregnant and impending, an absence that's telling in its very null. And so, in the way of these things, Illyana sidles up to Emmanuel, notes the can of spray paint in his hand and asks him, "Why are you staring at the store like it kicked your puppy?" (All things in their own time, of course and this is the pressing subject of interest right now)
The narrative thickens as a report comes through, indicating a woman named Selina Guierra has wandered into the woods—a civilian potentially valuable to the local factions' cause. This development adds a layer of complexity to the evening. Emmanuel, momentarily distracted by his petty vandalism, and Illyana, initially dismissive of the situation, find themselves entangled not just with the curiosity of the store and the missing ghosts but now also with the fate of the lost woman. Illyana's approach toward Emmanuel, questioning his fixation on the store, shifts the narrative to an investigative partnership, albeit momentarily formed out of circumstance rather than choice. Their dynamic, charged with the tension of unspoken hierarchies and past encounters, seems to suggest that the night’s events could lead them down a path neither expected, driven by the hidden currents of Haven's deeply entwined supernatural and mundane secrets.
(Emmanuel's odd encounter(SRAsh):SRAsh)
[Thu Sep 5 2024]
On Elm Street
It is night, about 63F(17C) degrees, There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
It's an average early morning for Emmanuel, really. Entailing battling creatures in hell, tearing down swatches of protected forest, spilling coffee all over the lodge, and rummaging through employee belongings in the back of Rosie's. So, yeah, normal day thus far. Now the Frenchman is wandering down Elm Street, having delivered some chalk to a friend, and collected a can of bright yellow spray paint from the hardware store in the process.
There's a very pleased smirk catching at his lips as he sneaks over towards the terrible storefront of the worse yet store, Hogar del Mundo, clearly intent on performing some mischief.
Illyana Walks down the street with her gaze on her phone. It's the early hours and so it's preditor time. Dressed like an up-town tramp, there's a high likelyhood of some small amount of sadism having taken place, dare I say even a lot? No one normal would walk through haven with impunity unless they had the ability to protect themselves, after all. It's curious though, as Illyana seems to be perfectly at home in the emptyness; That is until she comes across her archenemy, the french race.
It's a cool September night, the kind that invites a creeping chill to settle in one's bones despite the lingering warmth of early fall. The world, for the most part, is quiet - almost eerily so. The usual night sounds seem muted, as if the town itself is holding its breath. Somewhere above and to the north, on one of the higher floors of the Elm Street Apartment Complex, a TV screen flickers silently in a dark room, casting a pale, ghostly glow onto the street below. The light dances across the pavement, almost ghostly in appearance.
The streetlights, old but reliable, bathe Elm Street in a wash of yellow that should feel comforting. Instead, it only amplifies the emptiness. Their glow stretches long shadows that waver and shift with the slightest movement - shadows that seem just a bit too eager to cling to the corners where the light doesn't quite reach.
The White Oak Institute looms to the west, a hulking mass of dark stone and creeping ivy. Its towers stand sentinel over the road, barely visible through the gnarled and twisted old trees that frame it like ents. The branches curl like claws, their twisted shapes resembling the twisted fate that lies in wait for those unfortunate enough to stumble upon Haven's supernatural secrets. It's a place of learning, of healing - theoretically -and yet it glowers as an edifice of monstrocity. A place that draws the supernaturals like moths to a flame.
To the east, Hogar del Mundo stands in sharp contrast to the foreboding institute. The bodega-caf-bar hybrid is lit garishly, its neon Open sign buzzing faintly in the night air. The glow of its windows spills onto the street like a challenge to the darkness - a defiantly bright beacon in a town where light doesn't always mean safety. The building itself seems to wear its identity like armor, daring anyone to question its oddities. Especially daring the French, with gall, audacity, and general ridiculousness. Inside, the usual mix of oddities goes about their night, either blissfully unaware of the chaos that lurks just beyond the door or too entrenched in it to care.
But there's something off about tonight. Something more than just the unsettling quiet, the eerie flicker of the TV, the oppressive presence of White Oak, or the arrogant glow of Hogar del Mundo. It's subtle - so subtle that it takes Emmanuel a moment to realize what it is.
The ghosts are gone.
For the past week, Haven has been a hive of restless spirits. They drifted through walls, whispered through the trees, and left icy breath in their wake. Some had been harmless, others far less so. Their presence had become a part of the town's daily routine at this point - a reminder that in Haven, the dead never really leave. But tonight, they're nowhere to be found. No flicker of a translucent figure in the corner of the eye, no cold chill down the spine. It's as if they've all just... vanished.
As Emmanuel stands in the middle of Elm Street, can of bright yellow spray paint clutched in his hand, the oppressive silence presses down on him, more noticeable now that he's aware of what's missing. Something is definitely wrong. Or right? After all, fewer ghosts might just mean fewer complications for his planned mischief.
But then again, this is Haven. Things are never that simple.
He may slink toward Hogar del Mundo, intent on marking the faade with his mischief, but his every step feels watched - observed by something unseen, something waiting. A rustle of fabric draws his attention, and he looks up to see a figure approaching. It's Illyana, her gaze fixed on her phone, her stride purposeful despite the late hour. She looks completely at home in the empty street, but perhaps Emmanuel knows better than to be fooled. No one normal walks through Haven unafraid unless they have the means to protect themselves - or unless they're the kind of person who should be feared themselves.
Illyana can already sense it, before the French man could - though the ghosts are not here, they are not *gone*. No, something is off, something is amiss. Tonight, with the ghosts gone and the air heavy with anticipation, neither can't shake the feeling that their encounter might carry some clue of the mystery of this recent haunting. As she approaches, the night seems to hold its breath, the streetlights casting their long shadows over them both. Something is off tonight, and it feels like they're about to find out what.
[Sep 4 3:00] The scouts report seeing a confused looking long lady wandering into the woods around.
Simultaneously, on your comms, a voice announces, "Haven Venetian Representative here. Lost woman, Selina Guierra, seems to have wandered into the woods. We request that local factions investigate and retrieve this civilian. She is unaware, but may have value to the cause. Recruiting her is up to your discretion, but a rescue is required."
Is it really a problem if some ghosts are missing? I mean, maybe, but the bigger problem? At least for Emmanuel ? It's this ugly-arse, chaotic mess of a store. Chicka-chicka-chicka. He shakes his can of spray paint, and slinks closer toward the storefront, pausing for a moment as he notes Illyana and her approach. There's a flicker of his amber gaze up and down her, and assessing and measuring thing that she seems to pass with flying colours, as he affords her a little nod.
Then there's that text message, and the voice over the comms, and that decision starts to become a little harder.
Chicka-chicka-chicka.
He could probably get a /little/ vandalism done first, right? ..Right?
taking note of the report, both over the coms and her phone, Illyana frowns. She heard the name Selina and instinct is to ignore it; Only expectation and discord lays that way and Illyana doesn't need that noise. And yet... That's not /that/ Selina's name. And she is forced to replay the information in her mind. Her expression shifts, her lips straighten into a hard line and she curses. But there's more here; The ghosts are not as active as they should be, and Illyana doesn't like it. It lingers at the edge of sensation, pregnant and impending, an absence that's telling in its very null. And so, in the way of these things, Illyana sidles up to Emmanuel, notes the can of spray paint in his hand and asks him, "Why are you staring at the store like it kicked your puppy?" (All things in their own time, of course and this is the pressing subject of interest right now)