Encounterlogs
Emmellines Odd Encounter Sr Roger 241011
Emmelline's night takes an unexpected turn when, upon returning home and soaking in the tranquility of her garden, she receives an urgent message from the Order. A civilian has gone missing in the woods south of town, and immediate action is required. Despite her reluctance and knowing she's likely the least physically capable for such a task, she heads out, unaided and on foot, into the treacherous embrace of the forest. Her journey leads her down the dim, desolate paths of Haven's outskirts, and eventually, she encounters not a lost soul but a peculiar scene involving a majestic fox and its kit. The larger fox, seemingly protective and agitated by the presence of the man Emmelline was sent to find, is circling him menacingly. Emmelline, with nothing but her wit and a soft spoken approach, manages to deduce the fox's protective stance over its kit. By coaxing the kit to safely reunite with its parent, she diffuses the standoff, ensuring the elderly man's safety. With her mission accomplished under the most unexpected circumstances, she calls for backup, securing both her and the man's retrieval from the dense, enigmatic woods of Haven.
Meanwhile, in a stark contrast to Emmelline's mystical wildlife encounter, another story unfolds in the dark confines of a locked room. Chelsea finds herself waking up to the grim reality of being bound and at the mercy of a mysterious assailant. The man, cloaked in anonymity and desperation, reveals his unusual demands—money and blood—for reasons Chelsea can't fathom. Despite her initial resistance and disbelief, a tale of heartbreak and desperation unfolds as the kidnapper confides in her. His actions, driven by the love for his terminally ill wife, paint a gray morality where love justifies the crossing of ethical boundaries. He explains the dire necessity for fresh blood for a wizard's rituals, aiming to treat his wife's illness, along with the financial burdens that accompany such unconventional treatments. Chelsea, faced with the raw human emotion behind her captor's actions, finds herself empathizing with his plight, despite her own precarious situation. As the ordeal ends with Chelsea left alone, unharmed yet significantly lighter in both blood and wealth, the kidnapper vanishes, leaving behind a tale of love-driven desperation that challenges the definition of right and wrong.
(Emmelline's odd encounter(SRRoger):SRRoger)
[Thu Oct 10 2024]
In a lush garden enclosed by privacy fences
An arboreal scene stretches out before you, a variety of deciduous and coniferous trees planted around a lawn mostly made up of moss. The trees essentially shelter all underneath their boughs from the elements; the water trickles down to feed the plants below.
Stepping stones snake their way through the plush moss coating the ground, solid slabs of pale slatestone that, thanks to the shade, are cool to the touch of bare feet.
The stone path leads straight towards the stairway that this garden serves as a 'front lawn' to; one major branch of the path leads to a set of stairs that ascend to the entrance to the apartment atop the bank, while a secondary path splits off underneath the stairs, leading to a curtained-off alcove. Several other small paths snake off from the stepping stones, leading to a flowering garden and a small, pleasant sitting area, perfect for an outdoor fete.
It is night, about 57F(13C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Emmelline is only just getting home. She shuts the gate behind her, making sure the latch is set. "Wonder if I should redecorate this place," she idly remarks to herself.
The night presses close against the garden's sheltering canopy, the air cool with the promise of rain. The moon's gibbous face peeks out from behind thick storm clouds, casting fleeting silver across the mossy ground. The faint scent of wet earth drifts on the breeze, mingling with the sharper, resinous notes from the conifers. Raindrops tap a slow rhythm against the leaves, as though the sky is testing its resolve before unleashing a full deluge.
Emmelline's footsteps echo softly on the slatestone path as she shuts the garden gate behind her, its latch clicking with finality. The sounds of the town beyond grow muffled as she steps deeper into the green enclave, swallowed by the tranquility of the garden. She takes a moment to breathe in the night, the faint rustle of branches, the trickle of water winding its way through roots and stone. It's a brief, rare respite in a town where shadows move when they shouldn't, and where secrets cling to the air as thickly as the mist rolling off the sea.
But the moment doesn't last.
A soft vibration hums in Emmelline's pocket, and a single message flashes across it, bearing the emblem of the Order, stark and urgent:
FROM: Order Dispatch
SUBJECT: MISSING CIVILIAN. LAST SEEN IN WOODLANDS SOUTH OF TOWN. IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED. REPORT FOR DETAILS.
Somewhere beyond the town's edge, past the banks and the small streets that lead out into the wilderness, a civilian has strayed where they should not have. And in a place like Haven, the woods are no place to be lost.
"Oh bloody hell," Emmelline says as she glances at her phone. "What was it? Looking for a colleague last night, and now tonight? When did I become everyone's favorite search and rescue dog? Especially given, I'm probably the only one who doesn't bloody well drive?" She sends off a quick text, presumably to another order member. "You on this one mate? If not, can you at least back me up? You know damn well, I'm like a sheet of paper in any given physical altercation."
Maybe Emmelline just looks really good in a collar, or standing by a Fireman? Maybe that's why she is everyone's favourite search and rescue dog now. She flicks off her text, as you do, and the message remains unseen. For several long moments. Maybe whomever she was texting is asleep? Or busy? She might just have to go it alone. Without driving too. Oh dear.
"I officially hate my life," Emmelline says as she pockets her phone, "I fucking officially hate my life." Sighing, she turns round and walks out the gate whence she came. Taking out her phone, she looks at the instructions. "Southern woods, you act like I know where the bloody hell that is," she mutters to herself. "I'm just going to assume... in this general direction," she says heading in a generally southerly direction.
There is no one in Haven that suffers like poor dear Emmelline, this is clear. It's dark, and it's stormy, and it's even a bit chilly, and yet here she is, wandering in a vaguely southern direction in the middle of the night. Without backup, and without a car. In search of some other poor hapless soul who has gotten lost in the dark and danger of the Haven forest.
That generally southern direction leads her down main street, turning then to wander past the Lodge, and the Antlers, and then towards the Southern Sheriff road - which leads further away from the lights of the city, and into the true gloom of a road lacking streetlights. Spooky.
Emmelline double checks the duffle she never goes anywhere without, and nods when she sees the umbrella is there, should the heavens really decide to open up. Taking out her phone, and checking that it is fully charged, she begins using it as a makeshift flashlight of sorts as she wends her way onwards. "So... is there a description of this aforementioned civilian?," she idly texts to whomever sent her the alert. "Or you know... am I meant to pick up any and all people who just happen to be out there?"
Armed with an umbrella, a sense of duty, and a flashlight, Emmelline may just be in the running to be the next Doctor Who companion, really. She has just the right amount of gumption, and grit, after all. That text flicks off, and then the three dots inside a bubble appear. They disappear. They reappear.
"Yes."
This isn't the sort of question that would normally be answered with a single word, but that seems to be it. For a good minute or two, at least, before another pops up.
"Older man. In his seventies. Unarmed. Thin, whispy hair. Last reported wearing green golf shirt, and tan trousers. Suspect he wandered into the forest. Long queue of people needing help. We cannot provide more."
Overworked may as well be the Order central command modus operandi.
"And why the fuck did he just wander into the forest?," Emmelline asks out loud as well as texting the companion back, though judging from the way she sighs, she probably isn't expecting a reply as she treads onwards. "Well, I only hope there is someone out there to rescue me, if I get lost. Which... knowing me and my poor sense of direction is more likely than not."
/If/ she gets lost? Does she really know where she is right now? It's a dirt path leading southwards, and through the forest, getting dark and darker by the moment. There is no response from either the message, nor the question that Emmelline asks out loud, at least not immediately.
Eventually, as she makes her way down this road, she might become aware of a sound in the distance. A yipping. A growling.
"If that is a wolf," Emmelline says to herself, "I am definitely out of here. I will... throw this silver ring," she says twiddling the ring that sits on her right hand, which is plain and unbedecked, "which... may not actually be silver, and run as fast as humanly possible." As she speaks, she heads in the general direction of the noise. "Let's hope it's a puppy. I do love puppies," she remarks idly to herself as she continues on.
Yip! Yip, yip! It /sounds/ smaller than a wolf, at least, though trying to identify the sound might be harder unless Emmelline were possessing some preternatural senses. Crunch, crunch. The undergrowth falters beneath her heels, though some of it does scratch and catch at her stilettos. These might not be the best footwear for midnight search parties, after all. The sound grows louder, and louder as she approaches, and soon enough she may hear some whimpering as well.
"Aww puppy!," Emmelline calls in a friendly tone, to what she assumes now is a dog. She stretches out her arm that holds the phone, trying to let the light guide the way through the darkness. "Here doggo!," she calls again as she continues on her rather slow progress.
Puppy! How lovely!
It's not a puppy.
Emmelline steps through enough of the undergrowth that she's able to see the source of the sounds, the whimpering and the yipping both. There's a fox, handsome, and large, larger than a normal fox may just be, and it's circling around a whimpering man stuck on top of a rock. He's a bit banged up, scratched and scared looking, and trembling. Neither of the pair have spotted Emmelline yet, but something else does in short order.
There's a quieter yip, from the undergrowth near her, and should she glance down? She would see a cute, big-eyed, adorable, too much just too precious fox kit staring up at her with particularly human eyes.
"What the bloody hell have I walked into?," Emmelline mutters to herself. She is actually unsure on what to do. Given she's never had any knowledge of animals in the wild. She first, tries to lure the small fox to her, see if it might respond. "Come," she says, before making a noise with her lips as one might when trying to get a dog or cat to come to them. Provided it does come over she asks next, "Can you understand me?"
Doot, doot do. The little kit just wanders in closer toward Emmelline without a care in the world, yipping softly as they approach her. Those big eyes are upon her all the while, daring her not to squee, or fall in love with it instantly. It steps closer to her feet, and starts sniffing at her, and then nods back in response.
It does understand her.
Emmelline kneels so that she is on a face level with the animal, believing it to be harmless. "Is that fox," she says slowly, pointing to the larger one that is near the old man, "wanting to hurt that person there?," she asks, pointing to the man. Clearly just trying to stick to yes or no questions.
That fox, which is to say, the larger and more magnificent of the pair, continues to circle the man, the very man that Emmelline was sent to find. Every now and then they dart up onto their hind legs to try and nip at his shoes, or trouser leg.
The kit on the other hand, turns it's head this way and that. It isn't a shaking 'no', but it's certainly not a 'yes', either. It's somehow managed to find an answer beyond the two offered. The kit does look over toward the larger, and yips softly. Yip yip. Yip yip.
The larger fox pauses, ears turning as it turns it's gaze over toward Emmelline and the kit, and the underbrush between them.
"Is that your parent?," Emmelline asks of the little fox. Though she notices the larger one looking towards her. "Does the man have something the fox there," gesturing to the larger one, "wants?" Yet again, sticking to yes or no questions.""
The little kit, wild as they may be, nods back to Emmelline in the affirmative. They are their parent! The second question gives them some pause, their head turning this way and that, and an ear flopping down in a cute manner. Does the man have something the fox wants? Sort of. The kit sneezes then, looking at it's snout, and going a little cross-eyed. And then nods down toward it's self.
"He's looking for you?," Emmelline asks of the little fox, chuckling when it sneezes the cute sneeze. "Did he come here to find you?," she asks kindly.
Yip, yip. There's more adorable sounds from the little baby critter as it half-nods back up, and over toward Emmelline. Looking? Sort of. Trying to find? Maybe. Protecting their child from an intruder? Well, now.
That might become all the more apparent as the underbrush starts to shift, and the larger, more dangerous looking parent fox stalks over closer toward Emmelline and the sounds of it's child.
"I see, can you go over towards your Daddy?," Emmelline asks gently of the little creature. "See, I need to get to that man," she says pointing to the man on the rock. "I think he'll get angry if he sees you with me. Think I'll hurt you or something."
Hm. There's a furrowing of the kits brow. Can it go toward it's daddy? It has to think about this, before it eventually lands at it's answer. Yes. The critter nods, and yips, of course it can! Especially for the nice lady with the strange accent! The little fox kit turns and skitters through the brush, tripping a few times, before running over toward it's parent, yipping and nipping at their heels until they eventually give in, like a long suffering parent, and decide to leave the man be for now, their child safe. They lean down to pluck up the kit by the scruff of their neck, turning then to dart away into the deeper forest.
"Aww adorable," Emmelline says as she watches the little fox go off with the parent. She sends off a quick text. "Found the bloke, need backup. Probably not in walking condition, and I sure as hell can't carry him." With that done, she moves quickly over to the rock where the man lies. "Sir? Can you hear me?," she asks the man, trying to see if he is conscious. She kneels at the same time, placing two fingers onto his neck to check for a pulse.
Thankfully, he is conscious, though clearly shaken up, "I just saw.. an adorable.." The older fellow, shaking, but largely uninjured, though a little beat up, starts to explain, and shakes his head. He scrambles down from the rock, and tries to wrap Emmelline up in a hug. Which is very awkward.
"Oh no sir," Emmelline says trying to keep the man from moving in the first place, "don't move. I don't know if you're hurt, but I imagine you'll need to be looked over properly. If you've broken anything, moving could make it worse."
"I just want to get out of here, back to my family," The man, being old, mostly ignores Emmelline's advice. Boomers, am I right? No doubt with the man secured, and his location know, Emmelline would be joined shortly by some other Order members, others on the search and rescue team, and others yet who just want a little glory. Good deed, completed for the evening, Emmelline may be able to eventually bum a lift back home.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
"Wake up!," comes the gruff voice of a man, as he tap taps someone none too gently across the cheek. When she awakens, she would find that both her feet and hands have been bound up. All her clothes and even bedclothes remain in place however, showing the kidnapper, whoever they may be, hasn't yet done any harm to her, minus tying her up that is.
"Wake up!," comes the gruff voice of a man, as he tap taps someone none too gently across the cheek. When she awakens, she would find that both her feet and hands have been bound up. All her clothes and even bedclothes remain in place however, showing the kidnapper, whoever they may be, hasn't yet done any harm to her, minus tying her up that is.
"Wake up!," comes the gruff voice of a man, as he tap taps someone none too gently across the cheek. When she awakens, she would find that both her feet and hands have been bound up. All her clothes and even bedclothes remain in place however, showing the kidnapper, whoever they may be, hasn't yet done any harm to her, minus tying her up that is.
"Wake up!," comes the gruff voice of a man, as he tap taps Chelsea none too gently across the cheek. When she awakens, she would find that both her feet and hands have been bound up. All her clothes and even bedclothes remain in place however, showing the kidnapper, whoever they may be, hasn't yet done any harm to her, minus tying her up that is.
Chelsea snaps awake at the clap of her assailants hand on her cheek. She struggles to move, and finds her hands and feet to be bound. She looks in the direction of the voice, "Help!" She screams.
"Now that's no way to be starting things off is it?," the mysterious man says, as he places a hand over Chelsea's mouth, muffling the screams. The man wears a long black robe, with a hood attached. The hood has been pulled up to block his visage. The robe flows all the way down to the man's feet, where he wears a pair of black unremarkable shoes. He seems quite tall, and possesses a lanky frame. "Shall we try again? I'd hate to hurt you," he says with a shake of his head. "Stay quiet, I just want to talk."
Chelsea has a look of fear in her eyes, but she remains quiet, hoping that the black robed man might shed some light on her current predicament.
"Much better," the man says as he removes the hand from Chelsea's mouth. He walks over to a vacant chair, pulling it over to the woman's bedside and sits with a sigh. Though the hood remains in place. "Here's the thing," he begins, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up with a cheap lighter, "I need money. More importantly I need blood. Money, and blood," he says with a nod, as if he is only making a simple request. "No before you ask, I'm not a vampire."
"I don't have any money!" Chelsea blurts out, "And what do you need blood for?" She looks frightened and confused, especially at the mention of vampires. They can't be real, can they?
"Now see, we were doing so well," the man says with a sigh. "I know you have money little miss. You can't go affording a place like this without some serious dough. Where is it? The blood," he goes on, "is none of your business. I need it." As he speaks, he begins emptying his robe pocket. Out comes a tourniquet, followed by a pack of needles and some alcohol wipes. At least the man is sanitary, along with several small vials, lastly followed by a package of bandages. All these items he sets on the nightstand near Chelsea's bedside.
Chelsea her eyes go wide at the blood draw kit. "I don't! I've barely got enough for rent!" She protests, struggling against her bonds. "Keeo that thing away from me!"
At Chelsea's struggling, the man sighs and stands, as if he'd really rather not have to do this thing. "Listen to me!," he says, to rise above Chelsea's panicked words. "See these here?," he says, pointing to the bonds that hold her feet and hands, "I've tied them securely, but loose enough so that you won't lose circulation. Keep doing that, and I won't need this," picking up the tourniquet, "anymore. Now the money where is it?," hee asks, looming over the woman in an intimidating fashion. Though even through the hood, Chelsea might be able to see, he doesn't want to be doing this. If not that, then the tone in which he speaks to her is gruff, but more as if he has to force himself to make it be, rather than holding any real conviction that he wishes to do Chelsea any real harm.
Chelsea is crying now, clearly frightened. "Look... I've got $80 in my purse, just take it and go..." She tells the man, unsure what he'll do if she struggles any more.
"I can't," the man says with a shake of his head. "I need the blood. And eighty dollars won't cut it. Where is your bank card?," he asks of the woman. As he speaks, he takes the tourniquet, and begins tying it around Chelsea's upper arm. He ties it tight, and with serious deftness and expertise, as if he's done this one too many times.
Chelsea trying to buy some time, she asks him, "How much money do you need? I know you don't want to do this, don't have to do this!" She tries to puff out her arm so that he cannot get a good seal on the tourniquet.
"yes I do!," the man says, and as Chelsea tries to keep the tourniquet from tying, he sighs, before reaching out and slapping her across the face. The blow isn't overly hard, it is delivered with an open hand just enough to sting and regain her attention. "yes, I have to do this," he says, but his tone conveys a deep sense of conflict and guilt, as he resumes tying the tourniquet. "And I need at least a thousand dollars. Where is your bank card?," he asks, enunciating each word of the last sentence, perhaps to show Chelsea there is no negotiation.
Chelsea recoils from the sting of his slap, tears streaming down her face. "It's in my purse..." She concedes, unable to see a way out of this situation. "Please... just take it and go..." Her face is a sloppy mess of makeup and mussed hair as she lay down on the pillow, a defeated look on her face.
The man ties the tourniquet successfully. He tap taps the area around Chelsea's inner-elbow, looking for a vain. Locating one, he swabs it with alcohol. "Just a little sting," he says, easily working the small needle into Chelsea's vain. Again as if he's done it too many times. He begins hooking up the too numerous amount of vials to the line, collecting Chelsea blood. "It's for my wife," he finally explains to Chelsea, as the blood slowly drains from her into the vials. "She is terminally ill. There is a wizzard, who can do a ritual to treat her," he says accentuating the word treat. "It is something we have to do monthly. I give all the blood I can, but it is not enough for him to perform the rituals. I cannot get it from blood banks, the wizzard needs fresh blood, none that has been frozen in any way. He requires money in payment too." As he explains, the blood continues to drain, perhaps Chelsea is beginning to feel lightheaded at this point. "I know it's wrong, but she is the love of my life. Twenty years we've been married, and I cannot let her go. So every month, this is the price I pay. She knows nothing about it. Don't worry," the man tells Chelsea, his voice growing soothing, albeit a bit distant, as the blood continues to drain, "I won't take too much. You'll be fine." Eventually, Chelsea would pass out. When she wakes next, the man is gone, her hands and feet unbound, and no trace of him at all.
Meanwhile, in a stark contrast to Emmelline's mystical wildlife encounter, another story unfolds in the dark confines of a locked room. Chelsea finds herself waking up to the grim reality of being bound and at the mercy of a mysterious assailant. The man, cloaked in anonymity and desperation, reveals his unusual demands—money and blood—for reasons Chelsea can't fathom. Despite her initial resistance and disbelief, a tale of heartbreak and desperation unfolds as the kidnapper confides in her. His actions, driven by the love for his terminally ill wife, paint a gray morality where love justifies the crossing of ethical boundaries. He explains the dire necessity for fresh blood for a wizard's rituals, aiming to treat his wife's illness, along with the financial burdens that accompany such unconventional treatments. Chelsea, faced with the raw human emotion behind her captor's actions, finds herself empathizing with his plight, despite her own precarious situation. As the ordeal ends with Chelsea left alone, unharmed yet significantly lighter in both blood and wealth, the kidnapper vanishes, leaving behind a tale of love-driven desperation that challenges the definition of right and wrong.
(Emmelline's odd encounter(SRRoger):SRRoger)
[Thu Oct 10 2024]
In a lush garden enclosed by privacy fences
An arboreal scene stretches out before you, a variety of deciduous and coniferous trees planted around a lawn mostly made up of moss. The trees essentially shelter all underneath their boughs from the elements; the water trickles down to feed the plants below.
Stepping stones snake their way through the plush moss coating the ground, solid slabs of pale slatestone that, thanks to the shade, are cool to the touch of bare feet.
The stone path leads straight towards the stairway that this garden serves as a 'front lawn' to; one major branch of the path leads to a set of stairs that ascend to the entrance to the apartment atop the bank, while a secondary path splits off underneath the stairs, leading to a curtained-off alcove. Several other small paths snake off from the stepping stones, leading to a flowering garden and a small, pleasant sitting area, perfect for an outdoor fete.
It is night, about 57F(13C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Emmelline is only just getting home. She shuts the gate behind her, making sure the latch is set. "Wonder if I should redecorate this place," she idly remarks to herself.
The night presses close against the garden's sheltering canopy, the air cool with the promise of rain. The moon's gibbous face peeks out from behind thick storm clouds, casting fleeting silver across the mossy ground. The faint scent of wet earth drifts on the breeze, mingling with the sharper, resinous notes from the conifers. Raindrops tap a slow rhythm against the leaves, as though the sky is testing its resolve before unleashing a full deluge.
Emmelline's footsteps echo softly on the slatestone path as she shuts the garden gate behind her, its latch clicking with finality. The sounds of the town beyond grow muffled as she steps deeper into the green enclave, swallowed by the tranquility of the garden. She takes a moment to breathe in the night, the faint rustle of branches, the trickle of water winding its way through roots and stone. It's a brief, rare respite in a town where shadows move when they shouldn't, and where secrets cling to the air as thickly as the mist rolling off the sea.
But the moment doesn't last.
A soft vibration hums in Emmelline's pocket, and a single message flashes across it, bearing the emblem of the Order, stark and urgent:
FROM: Order Dispatch
SUBJECT: MISSING CIVILIAN. LAST SEEN IN WOODLANDS SOUTH OF TOWN. IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED. REPORT FOR DETAILS.
Somewhere beyond the town's edge, past the banks and the small streets that lead out into the wilderness, a civilian has strayed where they should not have. And in a place like Haven, the woods are no place to be lost.
"Oh bloody hell," Emmelline says as she glances at her phone. "What was it? Looking for a colleague last night, and now tonight? When did I become everyone's favorite search and rescue dog? Especially given, I'm probably the only one who doesn't bloody well drive?" She sends off a quick text, presumably to another order member. "You on this one mate? If not, can you at least back me up? You know damn well, I'm like a sheet of paper in any given physical altercation."
Maybe Emmelline just looks really good in a collar, or standing by a Fireman? Maybe that's why she is everyone's favourite search and rescue dog now. She flicks off her text, as you do, and the message remains unseen. For several long moments. Maybe whomever she was texting is asleep? Or busy? She might just have to go it alone. Without driving too. Oh dear.
"I officially hate my life," Emmelline says as she pockets her phone, "I fucking officially hate my life." Sighing, she turns round and walks out the gate whence she came. Taking out her phone, she looks at the instructions. "Southern woods, you act like I know where the bloody hell that is," she mutters to herself. "I'm just going to assume... in this general direction," she says heading in a generally southerly direction.
There is no one in Haven that suffers like poor dear Emmelline, this is clear. It's dark, and it's stormy, and it's even a bit chilly, and yet here she is, wandering in a vaguely southern direction in the middle of the night. Without backup, and without a car. In search of some other poor hapless soul who has gotten lost in the dark and danger of the Haven forest.
That generally southern direction leads her down main street, turning then to wander past the Lodge, and the Antlers, and then towards the Southern Sheriff road - which leads further away from the lights of the city, and into the true gloom of a road lacking streetlights. Spooky.
Emmelline double checks the duffle she never goes anywhere without, and nods when she sees the umbrella is there, should the heavens really decide to open up. Taking out her phone, and checking that it is fully charged, she begins using it as a makeshift flashlight of sorts as she wends her way onwards. "So... is there a description of this aforementioned civilian?," she idly texts to whomever sent her the alert. "Or you know... am I meant to pick up any and all people who just happen to be out there?"
Armed with an umbrella, a sense of duty, and a flashlight, Emmelline may just be in the running to be the next Doctor Who companion, really. She has just the right amount of gumption, and grit, after all. That text flicks off, and then the three dots inside a bubble appear. They disappear. They reappear.
"Yes."
This isn't the sort of question that would normally be answered with a single word, but that seems to be it. For a good minute or two, at least, before another pops up.
"Older man. In his seventies. Unarmed. Thin, whispy hair. Last reported wearing green golf shirt, and tan trousers. Suspect he wandered into the forest. Long queue of people needing help. We cannot provide more."
Overworked may as well be the Order central command modus operandi.
"And why the fuck did he just wander into the forest?," Emmelline asks out loud as well as texting the companion back, though judging from the way she sighs, she probably isn't expecting a reply as she treads onwards. "Well, I only hope there is someone out there to rescue me, if I get lost. Which... knowing me and my poor sense of direction is more likely than not."
/If/ she gets lost? Does she really know where she is right now? It's a dirt path leading southwards, and through the forest, getting dark and darker by the moment. There is no response from either the message, nor the question that Emmelline asks out loud, at least not immediately.
Eventually, as she makes her way down this road, she might become aware of a sound in the distance. A yipping. A growling.
"If that is a wolf," Emmelline says to herself, "I am definitely out of here. I will... throw this silver ring," she says twiddling the ring that sits on her right hand, which is plain and unbedecked, "which... may not actually be silver, and run as fast as humanly possible." As she speaks, she heads in the general direction of the noise. "Let's hope it's a puppy. I do love puppies," she remarks idly to herself as she continues on.
Yip! Yip, yip! It /sounds/ smaller than a wolf, at least, though trying to identify the sound might be harder unless Emmelline were possessing some preternatural senses. Crunch, crunch. The undergrowth falters beneath her heels, though some of it does scratch and catch at her stilettos. These might not be the best footwear for midnight search parties, after all. The sound grows louder, and louder as she approaches, and soon enough she may hear some whimpering as well.
"Aww puppy!," Emmelline calls in a friendly tone, to what she assumes now is a dog. She stretches out her arm that holds the phone, trying to let the light guide the way through the darkness. "Here doggo!," she calls again as she continues on her rather slow progress.
Puppy! How lovely!
It's not a puppy.
Emmelline steps through enough of the undergrowth that she's able to see the source of the sounds, the whimpering and the yipping both. There's a fox, handsome, and large, larger than a normal fox may just be, and it's circling around a whimpering man stuck on top of a rock. He's a bit banged up, scratched and scared looking, and trembling. Neither of the pair have spotted Emmelline yet, but something else does in short order.
There's a quieter yip, from the undergrowth near her, and should she glance down? She would see a cute, big-eyed, adorable, too much just too precious fox kit staring up at her with particularly human eyes.
"What the bloody hell have I walked into?," Emmelline mutters to herself. She is actually unsure on what to do. Given she's never had any knowledge of animals in the wild. She first, tries to lure the small fox to her, see if it might respond. "Come," she says, before making a noise with her lips as one might when trying to get a dog or cat to come to them. Provided it does come over she asks next, "Can you understand me?"
Doot, doot do. The little kit just wanders in closer toward Emmelline without a care in the world, yipping softly as they approach her. Those big eyes are upon her all the while, daring her not to squee, or fall in love with it instantly. It steps closer to her feet, and starts sniffing at her, and then nods back in response.
It does understand her.
Emmelline kneels so that she is on a face level with the animal, believing it to be harmless. "Is that fox," she says slowly, pointing to the larger one that is near the old man, "wanting to hurt that person there?," she asks, pointing to the man. Clearly just trying to stick to yes or no questions.
That fox, which is to say, the larger and more magnificent of the pair, continues to circle the man, the very man that Emmelline was sent to find. Every now and then they dart up onto their hind legs to try and nip at his shoes, or trouser leg.
The kit on the other hand, turns it's head this way and that. It isn't a shaking 'no', but it's certainly not a 'yes', either. It's somehow managed to find an answer beyond the two offered. The kit does look over toward the larger, and yips softly. Yip yip. Yip yip.
The larger fox pauses, ears turning as it turns it's gaze over toward Emmelline and the kit, and the underbrush between them.
"Is that your parent?," Emmelline asks of the little fox. Though she notices the larger one looking towards her. "Does the man have something the fox there," gesturing to the larger one, "wants?" Yet again, sticking to yes or no questions.""
The little kit, wild as they may be, nods back to Emmelline in the affirmative. They are their parent! The second question gives them some pause, their head turning this way and that, and an ear flopping down in a cute manner. Does the man have something the fox wants? Sort of. The kit sneezes then, looking at it's snout, and going a little cross-eyed. And then nods down toward it's self.
"He's looking for you?," Emmelline asks of the little fox, chuckling when it sneezes the cute sneeze. "Did he come here to find you?," she asks kindly.
Yip, yip. There's more adorable sounds from the little baby critter as it half-nods back up, and over toward Emmelline. Looking? Sort of. Trying to find? Maybe. Protecting their child from an intruder? Well, now.
That might become all the more apparent as the underbrush starts to shift, and the larger, more dangerous looking parent fox stalks over closer toward Emmelline and the sounds of it's child.
"I see, can you go over towards your Daddy?," Emmelline asks gently of the little creature. "See, I need to get to that man," she says pointing to the man on the rock. "I think he'll get angry if he sees you with me. Think I'll hurt you or something."
Hm. There's a furrowing of the kits brow. Can it go toward it's daddy? It has to think about this, before it eventually lands at it's answer. Yes. The critter nods, and yips, of course it can! Especially for the nice lady with the strange accent! The little fox kit turns and skitters through the brush, tripping a few times, before running over toward it's parent, yipping and nipping at their heels until they eventually give in, like a long suffering parent, and decide to leave the man be for now, their child safe. They lean down to pluck up the kit by the scruff of their neck, turning then to dart away into the deeper forest.
"Aww adorable," Emmelline says as she watches the little fox go off with the parent. She sends off a quick text. "Found the bloke, need backup. Probably not in walking condition, and I sure as hell can't carry him." With that done, she moves quickly over to the rock where the man lies. "Sir? Can you hear me?," she asks the man, trying to see if he is conscious. She kneels at the same time, placing two fingers onto his neck to check for a pulse.
Thankfully, he is conscious, though clearly shaken up, "I just saw.. an adorable.." The older fellow, shaking, but largely uninjured, though a little beat up, starts to explain, and shakes his head. He scrambles down from the rock, and tries to wrap Emmelline up in a hug. Which is very awkward.
"Oh no sir," Emmelline says trying to keep the man from moving in the first place, "don't move. I don't know if you're hurt, but I imagine you'll need to be looked over properly. If you've broken anything, moving could make it worse."
"I just want to get out of here, back to my family," The man, being old, mostly ignores Emmelline's advice. Boomers, am I right? No doubt with the man secured, and his location know, Emmelline would be joined shortly by some other Order members, others on the search and rescue team, and others yet who just want a little glory. Good deed, completed for the evening, Emmelline may be able to eventually bum a lift back home.
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
"Wake up!," comes the gruff voice of a man, as he tap taps someone none too gently across the cheek. When she awakens, she would find that both her feet and hands have been bound up. All her clothes and even bedclothes remain in place however, showing the kidnapper, whoever they may be, hasn't yet done any harm to her, minus tying her up that is.
"Wake up!," comes the gruff voice of a man, as he tap taps someone none too gently across the cheek. When she awakens, she would find that both her feet and hands have been bound up. All her clothes and even bedclothes remain in place however, showing the kidnapper, whoever they may be, hasn't yet done any harm to her, minus tying her up that is.
"Wake up!," comes the gruff voice of a man, as he tap taps someone none too gently across the cheek. When she awakens, she would find that both her feet and hands have been bound up. All her clothes and even bedclothes remain in place however, showing the kidnapper, whoever they may be, hasn't yet done any harm to her, minus tying her up that is.
"Wake up!," comes the gruff voice of a man, as he tap taps Chelsea none too gently across the cheek. When she awakens, she would find that both her feet and hands have been bound up. All her clothes and even bedclothes remain in place however, showing the kidnapper, whoever they may be, hasn't yet done any harm to her, minus tying her up that is.
Chelsea snaps awake at the clap of her assailants hand on her cheek. She struggles to move, and finds her hands and feet to be bound. She looks in the direction of the voice, "Help!" She screams.
"Now that's no way to be starting things off is it?," the mysterious man says, as he places a hand over Chelsea's mouth, muffling the screams. The man wears a long black robe, with a hood attached. The hood has been pulled up to block his visage. The robe flows all the way down to the man's feet, where he wears a pair of black unremarkable shoes. He seems quite tall, and possesses a lanky frame. "Shall we try again? I'd hate to hurt you," he says with a shake of his head. "Stay quiet, I just want to talk."
Chelsea has a look of fear in her eyes, but she remains quiet, hoping that the black robed man might shed some light on her current predicament.
"Much better," the man says as he removes the hand from Chelsea's mouth. He walks over to a vacant chair, pulling it over to the woman's bedside and sits with a sigh. Though the hood remains in place. "Here's the thing," he begins, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up with a cheap lighter, "I need money. More importantly I need blood. Money, and blood," he says with a nod, as if he is only making a simple request. "No before you ask, I'm not a vampire."
"I don't have any money!" Chelsea blurts out, "And what do you need blood for?" She looks frightened and confused, especially at the mention of vampires. They can't be real, can they?
"Now see, we were doing so well," the man says with a sigh. "I know you have money little miss. You can't go affording a place like this without some serious dough. Where is it? The blood," he goes on, "is none of your business. I need it." As he speaks, he begins emptying his robe pocket. Out comes a tourniquet, followed by a pack of needles and some alcohol wipes. At least the man is sanitary, along with several small vials, lastly followed by a package of bandages. All these items he sets on the nightstand near Chelsea's bedside.
Chelsea her eyes go wide at the blood draw kit. "I don't! I've barely got enough for rent!" She protests, struggling against her bonds. "Keeo that thing away from me!"
At Chelsea's struggling, the man sighs and stands, as if he'd really rather not have to do this thing. "Listen to me!," he says, to rise above Chelsea's panicked words. "See these here?," he says, pointing to the bonds that hold her feet and hands, "I've tied them securely, but loose enough so that you won't lose circulation. Keep doing that, and I won't need this," picking up the tourniquet, "anymore. Now the money where is it?," hee asks, looming over the woman in an intimidating fashion. Though even through the hood, Chelsea might be able to see, he doesn't want to be doing this. If not that, then the tone in which he speaks to her is gruff, but more as if he has to force himself to make it be, rather than holding any real conviction that he wishes to do Chelsea any real harm.
Chelsea is crying now, clearly frightened. "Look... I've got $80 in my purse, just take it and go..." She tells the man, unsure what he'll do if she struggles any more.
"I can't," the man says with a shake of his head. "I need the blood. And eighty dollars won't cut it. Where is your bank card?," he asks of the woman. As he speaks, he takes the tourniquet, and begins tying it around Chelsea's upper arm. He ties it tight, and with serious deftness and expertise, as if he's done this one too many times.
Chelsea trying to buy some time, she asks him, "How much money do you need? I know you don't want to do this, don't have to do this!" She tries to puff out her arm so that he cannot get a good seal on the tourniquet.
"yes I do!," the man says, and as Chelsea tries to keep the tourniquet from tying, he sighs, before reaching out and slapping her across the face. The blow isn't overly hard, it is delivered with an open hand just enough to sting and regain her attention. "yes, I have to do this," he says, but his tone conveys a deep sense of conflict and guilt, as he resumes tying the tourniquet. "And I need at least a thousand dollars. Where is your bank card?," he asks, enunciating each word of the last sentence, perhaps to show Chelsea there is no negotiation.
Chelsea recoils from the sting of his slap, tears streaming down her face. "It's in my purse..." She concedes, unable to see a way out of this situation. "Please... just take it and go..." Her face is a sloppy mess of makeup and mussed hair as she lay down on the pillow, a defeated look on her face.
The man ties the tourniquet successfully. He tap taps the area around Chelsea's inner-elbow, looking for a vain. Locating one, he swabs it with alcohol. "Just a little sting," he says, easily working the small needle into Chelsea's vain. Again as if he's done it too many times. He begins hooking up the too numerous amount of vials to the line, collecting Chelsea blood. "It's for my wife," he finally explains to Chelsea, as the blood slowly drains from her into the vials. "She is terminally ill. There is a wizzard, who can do a ritual to treat her," he says accentuating the word treat. "It is something we have to do monthly. I give all the blood I can, but it is not enough for him to perform the rituals. I cannot get it from blood banks, the wizzard needs fresh blood, none that has been frozen in any way. He requires money in payment too." As he explains, the blood continues to drain, perhaps Chelsea is beginning to feel lightheaded at this point. "I know it's wrong, but she is the love of my life. Twenty years we've been married, and I cannot let her go. So every month, this is the price I pay. She knows nothing about it. Don't worry," the man tells Chelsea, his voice growing soothing, albeit a bit distant, as the blood continues to drain, "I won't take too much. You'll be fine." Eventually, Chelsea would pass out. When she wakes next, the man is gone, her hands and feet unbound, and no trace of him at all.