Encounterlogs
Fayads Odd Encounter Sr Alabaster 241018
Fayad, a character imprisoned within the eerie confines of a newly renovated recovery wing, encounters a wild-eyed man who introduces himself as John and claims to have uncovered a dire truth about the world. John, a patient mistaken for a lunatic, is actually an amateur paranormal investigator who has stumbled upon the existence of a clandestine group known as F.I.S.T., believed to wield magical powers and control the world from behind the shadows. Fayad, amused yet intrigued by John's revelations, considers his tales with a mix of skepticism and interest. As their conversation unfolds, Fayad, who is part of a sect called the Disruptors opposed to such secret societies, finds a potential ally in John. Despite Fayad's own imprisonment, he promises to help John expose the truth by smuggling him a device to get his website, Secret Beat, back online. However, their plotting is interrupted by the arrival of orderlies, who forcibly remove John for his 'treatment', leaving Fayad to silently affirm his intention of recruiting John in the future.
Meanwhile, Aristotle, a police officer in the supernatural enclave of Haven, faces his own dilemma when confronted with the aftermath of a full moon night. An alert on his phone on what was supposed to be a day off leads him to Jeffery Moore, a young werewolf who inadvertently killed someone during his transformation. Jeffery's unique physical trait, a missing eye, made him easily identifiable in the crime captured on camera. Despite the gravity of the situation, Aristotle's encounter with Jeffery reflects the complicated balance Haven's authorities must maintain between concealing the supernatural and administering justice. Aristotle decides to grant Jeffery leniency, viewing the killing as an unfortunate accident rather than a premeditated attack. He offers to cover up the incident, emphasizing to Jeffery the importance of better controlling his transformations in the future, hinting at the troubling and intricate responsibilities that come with policing a community where the supernatural is the norm.
(Fayad's odd encounter(SRAlabaster):SRAlabaster)
[Thu Oct 17 2024]
In the recovery wing
This portion of the Union building seems to be newly renovated and benefit from increased revenue from operating as Haven's primary care facility. The walls and floors have been painted with some kind of white enamel.
It is noon, about 57F(13C) degrees, Ankle high mist flows through the area.
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Fayad is currently wandering the corridors of the Institute, his trusty dagger in his hand - his good hand, his other cradled in front of him. Relicless and imprisoned, he nevertheless seems pleased, malevolently smiling to himself in the way only someone who knows someone they hate is suffering can.
It's the Institute halls -- and then a man, dressed in Institute scrubs, stumbles into view. He doesn't even seem to notice the dagger. "Hey!" he says, in a conspiratorial whisper. This fellow is clearly some inmate here, a 'patient' in a world where the patients are locked inside the clinic's walls. He advances on Fayad, his eyes wild. "Come here," he says, his voice dripping with some manic urgency. "This way." He's beckoning towards a nearby, empty treatment room.
Fayad shrugs and follows the man. What's the worst that could happen, Fayad thinks, as ensconced in the protective magics of White Oak as he could possibly be. He believes he's going to spend at least the next thirty years in here, but maybe he'll get lucky and Emmanuel will slaughter the Knights and free him, the idea of Selina's death and murder being what puts the smile on his face every night as he drifts off to sleep. "What is it?", he murmurs, quietly entering.
The crazy-eyed man beckons Fayad into the treatment room. Some layer of dust settles on the room, which seems unused for some time. It's full of equipment that appears out of date -- beige machines that could date from the 1970s, and shroud-covered contraptions that seem older still, drawn from some 40s and 50s view of how awful an asylum can be. The man looks around, and then he looks at Fayad. "I'm John," he says, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "They put me in here because I learned the truth."
Fayad replies, amused, "Yes, that usually happens. The truth about...?", he wonders, whether this was someone newly Aware - a mirror of how Fayad used to be a few months ago - or someone genuinely insane.
"There's people controlling the world," SRAlabaster tells Fayad. "I work for Secret Beat." It's a website -- whether Fayad knows it or not. "And they don't want me to publish what I know," he says. "But it's -real-," he explains. "There's a group, they call themselves F.I.S.T., and..." He leans in, his eyes wild. "You won't believe this, but you should. They know -magic-."
"There's people controlling the world," the man tells Fayad. "I work for Secret Beat." It's a website -- whether Fayad knows it or not. "And they don't want me to publish what I know," he says. "But it's -real-," he explains. "There's a group, they call themselves F.I.S.T., and..." He leans in, his eyes wild. "You won't believe this, but you should. They know -magic-."
Fayad chuckles to himself... "It's not a good idea to publish," he mutters. "The cabal kills anyone who does because they made an agreement with each other - they're split into three, kind of - that anyone who makes normal people aware just Dies. Or worse."
The man leans in. "So it's real?" he asks. "F.I.S.T. and the rest of it?" He pauses. "I saw one of them, with the emblem on it. They are who dragged me in here." He looks around. "And this place is -- it's crazy," he confides to Fayad. "Can you get me out of here?" he wonders.
Fayad shakes his head. "No," he mutters. "I can't. I'm a prisoner here, too. I'm a human, I fight against them. I run a sect called the Disruptors - especially to try to stand up against the Fist goons. ALthough they call themselves the Hand.."
The patient looks confused. "A sect? he asks. "I don't know what that means," he says."If you're a prisoner here how do you have clothes? How do you have that knife?""
Fayad grins. "My friends snuck them in for me," he replies. "Just in case."
Now the crazy-eyed patient leans in closer. "Really?" he asks. "Do you think they could sneak me in a phone, or a tablet, or something?" he says. "If I could just get to the internet, I could get the Secret Voice back up and running. Let people know what these FIST guys are doing, how they're keeping us prisoner... Expose it!" he says, his voice wild. "Blow it all up! Wide open! Boom!"
Fayad nods. "Yeah. I can arrange that if you join the Disruptors. This Secret Voice thing sounds like it could be useful - if you know how to find information on what they're doing, I can use that. Join up with us and we'll give you a job."
The man asks, confused, "How do I do that?"
Fayad says "You just, uh, agree to it?"
Follow up from the patient. "If it's going to get me out of here! Sure!"
Fayad tempers his expectations. "Hey, they can't even get ME otu of here. But we'll get you a tablet and a phone."
Good enough for the patient, who nods. "We'll expose it all," he tells Fayad. "We'll tear every last brick of this place down piece by piece." The wildness in his voice is high as he looks back at the door. "Shh," he says. "The orderlies will be coming back soon. We should get our heads down and get back."
Indeed, down the hallway is coming the tromp, tromp, tromp of orderly boots -- looking, as always, for patients that need 'treatment'.
Tromp, tromp, tromp -- the orderlies come closer. The door swings open, then, and four white-coated men enter. "You're late for treatment," they tell the patient, voices rough and hands rougher. He's grabbed, kicking, screaming, and they don't seem to pay Fayad any mind. After all -- right now, at least, he isn't the man for them. Right now it's the wild-eyed patient who is slowly dragged out of the room, leaving Fayad once again alone.
Fayad nods quietly, watching pensively as the man gets dragged off. He takes very close attention to the man's face, keeping his recruitment in the future in mind.
(Your target and their allies are charged with tracking down a supernatural criminal on the run from the factions, what they do with them then is up to the players to decide.
)
Aristotle is panting a bit, having moved some large box up a flight of stairs in a home he still seems to be decorating. He takes a moment to himself, opting to use that box as a makeshift seat as he sets his eyes about the place, likely sizing up the workload that remains.
As Aristotle takes a break while setting up his place on this relatively average afternoon. But an average afternoon in Haven always has the chance to go sideways. Aristotle is likely off duty in his Pajama bottoms, how cute. But that doesn't stop his phone from vibrating constantly with an alert. Aristotle would know it as the 911 alert system, something he should be quite familiar with.
That reprieve is short-lived as Aristotle's phone buzzes. He takes a glance at it, the screen revealing a caller ID that states: Ugh :(, and naturally it provides a soft, "Ugh," from Aristotle. Work related. He heaves out a little sigh, and it lets the phone buzz. And buzz. And buzz. And buzz. Until finally he relents and tends to the device, looking at the alert.
The full moon last night was busy for many wolves in Haven. Animal attacks were way up, bodies have been found from locals and tourist alike who got caught out at the wrong time. Aristotle would be fully aware of how busy the full moon tends to get each month, but usually its impossible to tie a dead body to a specific wolf to follow up on. Most cases go cold.
Except this alert comes with a tip that a known wolf with distinguishing markings was caught on camera attacking someone in the alley behind the strip club last night and now this wolf has been reported at the hardware store currently. He is arrest on sight and currently all hands are busy..except for PJ Aristotle
Another sigh leaves him as he reads over the message - silently exhaled through the nostril as Aristotle moves to rise to his feet. It's a short trip to his bedroom which sees him transitioning from pajama-clad to something a bit more covered. He grabs a backpack, the container filled with a few collars and darts. Slinging it over his shoulder, he heads out of the home towards his car to make his way towards the hardware store.
Getting dressed and out the door is uneventful for Aristotle, he has time to go over the details of the file. The wolf, Jeffery Moore is obviously a local since he's a Moore. Might even be distantly related to Aristotle. He's only nineteen but is missing an eye in both wolf form and human form which makes him so distinguishable
When Aristotle gets to the hardware store, there is a black lifted truck parked outside with Jeffery loading it up with heavy duty garbage bags, a shovel and some work gloves. He looks agitated and doesn't notice Aristotle pull up yet.
As Aristotle pulls up to the hardware store, he flashes his police lights. The siren is left off, as is any auditory cue from it, but the visual alert is given as a way to alert Jeffery that he has arrived. He parks, stepping out of the car with his badge clear on display at his waist. Though, he's not in his police-gear. It seems nothing gets in the way of his day off in certain elements after-all. Full Moon or no. "Hey, Jeff." He says, calling out for him in a petition to get his attention.
Flashing the police lights gets Jeff's attention and he snaps his attention to Aristotle with a nervous energy. "What? Look I can legally park here for ten minutes." he says, deflecting any sense that there could be something else wrong. But its clearly intentional.
Stepping back from his truck he has a shovel in one hand and he tightens his grip on it as he eyes Aristotle, "What do you even want?"
"It's the Full Moon. You're a Moore. I'm a Cop. Should be pretty clear." Aristotle says, answering Jefferey's question first, as he makes his approach. His motions are casual, for now, shoulders relaxed as he doesn't seem bothered or on edge, despite it being a wolf he's dealing with around the full moon. "You were caught on camera attacking someone last night. Now there's a warrant for your arrest." He explains. Eyes then note the shovel, then to the trash bags he was recently loading. "Is there a body?" He asks, motioning towards the truck.
Jeff tightens his grip on the shovel as though he is contemplating using it to bash Aristotle and run. He slumps his shoulders after a moments thought then says, "Yeah..I mean. It was an accident though. You know how it is." he flinches and goes on to ask Aristotle, "Whats in store for me? Should I run?" he wonders like Aristotle might just give him advice to actually run from the cops.
Aristotle's job isn't really to persecute crimes, its to hide the supernatural and maintain peace. Things get complicated with a founding family member is implicated in something messy. No, such a 'crime' is just going to result in a slap on the wrist and a costly cover up. Unless Jeff seemed liable to be rabid.
"I mean... the shitty part of this, Jeff, is that you were caught -on camera-." Aristotle says, gesturing towards him. It's noted he's close enough to be in swinging distance, but his demeanor is still quite casual, despite the reason for the visit. "Most wolf attacks, from people in the -know- aren't actually that easy to follow but... you've got that whole..." he gestures towards his missing eye, "That. But... for someone -not- in the know... they'd never make that connection. And I don't really care to try and pursue someone if I don't think they're an active problem, but like... why were you in the city and not the woods? You have the whole forest, Jeff."
"I thought I could control it." Jeff reasons. Closing his one good eye for a moment to sigh. He opens it again then tells Aristotle, "Figured if I got laid, had some fun at the club. I'd not change and wouldn't do no harm. I was wrong." he loosens his grip on the shovel the more he talks, "I wouldn't try that again, that was stupid of me."
"I don't know what lunacy feels like, but I get the feeling that's not something you can 'control' with sex." Aristotle points out, as if it weren't already obvious. "Lots of drugs, maybe. Like horse tranquilizers or valium. And chains." He lifts a hand to wipe at his nose, shaking his head at someone. "It's my day off and I still have a home to renovate. Everybody gets at least one, Jeff." He says, insinuating this is that 'one' for Jefferey Moore. "Unless I don't like them. Leave the bags with me, I'll deal with all of this."
"I don't know what lunacy feels like, but I get the feeling that's not something you can 'control' with sex." Aristotle points out, as if it weren't already obvious. "Lots of drugs, maybe. Like horse tranquilizers or valium. And chains." He lifts a hand to wipe at his nose, shaking his head at Jeff. "It's my day off and I still have a home to renovate. Everybody gets at least one, Jeff." He says, insinuating this is that 'one' for Jefferey Moore. "Unless I don't like them. Leave the bags with me, I'll deal with all of this."
With surprise Jeff gives Aristotle a blank look, "What really?" he lightens up significantly then goes on to say, "I owe you a beer, fuck I owe you a case." he tosses the shovel into the back of his truck and grabs the bags to hand them over. "Seriously. I owe you.."
"I know." Aristotle says, nodding at Jeff as the bags are handed over. "This can't be a habit, Jeff." He says, stressing it. "One too many generous cover-ups will get a lot of people in trouble. Be more careful." He says.
Nodding, the man opens his truck door and says, "Thanks bro." and gets inside to take off. Aristotle will have to clean up and cover up on his own time. There will be no justice for the deceased, but there almost never is in Aristotle experience. The Haven police department don't deal in justice, they deal in secrets.
Meanwhile, Aristotle, a police officer in the supernatural enclave of Haven, faces his own dilemma when confronted with the aftermath of a full moon night. An alert on his phone on what was supposed to be a day off leads him to Jeffery Moore, a young werewolf who inadvertently killed someone during his transformation. Jeffery's unique physical trait, a missing eye, made him easily identifiable in the crime captured on camera. Despite the gravity of the situation, Aristotle's encounter with Jeffery reflects the complicated balance Haven's authorities must maintain between concealing the supernatural and administering justice. Aristotle decides to grant Jeffery leniency, viewing the killing as an unfortunate accident rather than a premeditated attack. He offers to cover up the incident, emphasizing to Jeffery the importance of better controlling his transformations in the future, hinting at the troubling and intricate responsibilities that come with policing a community where the supernatural is the norm.
(Fayad's odd encounter(SRAlabaster):SRAlabaster)
[Thu Oct 17 2024]
In the recovery wing
This portion of the Union building seems to be newly renovated and benefit from increased revenue from operating as Haven's primary care facility. The walls and floors have been painted with some kind of white enamel.
It is noon, about 57F(13C) degrees, Ankle high mist flows through the area.
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Fayad is currently wandering the corridors of the Institute, his trusty dagger in his hand - his good hand, his other cradled in front of him. Relicless and imprisoned, he nevertheless seems pleased, malevolently smiling to himself in the way only someone who knows someone they hate is suffering can.
It's the Institute halls -- and then a man, dressed in Institute scrubs, stumbles into view. He doesn't even seem to notice the dagger. "Hey!" he says, in a conspiratorial whisper. This fellow is clearly some inmate here, a 'patient' in a world where the patients are locked inside the clinic's walls. He advances on Fayad, his eyes wild. "Come here," he says, his voice dripping with some manic urgency. "This way." He's beckoning towards a nearby, empty treatment room.
Fayad shrugs and follows the man. What's the worst that could happen, Fayad thinks, as ensconced in the protective magics of White Oak as he could possibly be. He believes he's going to spend at least the next thirty years in here, but maybe he'll get lucky and Emmanuel will slaughter the Knights and free him, the idea of Selina's death and murder being what puts the smile on his face every night as he drifts off to sleep. "What is it?", he murmurs, quietly entering.
The crazy-eyed man beckons Fayad into the treatment room. Some layer of dust settles on the room, which seems unused for some time. It's full of equipment that appears out of date -- beige machines that could date from the 1970s, and shroud-covered contraptions that seem older still, drawn from some 40s and 50s view of how awful an asylum can be. The man looks around, and then he looks at Fayad. "I'm John," he says, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "They put me in here because I learned the truth."
Fayad replies, amused, "Yes, that usually happens. The truth about...?", he wonders, whether this was someone newly Aware - a mirror of how Fayad used to be a few months ago - or someone genuinely insane.
"There's people controlling the world," SRAlabaster tells Fayad. "I work for Secret Beat." It's a website -- whether Fayad knows it or not. "And they don't want me to publish what I know," he says. "But it's -real-," he explains. "There's a group, they call themselves F.I.S.T., and..." He leans in, his eyes wild. "You won't believe this, but you should. They know -magic-."
"There's people controlling the world," the man tells Fayad. "I work for Secret Beat." It's a website -- whether Fayad knows it or not. "And they don't want me to publish what I know," he says. "But it's -real-," he explains. "There's a group, they call themselves F.I.S.T., and..." He leans in, his eyes wild. "You won't believe this, but you should. They know -magic-."
Fayad chuckles to himself... "It's not a good idea to publish," he mutters. "The cabal kills anyone who does because they made an agreement with each other - they're split into three, kind of - that anyone who makes normal people aware just Dies. Or worse."
The man leans in. "So it's real?" he asks. "F.I.S.T. and the rest of it?" He pauses. "I saw one of them, with the emblem on it. They are who dragged me in here." He looks around. "And this place is -- it's crazy," he confides to Fayad. "Can you get me out of here?" he wonders.
Fayad shakes his head. "No," he mutters. "I can't. I'm a prisoner here, too. I'm a human, I fight against them. I run a sect called the Disruptors - especially to try to stand up against the Fist goons. ALthough they call themselves the Hand.."
The patient looks confused. "A sect? he asks. "I don't know what that means," he says."If you're a prisoner here how do you have clothes? How do you have that knife?""
Fayad grins. "My friends snuck them in for me," he replies. "Just in case."
Now the crazy-eyed patient leans in closer. "Really?" he asks. "Do you think they could sneak me in a phone, or a tablet, or something?" he says. "If I could just get to the internet, I could get the Secret Voice back up and running. Let people know what these FIST guys are doing, how they're keeping us prisoner... Expose it!" he says, his voice wild. "Blow it all up! Wide open! Boom!"
Fayad nods. "Yeah. I can arrange that if you join the Disruptors. This Secret Voice thing sounds like it could be useful - if you know how to find information on what they're doing, I can use that. Join up with us and we'll give you a job."
The man asks, confused, "How do I do that?"
Fayad says "You just, uh, agree to it?"
Follow up from the patient. "If it's going to get me out of here! Sure!"
Fayad tempers his expectations. "Hey, they can't even get ME otu of here. But we'll get you a tablet and a phone."
Good enough for the patient, who nods. "We'll expose it all," he tells Fayad. "We'll tear every last brick of this place down piece by piece." The wildness in his voice is high as he looks back at the door. "Shh," he says. "The orderlies will be coming back soon. We should get our heads down and get back."
Indeed, down the hallway is coming the tromp, tromp, tromp of orderly boots -- looking, as always, for patients that need 'treatment'.
Tromp, tromp, tromp -- the orderlies come closer. The door swings open, then, and four white-coated men enter. "You're late for treatment," they tell the patient, voices rough and hands rougher. He's grabbed, kicking, screaming, and they don't seem to pay Fayad any mind. After all -- right now, at least, he isn't the man for them. Right now it's the wild-eyed patient who is slowly dragged out of the room, leaving Fayad once again alone.
Fayad nods quietly, watching pensively as the man gets dragged off. He takes very close attention to the man's face, keeping his recruitment in the future in mind.
(Your target and their allies are charged with tracking down a supernatural criminal on the run from the factions, what they do with them then is up to the players to decide.
)
Aristotle is panting a bit, having moved some large box up a flight of stairs in a home he still seems to be decorating. He takes a moment to himself, opting to use that box as a makeshift seat as he sets his eyes about the place, likely sizing up the workload that remains.
As Aristotle takes a break while setting up his place on this relatively average afternoon. But an average afternoon in Haven always has the chance to go sideways. Aristotle is likely off duty in his Pajama bottoms, how cute. But that doesn't stop his phone from vibrating constantly with an alert. Aristotle would know it as the 911 alert system, something he should be quite familiar with.
That reprieve is short-lived as Aristotle's phone buzzes. He takes a glance at it, the screen revealing a caller ID that states: Ugh :(, and naturally it provides a soft, "Ugh," from Aristotle. Work related. He heaves out a little sigh, and it lets the phone buzz. And buzz. And buzz. And buzz. Until finally he relents and tends to the device, looking at the alert.
The full moon last night was busy for many wolves in Haven. Animal attacks were way up, bodies have been found from locals and tourist alike who got caught out at the wrong time. Aristotle would be fully aware of how busy the full moon tends to get each month, but usually its impossible to tie a dead body to a specific wolf to follow up on. Most cases go cold.
Except this alert comes with a tip that a known wolf with distinguishing markings was caught on camera attacking someone in the alley behind the strip club last night and now this wolf has been reported at the hardware store currently. He is arrest on sight and currently all hands are busy..except for PJ Aristotle
Another sigh leaves him as he reads over the message - silently exhaled through the nostril as Aristotle moves to rise to his feet. It's a short trip to his bedroom which sees him transitioning from pajama-clad to something a bit more covered. He grabs a backpack, the container filled with a few collars and darts. Slinging it over his shoulder, he heads out of the home towards his car to make his way towards the hardware store.
Getting dressed and out the door is uneventful for Aristotle, he has time to go over the details of the file. The wolf, Jeffery Moore is obviously a local since he's a Moore. Might even be distantly related to Aristotle. He's only nineteen but is missing an eye in both wolf form and human form which makes him so distinguishable
When Aristotle gets to the hardware store, there is a black lifted truck parked outside with Jeffery loading it up with heavy duty garbage bags, a shovel and some work gloves. He looks agitated and doesn't notice Aristotle pull up yet.
As Aristotle pulls up to the hardware store, he flashes his police lights. The siren is left off, as is any auditory cue from it, but the visual alert is given as a way to alert Jeffery that he has arrived. He parks, stepping out of the car with his badge clear on display at his waist. Though, he's not in his police-gear. It seems nothing gets in the way of his day off in certain elements after-all. Full Moon or no. "Hey, Jeff." He says, calling out for him in a petition to get his attention.
Flashing the police lights gets Jeff's attention and he snaps his attention to Aristotle with a nervous energy. "What? Look I can legally park here for ten minutes." he says, deflecting any sense that there could be something else wrong. But its clearly intentional.
Stepping back from his truck he has a shovel in one hand and he tightens his grip on it as he eyes Aristotle, "What do you even want?"
"It's the Full Moon. You're a Moore. I'm a Cop. Should be pretty clear." Aristotle says, answering Jefferey's question first, as he makes his approach. His motions are casual, for now, shoulders relaxed as he doesn't seem bothered or on edge, despite it being a wolf he's dealing with around the full moon. "You were caught on camera attacking someone last night. Now there's a warrant for your arrest." He explains. Eyes then note the shovel, then to the trash bags he was recently loading. "Is there a body?" He asks, motioning towards the truck.
Jeff tightens his grip on the shovel as though he is contemplating using it to bash Aristotle and run. He slumps his shoulders after a moments thought then says, "Yeah..I mean. It was an accident though. You know how it is." he flinches and goes on to ask Aristotle, "Whats in store for me? Should I run?" he wonders like Aristotle might just give him advice to actually run from the cops.
Aristotle's job isn't really to persecute crimes, its to hide the supernatural and maintain peace. Things get complicated with a founding family member is implicated in something messy. No, such a 'crime' is just going to result in a slap on the wrist and a costly cover up. Unless Jeff seemed liable to be rabid.
"I mean... the shitty part of this, Jeff, is that you were caught -on camera-." Aristotle says, gesturing towards him. It's noted he's close enough to be in swinging distance, but his demeanor is still quite casual, despite the reason for the visit. "Most wolf attacks, from people in the -know- aren't actually that easy to follow but... you've got that whole..." he gestures towards his missing eye, "That. But... for someone -not- in the know... they'd never make that connection. And I don't really care to try and pursue someone if I don't think they're an active problem, but like... why were you in the city and not the woods? You have the whole forest, Jeff."
"I thought I could control it." Jeff reasons. Closing his one good eye for a moment to sigh. He opens it again then tells Aristotle, "Figured if I got laid, had some fun at the club. I'd not change and wouldn't do no harm. I was wrong." he loosens his grip on the shovel the more he talks, "I wouldn't try that again, that was stupid of me."
"I don't know what lunacy feels like, but I get the feeling that's not something you can 'control' with sex." Aristotle points out, as if it weren't already obvious. "Lots of drugs, maybe. Like horse tranquilizers or valium. And chains." He lifts a hand to wipe at his nose, shaking his head at someone. "It's my day off and I still have a home to renovate. Everybody gets at least one, Jeff." He says, insinuating this is that 'one' for Jefferey Moore. "Unless I don't like them. Leave the bags with me, I'll deal with all of this."
"I don't know what lunacy feels like, but I get the feeling that's not something you can 'control' with sex." Aristotle points out, as if it weren't already obvious. "Lots of drugs, maybe. Like horse tranquilizers or valium. And chains." He lifts a hand to wipe at his nose, shaking his head at Jeff. "It's my day off and I still have a home to renovate. Everybody gets at least one, Jeff." He says, insinuating this is that 'one' for Jefferey Moore. "Unless I don't like them. Leave the bags with me, I'll deal with all of this."
With surprise Jeff gives Aristotle a blank look, "What really?" he lightens up significantly then goes on to say, "I owe you a beer, fuck I owe you a case." he tosses the shovel into the back of his truck and grabs the bags to hand them over. "Seriously. I owe you.."
"I know." Aristotle says, nodding at Jeff as the bags are handed over. "This can't be a habit, Jeff." He says, stressing it. "One too many generous cover-ups will get a lot of people in trouble. Be more careful." He says.
Nodding, the man opens his truck door and says, "Thanks bro." and gets inside to take off. Aristotle will have to clean up and cover up on his own time. There will be no justice for the deceased, but there almost never is in Aristotle experience. The Haven police department don't deal in justice, they deal in secrets.