Encounterlogs
Iriss Odd Encounter Sr Eric 241210
In a seemingly uneventful afternoon turned chaotic, Iris, our protagonist, receives a mission via the disruptive notification from TempleOS amidst the calm of a museum setting. The task is clear: apprehend a dangerous supernatural criminal, Jane Ryan, causing uproar on Quartz Street. As she steps outside, the normalcy of museum tranquility is replaced by a scene reminiscent of historical riots, teeming with a frenzied crowd fueled by a palpable outrage. Unruffled by the violence, a mysterious man offers Iris a modified magazine for her mission, hinting at the tumultuous task ahead. This peculiar interaction sets the stage for Iris's confrontation with her target amidst a burgeoning riot.
As Iris navigates through the chaos with a blend of determination and a hint of infiltration, using a copy of the Communist Manifesto to conceal her weapon and to blend in with the rioters, she faces hostility from the crowd, sensing her underlying dissent. However, the tide turns when Jane Ryan, recognizing Iris as a kindred spirit wronged by the system, beckons her forward, inadvertently offering Iris the perfect opportunity to fulfill her mission. With a deceptive nod to solidarity, Iris seizes the moment, delivering a decisive shot to Ryan, abruptly halting the frenzy she had incited. In the aftermath, as the bewilderment and rage dissipate into confusion and regret among the once-rioters, Iris makes her discreet exit from a scene that shifts from violent anarchy back to ordinary urban life, leaving behind a stunned crowd grappling with their abrupt return to reality.
(Iris's odd encounter(SREric):SREric)
[Mon Dec 9 2024]
In a slowly coming together bedroom
This bedroom has a tasteful off-white paintjob on the walls that compliment the delicate blue carpeting throughout the space. It's clear that it's new occupant is still in the process of moving it and settling down. Rather than bedside tables, the dark frame of the bed is flanked by two unpacked boxes. To the right side of the room is a small door leading to a shallow closet containing a steel rod that spans the walls, and a good number of clothes hanging upon it. The room itself is still rather sparse and lacking some personality
It is afternoon, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(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.
)
What should be a quiet afternoon, frosty and cold, otherwise uneventful, quickly becomes very much not that for the heroine du jour - Iris. Her phone lights up with the glowie app to end all glowie apps, TempleOS notifying her despite any silent mode the phone may be on. A couple of museum guests look over her way, though most just mind their own business, perfectly happy to look at founding father memorabilia, Mayflower replicas, and Revolutionary War uniforms fitted on neat mannequins. The notification is noisy, but quite simple: "PERPETRATOR SIGHTED - JANE RYAN - QUARTZ STREET - APPREHEND IMMEDIATELY - HIGHLY DANGEROUS."
Outside, Iris may notice that all indeed isn't well. She can hear the sorts of noises that befit a football stadium more than they do a boring museum street. The main entrance has her fellow security guards opt to lock the doors in a perhaps wise display of prudence, eyeing what goes on with some concern. Certainly she can see what appears to be quite many people all moving in exactly the same direction, a chorus of shouting and loud voices very much present indeed out there.
Finally something to help break up the monotony for once, Iris thought to herself. She fished out her Motorola-branded craphone and flipped it open, bathing the woman in the warm light of TempleOS. Reading through it quickly, the woman closed the phone, memorizing what was written there and then stepping out of the museum. It's noon, the night shift wouldn't be starting for half a day so she had time to spare, or kill as the case may be. Clearly, the source of the ruckus must've been the right place to start, Iris throwing caution to the wind and marching on towards it.
Outside, Iris might be forgiven for thinking she'd stept into the atmosphere of 1992 LA, or 2020 Minnesota perhaps. A throng of people of many ages and walks of life is gathered in what appears to be very, very real outrage. "TAKE THEM DOWN! TAKE THEM ALL DOWN!" Shouts to the tune of such and more ring through the air as unfortunate businessowners and bystanders get overrun - or, in a couple cases, get swept up in whatever anger captures these people. Iris can feel it too. Can feel a deep and instinctive at everything that is, simply for being; can feel the sense well up inside her that it ought to not be. Simple as. She lacks the time, perhaps, to get swept up in this; a low whistle shrilly resounds along with the mob's noises, and from not far away at all she sees a man more than twice her age wave, smirk, and take the mere two steps needed to tug at a sleeve.
"Hi! I was hoping you guys would be around for this whole mess. Kid got a little.. Upset." He laughs despite all the violence going on just down the street, down the pathway, quite relatively unbothered. "You do what.. You funny sun people do best. But here- a gift. From an enemy, surely." He opens up a hand, and in it lies a magazine for a pistol - "MODIFIED - AUSTRIAN QUARTZ" reads some print on the side, the offer coming with a complementary firm pat on the shoulder.
What a mess, the street was half-way down to being a riot, or worse. But hey, this kind of chaos got the blood pumping. There was a strange desire to join in, but there's a thought that runs through her head. Law and order have to be upheld, otherwise how would someone abuse their authority? The man that had came before her and presented her with a magazine was met with a smirk, alongside the words "Is she a friend of yours? Hope you won't mind if I have to do what I have to do."
The magazine was held and felt up, what a nice piece of equipment now found slapped into her firearm. Iris donned a giant smirk.
"Do I look like I'd expect you to pet a dog with that? Go- do your thing! Show me what you lot are famous for!" With a laugh, and another laugh soon after, the man lights up a cigarette while looking right on to Iris. He gestures along, on to the crowd, to the mob shouting about JUSTICE and DOWN! DOWN WITH ALL OF IT! without enmeshing himself any further. His cufflinks are particularly stylish - and stylized, as it happens, to look like tiny little hands. An enemy, perhaps, but likely not the reason that crowd is so loud, violent, and upset. Iris can see at its head the same person from the TempleOS notification - Jane Ryan herself really doesn't look subtle. A woman in her mid-twenties, hair too red to be in any way natural, quite white and with a pair of ostentatious hipster glasses on her face. Whatever rage sweeps up the crowd enthralled in all this anger seems to affect her also, expression certainly livid enough to match even the angriest looters and rioters. She carries no tools or weapons, and seemingly needs no such thing; a single kick has her shin collide, hard, into a lamppost, to the point the metal groans and goes to topple over just from the sheer force behind it.
With a final glance back at the phone to confirm some of the finer details of this enraged individual, Iris reached into her pocket to pull something that would make anyone that recognized it feel old: a pair of black earphones attached with a chord to her craphone: no wireless headphones here. Sucking in her teeth, Iris puts on a song and hum to herself, approaching the crowd with the same confidence a hitman would approach their mark.
From within her workbag came out the best kind of cover for a gun she could wish for: a copy of the Communist Manifesto missing quite a few pages, now used to cover the gun as she joined the crowd and marched forth, trying to near her mark. "Woke up this morning, got myself a gun. Your papa always knew you'd be the-chosen-one." She hummed to herself, apparently listening to the theme to the Sopranos for the time being.
Storefronts are vandalised, objects looted, insufficiently deferential bystanders roughed up and beaten for the crime of just not being all that angry. Iris can get the book, she can hum to herself, she can do what she wants to appear inconspicuous.. It's just a bit of a tough sell. Between her job, her bearing, her affiliations, her personality, and a certain je ne sais quoi, she can make it not at all far through the crowd before a couple of accusationary fingers point right over at her. Hands grab at her from the left, the right, even at her shoulders from behind. It is a GRAND OCCASION, in which loud voices raise about teaching them a lesson, that she should never have come here, can't believe people like that have the nerve-
Until a loud female voices calls for a "HOLD ON," and the anger in that crowd almost palpitates at the pause it's given. Miss Ryan herself seems to have noticed Iris, and beckons for her would-be captors to bring her on over. For all her lamp-post destroying and violent ways, she seems to have no quarrel with Iris. When some people holding bloodied bats and looted hoodies eye her strangely, she even tells them why:
"It's cool, it's cool, she's with us. Gotta be- just look at her. They've done all kinds of wrong by her, too!" This makes sense enough to the people hauling Iris her way that she's even released, and halfway shoved for the mob leader as she explains why clearly Iris would take their side. Duh.
That was true, Iris did as good of a job of hiding the fact that she was a glowie that she might as well be a young white man with a buzzcut wearing sunglasses and a sports shirt at a rally. "The fuck you think you're doing?" She asked of some of the people trying to grab at her, but relented once she noticed that she was being taken straight to the mob leader, somehow things always work out. There was a thought in the back of her head about the kind of mayhem and bloodshed that could occur if she decided to open fire, but those bullets were meat specifically for someone else.
Now before Miss Ryan herself, the target, Iris gives a quick nod and answers "That is right, sister! The system has taken me down a peg at every turn!" Iris holds up a fist, but then moves it to cover her face as if to shield it from something. The hand that held the firearm hidden under the red cover of her communist manifesto was raised as if to try and hold the book but instead pointed itself at Jane "How about this humidity?" Iris asked, the loud bangs of her firearm echoing out as she unloads directly into Jane's chest.
Some very short-lived, momentary anger is the first response, along with an astonishment that reverberates so intensely that Iris feels both emotion hit her square in the chest as did a full magazine of some particularly lethal ammunition. Jane dies with an expression of utter and complete shock on her face. How could Iris of all people not join her march of the wronged, of the downtrodden? With life fading from her rapidly, so too does all the rage that had swept these people up dissipate moment after moment. Pensioners awkwardly look at the radios they're hauling away, accountants look at expensive watches and realize they are late for their meetings, students glance at each other and just awkwardly try to shrug off decisions made in the heat of some particularly violent moments. For what might be cold-blooded murder, Iris and her act get almost ignored. Who wants to acknowledge that? A couple people can be seen dialing at their phones and backing away, but the people so readily trying to drag her off already withdraw as-is, and she has plenty of time and space alike to make herself scarce, also.
As Iris navigates through the chaos with a blend of determination and a hint of infiltration, using a copy of the Communist Manifesto to conceal her weapon and to blend in with the rioters, she faces hostility from the crowd, sensing her underlying dissent. However, the tide turns when Jane Ryan, recognizing Iris as a kindred spirit wronged by the system, beckons her forward, inadvertently offering Iris the perfect opportunity to fulfill her mission. With a deceptive nod to solidarity, Iris seizes the moment, delivering a decisive shot to Ryan, abruptly halting the frenzy she had incited. In the aftermath, as the bewilderment and rage dissipate into confusion and regret among the once-rioters, Iris makes her discreet exit from a scene that shifts from violent anarchy back to ordinary urban life, leaving behind a stunned crowd grappling with their abrupt return to reality.
(Iris's odd encounter(SREric):SREric)
[Mon Dec 9 2024]
In a slowly coming together bedroom
This bedroom has a tasteful off-white paintjob on the walls that compliment the delicate blue carpeting throughout the space. It's clear that it's new occupant is still in the process of moving it and settling down. Rather than bedside tables, the dark frame of the bed is flanked by two unpacked boxes. To the right side of the room is a small door leading to a shallow closet containing a steel rod that spans the walls, and a good number of clothes hanging upon it. The room itself is still rather sparse and lacking some personality
It is afternoon, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(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.
)
What should be a quiet afternoon, frosty and cold, otherwise uneventful, quickly becomes very much not that for the heroine du jour - Iris. Her phone lights up with the glowie app to end all glowie apps, TempleOS notifying her despite any silent mode the phone may be on. A couple of museum guests look over her way, though most just mind their own business, perfectly happy to look at founding father memorabilia, Mayflower replicas, and Revolutionary War uniforms fitted on neat mannequins. The notification is noisy, but quite simple: "PERPETRATOR SIGHTED - JANE RYAN - QUARTZ STREET - APPREHEND IMMEDIATELY - HIGHLY DANGEROUS."
Outside, Iris may notice that all indeed isn't well. She can hear the sorts of noises that befit a football stadium more than they do a boring museum street. The main entrance has her fellow security guards opt to lock the doors in a perhaps wise display of prudence, eyeing what goes on with some concern. Certainly she can see what appears to be quite many people all moving in exactly the same direction, a chorus of shouting and loud voices very much present indeed out there.
Finally something to help break up the monotony for once, Iris thought to herself. She fished out her Motorola-branded craphone and flipped it open, bathing the woman in the warm light of TempleOS. Reading through it quickly, the woman closed the phone, memorizing what was written there and then stepping out of the museum. It's noon, the night shift wouldn't be starting for half a day so she had time to spare, or kill as the case may be. Clearly, the source of the ruckus must've been the right place to start, Iris throwing caution to the wind and marching on towards it.
Outside, Iris might be forgiven for thinking she'd stept into the atmosphere of 1992 LA, or 2020 Minnesota perhaps. A throng of people of many ages and walks of life is gathered in what appears to be very, very real outrage. "TAKE THEM DOWN! TAKE THEM ALL DOWN!" Shouts to the tune of such and more ring through the air as unfortunate businessowners and bystanders get overrun - or, in a couple cases, get swept up in whatever anger captures these people. Iris can feel it too. Can feel a deep and instinctive at everything that is, simply for being; can feel the sense well up inside her that it ought to not be. Simple as. She lacks the time, perhaps, to get swept up in this; a low whistle shrilly resounds along with the mob's noises, and from not far away at all she sees a man more than twice her age wave, smirk, and take the mere two steps needed to tug at a sleeve.
"Hi! I was hoping you guys would be around for this whole mess. Kid got a little.. Upset." He laughs despite all the violence going on just down the street, down the pathway, quite relatively unbothered. "You do what.. You funny sun people do best. But here- a gift. From an enemy, surely." He opens up a hand, and in it lies a magazine for a pistol - "MODIFIED - AUSTRIAN QUARTZ" reads some print on the side, the offer coming with a complementary firm pat on the shoulder.
What a mess, the street was half-way down to being a riot, or worse. But hey, this kind of chaos got the blood pumping. There was a strange desire to join in, but there's a thought that runs through her head. Law and order have to be upheld, otherwise how would someone abuse their authority? The man that had came before her and presented her with a magazine was met with a smirk, alongside the words "Is she a friend of yours? Hope you won't mind if I have to do what I have to do."
The magazine was held and felt up, what a nice piece of equipment now found slapped into her firearm. Iris donned a giant smirk.
"Do I look like I'd expect you to pet a dog with that? Go- do your thing! Show me what you lot are famous for!" With a laugh, and another laugh soon after, the man lights up a cigarette while looking right on to Iris. He gestures along, on to the crowd, to the mob shouting about JUSTICE and DOWN! DOWN WITH ALL OF IT! without enmeshing himself any further. His cufflinks are particularly stylish - and stylized, as it happens, to look like tiny little hands. An enemy, perhaps, but likely not the reason that crowd is so loud, violent, and upset. Iris can see at its head the same person from the TempleOS notification - Jane Ryan herself really doesn't look subtle. A woman in her mid-twenties, hair too red to be in any way natural, quite white and with a pair of ostentatious hipster glasses on her face. Whatever rage sweeps up the crowd enthralled in all this anger seems to affect her also, expression certainly livid enough to match even the angriest looters and rioters. She carries no tools or weapons, and seemingly needs no such thing; a single kick has her shin collide, hard, into a lamppost, to the point the metal groans and goes to topple over just from the sheer force behind it.
With a final glance back at the phone to confirm some of the finer details of this enraged individual, Iris reached into her pocket to pull something that would make anyone that recognized it feel old: a pair of black earphones attached with a chord to her craphone: no wireless headphones here. Sucking in her teeth, Iris puts on a song and hum to herself, approaching the crowd with the same confidence a hitman would approach their mark.
From within her workbag came out the best kind of cover for a gun she could wish for: a copy of the Communist Manifesto missing quite a few pages, now used to cover the gun as she joined the crowd and marched forth, trying to near her mark. "Woke up this morning, got myself a gun. Your papa always knew you'd be the-chosen-one." She hummed to herself, apparently listening to the theme to the Sopranos for the time being.
Storefronts are vandalised, objects looted, insufficiently deferential bystanders roughed up and beaten for the crime of just not being all that angry. Iris can get the book, she can hum to herself, she can do what she wants to appear inconspicuous.. It's just a bit of a tough sell. Between her job, her bearing, her affiliations, her personality, and a certain je ne sais quoi, she can make it not at all far through the crowd before a couple of accusationary fingers point right over at her. Hands grab at her from the left, the right, even at her shoulders from behind. It is a GRAND OCCASION, in which loud voices raise about teaching them a lesson, that she should never have come here, can't believe people like that have the nerve-
Until a loud female voices calls for a "HOLD ON," and the anger in that crowd almost palpitates at the pause it's given. Miss Ryan herself seems to have noticed Iris, and beckons for her would-be captors to bring her on over. For all her lamp-post destroying and violent ways, she seems to have no quarrel with Iris. When some people holding bloodied bats and looted hoodies eye her strangely, she even tells them why:
"It's cool, it's cool, she's with us. Gotta be- just look at her. They've done all kinds of wrong by her, too!" This makes sense enough to the people hauling Iris her way that she's even released, and halfway shoved for the mob leader as she explains why clearly Iris would take their side. Duh.
That was true, Iris did as good of a job of hiding the fact that she was a glowie that she might as well be a young white man with a buzzcut wearing sunglasses and a sports shirt at a rally. "The fuck you think you're doing?" She asked of some of the people trying to grab at her, but relented once she noticed that she was being taken straight to the mob leader, somehow things always work out. There was a thought in the back of her head about the kind of mayhem and bloodshed that could occur if she decided to open fire, but those bullets were meat specifically for someone else.
Now before Miss Ryan herself, the target, Iris gives a quick nod and answers "That is right, sister! The system has taken me down a peg at every turn!" Iris holds up a fist, but then moves it to cover her face as if to shield it from something. The hand that held the firearm hidden under the red cover of her communist manifesto was raised as if to try and hold the book but instead pointed itself at Jane "How about this humidity?" Iris asked, the loud bangs of her firearm echoing out as she unloads directly into Jane's chest.
Some very short-lived, momentary anger is the first response, along with an astonishment that reverberates so intensely that Iris feels both emotion hit her square in the chest as did a full magazine of some particularly lethal ammunition. Jane dies with an expression of utter and complete shock on her face. How could Iris of all people not join her march of the wronged, of the downtrodden? With life fading from her rapidly, so too does all the rage that had swept these people up dissipate moment after moment. Pensioners awkwardly look at the radios they're hauling away, accountants look at expensive watches and realize they are late for their meetings, students glance at each other and just awkwardly try to shrug off decisions made in the heat of some particularly violent moments. For what might be cold-blooded murder, Iris and her act get almost ignored. Who wants to acknowledge that? A couple people can be seen dialing at their phones and backing away, but the people so readily trying to drag her off already withdraw as-is, and she has plenty of time and space alike to make herself scarce, also.