Encounterlogs
Kitties Odd Encounter Sr Isabelle 240807
In the mysterious and quaint Black Rose Cafe, nestled under the tumult of a stormy morning, Kittie finds herself in an odd encounter that unfolds into a narrative echoing the city of Haven's reputation for the strange and unusual. A hooded figure, pale and bruised, stumbles into the cafe, drawing Kittie's attention away from her tea and scones. This person's appearance—emaciated and visibly distressed—triggers Kittie's innate desire to help, a trait stemming perhaps from both her past experiences with abuse and her bloodline touched by angels. As she offers the stranger a seat at her table, the narrative subtly hints at a deeper, darker world beneath the everyday facade of the city, weaving in themes of vampirism and latent powers within ordinary individuals.
As the story shifts, the narrative intertwines with Tabitha's perspective, introducing her as she sifts through occult books in the back of the cafe. Her calm exploration is soon disrupted by the sensation of being watched, culminating in a confrontation with a cryptic figure demanding her blood for a ritual prophesied to open a door to another realm. The encounter escalates quickly, revealing a sinister plot involving this "Destined Host" and their belief in Tabitha's blood as the key to averting an apocalyptic future. Despite the danger, Tabitha cleverly defends herself, forcing her attackers to retreat and leaving her with more questions than answers. The story concludes with the police's arrival, but the ominous sense of being watched and the unresolved mysteries linger, suggesting the deeper currents of magic and prophecy still swirling beneath Haven's stormy skies.
(Kittie's odd encounter(SRIsabelle):SRIsabelle)
[Tue Aug 6 2024]
In Black Rose Cafe
Large columns support the high ceiling which has
a large stained glass roof that, in the day time
at least, dapples the small cafe below in shades
of rosy reds, greens and dark gray shadows. Each
of the black painted columns are ornamented with
leafy vines that wind their way around them. The
walls are covered from ceiling down with crimson
lake hued wallpaper, embossed in a subtle raised
pattern of more of the blooms that lend the shop
its name. From roughly head height the wallpaper
gives way to darkly stained wood panelling which
then gives way to similar dark hard wood floors.
In the center of the room is a circular counter,
inside of which serves as the hub for the little
cafe that offers patrons a place to sit and read
while snacking or sipping on some coffee or tea.
It is morning, about 77F(25C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside.
(Your target and their allies encounter the former thrall of a vampire who has been discarded by their previous owner, likely mind controlled into complete devotion the thrall wants nothing more than to return. It is up to the characters to either help them return, or stop them from doing so.
)
Kittie Sits at a table eating breakfast in these early hours. Her usual spot for various reasons; Not least of which being the double advantage of being on time for work to stack the shelves, which she's just concluded, and of course, the advantage of staff discount on a student income. There's a tea in one hand and a plate of scones on the table before her and she's only now fully waking, perceptive to the goings on as she people watches.
Tea and scones, if the accent didn't give Kittie away, then perhaps her method of breaking her fast did. There are people moving through the store, some taking advantage of a close breakfast and student discount, much as the young lady has, and others perusing the various books on offer in the store. Some yet are simply seeking shelter from the storm that batters the world outside.
It's one of these unfortunate souls who comes stumbling through the door, blown in on the wind and rain like they were little more than a leaf. They're largely covered in a heavy coat, with a hood up that hides their features as they lean against the inside of the store, catching their breath.
Naturally, such a figure isn't inordinately out of place, especially with the on-going storm, least so in the city of Haven. It is notable however, and though not so much that it's cause for Kittie to look up, she shifts, another sip of her tea masking the subtle glance over. She does nothing, for now. There's nothing suspicious to act on aside from the person being -so- wrapped up, so the objective thing to do is to wait and witness before making any hasty motion either way.
A fair point, of course. If there is any place in the modern world filled with hooded strangers running about, it'd be Haven. The town has built a reputation, and rightfully so, as a strange place filled with strange people.
This particular strange person staggers a little more readily into the business then, bumping into a few of the other people perusing books and sipping coffee. The hood slips, revealing the sunken features of a young man, his flesh pale and sickly, and eyes sunkened into a deep recess. There are purple bruises splotched against his neck in a kaledoscope of healing wounds.
This information as it's unveiled is perhapse more notable,, even within the city of Haven. Broozing isn't uncommon, there are a staggering amount of people who conveniently -fall down stairs- or who end up in curious spalunking accidents. Never the less, being so pale is often the sign of having been feed on, and the sunken eyes suggest stress, lack of sleep, or again, feeding. What then is the case with this citizen? It's a puzzling thing, for if it's just some human, it's likely deserved? No, that's callous, and Kittie is trying to avoid that- As unsuccessful as it's becoming to do. The staggering is likely causing somewhat of a fuss and that's more suspicious than even the broozing. People are so obsessed with aesthetics and physical well-being after all, and this man is inconveniencing on mass and in various ways. The staggering suggests weakness, possibly from the potential throttling, or feeding, of course, so naturally interested, the blond stands. Excusing herself as she parts thr croud, she moves to the figure, offering them a hand to a seat- And would you look at that, one of the seats at her table, should it be one they wish to take. She doesn't press. People in these situations don't often want attention drawn, and as a victim of multiple sources of abuse in the past, the blond knows that it's easier to -make- like there's nothing out of place. So then, the problem at hand reveals itself, the protagonist of the piece is unveiled, but is this the victim or victor, still having gotten the raw end. So naturally, she employs the three things she is good at. First, her soothing aura, that innate ability to heal via proximity. Second is the perceptiveness she has (2) and the third is to listen to the desires of those around her, focusing on the figure she is leading to her table. The desires tell much about a person, after all and in such an emotional state as this person looks, these must be rampent.
The bloodtrait of those touched by an angel in their ancestory is a curse, and a blessing both, depending on perspective, really. To constantly be unaware of whether the desires that you feel are your own, or belong to those around you would be maddening, if it were not for their innate ability to soothe over their own stress and suffering as well.
It's clear when Kittie approaches the stranger, and extends them a place to sit, and rest, that she wants to help them. Whether that was always her intent or not remains to be seen, and might only be discovered after serious self-reflection. Regardless, the young man accepts the seat, and slides down into it, fidgetting and picking at their nails as their hazey gaze skitters around the place. "T-thank you.." They blurt out, as if afraid that Kittie might be upset if they were to speak aloud.
(Your target has been approached by a member of the Destined Host who believes they are a key component in an ancient prophecy. They either want to enlist your target's help willingly or by force. The prophecy states that the blood of a chosen one will open a portal to the demon realm, bringing forth an entity powerful enough to protect the world from an impending apocalypse. Your target must either go along with the plan believing in the Host's intentions or resist and try to find another way to prevent the disaster.)
Having just walked in from the outdoors, Tabitha is still rather drippy and soppy wet from the torrential rains falling. She's found herself in the back room of the Black Rose, and while using the store as refuge from the downpour, is perusing the titles of the occult books on display. She has one tucked under her arm, though the title can't be seen by anyone.
The pitter-patter of rain is still audible in the silence of the Black Rose. Occasionally, the storm rages on, with lightning lighting up the dim atmosphere for a scant second, before the thunder rolls in, a the dull growl scattering forth. Alone, Tabitha is, at least for the time. At least for while the silence is held sacred. As she's dripping there though, book in hand, there for her is that odd feeling of being... watched?
Lost in some thought or another as Tabitha works her way through the titles of Occult books, there is a sense, like the hairs raising at the back of her neck. She turns her head slightly and darts to her eyes to the side as if to see whom or what might be causing that sensation. Of being studied and watched.
There is a sudden jump from Tabitha as the lightening strikes and the boom of thunder rattles the building for a second. Then she laughs. Laughs off the strange feeling. Surely it was just the static electricity building that caused the weird sensation.
As Tabitha's thoughts spring forth, eventually, she is no longer alone. The sound of a door opening and an umbrella being pulled closed greets her ears. Steps, soft, faint, they mesh well with the silent atmosphere of the bookstore. Still, Tabitha feels those eyes upon her. Watching. Studying. And it seems like whomever is staring is patient. No matter which way she turns, they're not visible. Until one glances at the window. There is a silhouette there, peering through the window, directly at the redhead. A flash of lightning erupts, illuminating, and whomever it was. They're gone.
Tabitha rubs at her eyes with another flash of lightening reveals itself and then the silhouette of a being. Just like a horror movie. They are there, then they are gone. She tells herself, "I'm just tired. That's all is." Murmured beneath her breath, she sets one book back into the shelf, back into the correct spot as if the woman would prefer order than to just stick it wherever on the bookcase.
The door opens again. These steps, almost impossibly so, they're even quieter. Whomever entered first is chatting up whomever is manning the cafe at the moment, seems to be that they're ordering tea. But the steps, those quiet ones. They're traveling through the store. Passing shelves. Black clothes can be seen, here and there, mere glimpses of some sort of tattered attire. Hard to tell if they're a man or woman. But as they pass through the shelves if one were to look at their face, it's clear. They're still staring at Tabitha. Sunglasses adorn their visage, with a face androgynous in nature. Hair swept back, black, with little grey streaks. Trenchcoat? Loose jeans. A fedora or... bowler cap? They move swiftly even when their steps are so... lightly placed. And they're practically zig-zagging around in their path. Getting closer, ever so closer to the red-head.
Suspicion has probably kept the reckless and fairly naive redhead alive to see twenty-six, and when those hairs begin to rise once more, Tabitha turns around and seeks to step out of the store, move around the few customers milling about while trying to also avoid the torrential rains. Her blue gaze finds the oddity in the room, and she's watching -them- now. Those ocean eyes scan over the attire. When there is a zig, she might zag, as if she tests whether this is the one whom she'd only seen through the window moments before.
As Tabitha rises to flee, placing faith in her skepticism, it seems the person, this 'oddity' flashes her a smile as they step along the book-shelves, only revealed by the gap there. And then they step forward, concealed once more by the array of shelves. They're certainly the one. But they're not following her. At least for now. Their steps have paused. And through the narrow gap of one bookshelf, the glint of sunglasses can be seen. Trained ever-so on the redhead.
Tabitha smiles back at the figure in black. And though it is not exactly following her as she makes her way from the back shelves toward the front lobby where a customer is purchasing an order at the cafe, she still catches the glimpse of him watching. "Hello?" she finally calls out, toward them.
Like a cuckoo bird, their voice rings out in greeting to Tabitha, meek and weak. Shy almost. "Hello?" that figure asks, their voice barely piercing the atmosphere that's oh-so-silent. "I need help," they state. Luckily for Tabitha, there is no desire, at least not in this moment, plucking the strings of her blood. Perhaps it is that, whatever this person, man, woman, thing, desires, changes far, far too swiftly. Or perhaps there is something far more reptilian and cold-blooded there.
Oh. "Oh," Tabitha say to the being. "Well, I don't work here but I can see if someone can come back here and help..." She looks toward the room, so close, and yet, so far. She chews lightly on her bottom lip. She stays positioned where she could find a retreat if need be. "What do you need help with?" she asks.
"Only you can help me, Miss Tabitha," the voice croons from behind the shelves, though this voice takes on... an almost sickly sweet air. Still, whomever this person is, they don't step out of the shelf. Whomever it is doesn't seem to want to move closer.
It would appear that Tabitha doesn't want to move closer, either. Especially ... "How do you know my name? Who are you?" She demands these answers, before her feet move in any one of the directions. "And why would I be the only one?" She's heard this before. Maybe multiple time, innumerable times. The witch takes on a stance that could be flight or fight. In her world, the two are similar enough.
The other person, who's been ordering at the cafe, a woman, she turns her head slightly to peer at Tabitha. And just as the barista moves along to make that customer's order, a smile is given. Almost mirroring the one from that terrible stranger. "Maybe you should go help him," the brunette urges, turning slowly to face the redhead. "Surely, it can't be that bad." As for the 'him' that lurks behind the shelves, he gives off no answer. But shuffling can be heard as he moves from one shelf to another, a desperate attempt to keep hidden as he tries to move closer to the cafe-area. It's a failure on the most part, he can't get closer without revealing his position. And at this point, his foot is visible, sticking out from behind a shelf that's a few seconds away from the cafe-area if one decided to sprint.
Really, it is just a matter of a snap of her fingers, or a click of her heels, though Tabitha wears white keds and not ruby slippers. She'd not need to sprint, though, without heels she might be able to beeline to the door fairly quick. Back out into the daylight, the rain, and --freedom? The brunette speaking to her draws her eyes away from the creeping creep behind the stocks. "What is this about?" she asks, as if now expecting that she will answer.
"Your blood, Miss Mattheson," the brunette states, that smile still etched upon her lips. "We would like a little... donation." The creep growls behind his hiding place, firmly planting the tip of his boots into the floor. "She's not going to give it to us, Eve, we need to take it."
"For what purpose?" Tabitha asks, her hackles (if she had them) going up. Hands, freed of books, clench at her sides, as if she's starting to draw the energy needed -- a power up so to speak -- to either suddenly do as the other did earlier. Be there. But then not. Or to strike, like lightening, at one of the two, should either rush her.
"To... open a door," the brunette states, flashing her wrist at Tabitha. Displayed there, a tattoo. A crimson hand, holding a blackened, thorned crown. "You see, you're a very special girl, and we need to use that specialness as a key to open a door." 'Eve', or so she's called, speaks with a hopeful, silky voice, as if to cajole the redhead to assist in whatever they're attempting to do. On the other hand, the creep, he still lurks behind the shelf. Tension there of course, as he steadies a hand as an anchor upon the side of the shelf. The glint of something metal just barely peeking out from his position.
Special. Doors, and Blood. Oh my! Tabitha has probably heard these types of things all before. "Blood to open a door to...?" she asks, not releases her stance. Those blue eyes scan between 'Eve' and the 'Creep' and to that glint of metal flashed.
"Do you really want to know where?" the one named 'Eve' asks, slipping the sleeve of her sweater back up to conceal her wrist. "We only need a small vial. Perhaps even less." The creep, despite Eve's attempts at negotiations however, seems to tire of all the talk. He's tensing. Ready. Highly telegraphed, perhaps, but who's to tell what may happen in the next few moments.
"Yes, I do. It matters." Tabitha says rather plainly to 'Eve'. "Considering it is my blood and you still haven't even said who you are or from where. I've never seen you before in my life." Maybe she has? It's really hard to say, truly. She looks beside her to the 'Creep'. "You should have him hold back or I'll drop him to the floor."
Eve seems to scoff a little, slanting her gaze. "I thought the tattoo might've cleared things up, you know?" she mutters, rubbing her face. The creep though, starts then, dashing towards Tabitha with dogged viciousness, snarling, frothing at the mouth. A dagger is in his hand, curved, serrated, vicious. The perfect instrument, it seems to extract as much blood from a victim as much as possible.
"I wasn't paying attention to your tattoos. I was too busy being stalked..." Tabitha says with a sudden twist. A hand is raised up and a fist it made, squeezing her fingers together with all her might so that her nails, short as they are, dig into her flesh to cause herself pain. But 'Creep' might feel something far more serious than a pierce of flesh that brings just a minor bit of blood where the hard nails break skin. Especially when she speaks in a foreign tongue to further along the ritual.
A panic attack would certainly and suddenly stop someone, and at the surprise of his current condition, 'Creep' as dubbed by Tabitha, suddenly collapses on to the ground, curling up into a ball. He nearly cuts himself with his own serrated blade, clutching at his chest. "Fucking... FUCK!" he screeches, and Eve looks none too pleased by how the situation is turning out. Especially as the Barista begins to return, confusedly glancing at the situation. And, logically of course, already calling the cops. "This isn't over," Eve growls, suddenly fleeing the scene, leaving her tea abandoned in favor of avoiding any repercussions for 'Creep's' actions.
Since the cops have been called, Tabitha takes to kneel by the 'creep' in order to 'act' like she's 'caring' for the being as it curls up on the ground. Instead, she's seeking to take his ritual knife from him while he is too distracted by his speeding heart. "I warned you," she whispers, before she calls aloud, "Call 9-1-1. This .... man .... is having a heartattack!"
The creep is all swearing and nothing else, it seems. He's not even registering the redhead's words, and with ease, Tabitha is able to take the dagger from him. It doesn't take long for the cops to arrive nor some clinic personnel to cart the man off. And so, now, the hedge-witch is left alone, with the barista as company, having successfully thwarted whatever dark and dismal thing was to occur. Though still, there is that feeling of being watched... and still, the storm rages on...
As the story shifts, the narrative intertwines with Tabitha's perspective, introducing her as she sifts through occult books in the back of the cafe. Her calm exploration is soon disrupted by the sensation of being watched, culminating in a confrontation with a cryptic figure demanding her blood for a ritual prophesied to open a door to another realm. The encounter escalates quickly, revealing a sinister plot involving this "Destined Host" and their belief in Tabitha's blood as the key to averting an apocalyptic future. Despite the danger, Tabitha cleverly defends herself, forcing her attackers to retreat and leaving her with more questions than answers. The story concludes with the police's arrival, but the ominous sense of being watched and the unresolved mysteries linger, suggesting the deeper currents of magic and prophecy still swirling beneath Haven's stormy skies.
(Kittie's odd encounter(SRIsabelle):SRIsabelle)
[Tue Aug 6 2024]
In Black Rose Cafe
Large columns support the high ceiling which has
a large stained glass roof that, in the day time
at least, dapples the small cafe below in shades
of rosy reds, greens and dark gray shadows. Each
of the black painted columns are ornamented with
leafy vines that wind their way around them. The
walls are covered from ceiling down with crimson
lake hued wallpaper, embossed in a subtle raised
pattern of more of the blooms that lend the shop
its name. From roughly head height the wallpaper
gives way to darkly stained wood panelling which
then gives way to similar dark hard wood floors.
In the center of the room is a circular counter,
inside of which serves as the hub for the little
cafe that offers patrons a place to sit and read
while snacking or sipping on some coffee or tea.
It is morning, about 77F(25C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside.
(Your target and their allies encounter the former thrall of a vampire who has been discarded by their previous owner, likely mind controlled into complete devotion the thrall wants nothing more than to return. It is up to the characters to either help them return, or stop them from doing so.
)
Kittie Sits at a table eating breakfast in these early hours. Her usual spot for various reasons; Not least of which being the double advantage of being on time for work to stack the shelves, which she's just concluded, and of course, the advantage of staff discount on a student income. There's a tea in one hand and a plate of scones on the table before her and she's only now fully waking, perceptive to the goings on as she people watches.
Tea and scones, if the accent didn't give Kittie away, then perhaps her method of breaking her fast did. There are people moving through the store, some taking advantage of a close breakfast and student discount, much as the young lady has, and others perusing the various books on offer in the store. Some yet are simply seeking shelter from the storm that batters the world outside.
It's one of these unfortunate souls who comes stumbling through the door, blown in on the wind and rain like they were little more than a leaf. They're largely covered in a heavy coat, with a hood up that hides their features as they lean against the inside of the store, catching their breath.
Naturally, such a figure isn't inordinately out of place, especially with the on-going storm, least so in the city of Haven. It is notable however, and though not so much that it's cause for Kittie to look up, she shifts, another sip of her tea masking the subtle glance over. She does nothing, for now. There's nothing suspicious to act on aside from the person being -so- wrapped up, so the objective thing to do is to wait and witness before making any hasty motion either way.
A fair point, of course. If there is any place in the modern world filled with hooded strangers running about, it'd be Haven. The town has built a reputation, and rightfully so, as a strange place filled with strange people.
This particular strange person staggers a little more readily into the business then, bumping into a few of the other people perusing books and sipping coffee. The hood slips, revealing the sunken features of a young man, his flesh pale and sickly, and eyes sunkened into a deep recess. There are purple bruises splotched against his neck in a kaledoscope of healing wounds.
This information as it's unveiled is perhapse more notable,, even within the city of Haven. Broozing isn't uncommon, there are a staggering amount of people who conveniently -fall down stairs- or who end up in curious spalunking accidents. Never the less, being so pale is often the sign of having been feed on, and the sunken eyes suggest stress, lack of sleep, or again, feeding. What then is the case with this citizen? It's a puzzling thing, for if it's just some human, it's likely deserved? No, that's callous, and Kittie is trying to avoid that- As unsuccessful as it's becoming to do. The staggering is likely causing somewhat of a fuss and that's more suspicious than even the broozing. People are so obsessed with aesthetics and physical well-being after all, and this man is inconveniencing on mass and in various ways. The staggering suggests weakness, possibly from the potential throttling, or feeding, of course, so naturally interested, the blond stands. Excusing herself as she parts thr croud, she moves to the figure, offering them a hand to a seat- And would you look at that, one of the seats at her table, should it be one they wish to take. She doesn't press. People in these situations don't often want attention drawn, and as a victim of multiple sources of abuse in the past, the blond knows that it's easier to -make- like there's nothing out of place. So then, the problem at hand reveals itself, the protagonist of the piece is unveiled, but is this the victim or victor, still having gotten the raw end. So naturally, she employs the three things she is good at. First, her soothing aura, that innate ability to heal via proximity. Second is the perceptiveness she has (2) and the third is to listen to the desires of those around her, focusing on the figure she is leading to her table. The desires tell much about a person, after all and in such an emotional state as this person looks, these must be rampent.
The bloodtrait of those touched by an angel in their ancestory is a curse, and a blessing both, depending on perspective, really. To constantly be unaware of whether the desires that you feel are your own, or belong to those around you would be maddening, if it were not for their innate ability to soothe over their own stress and suffering as well.
It's clear when Kittie approaches the stranger, and extends them a place to sit, and rest, that she wants to help them. Whether that was always her intent or not remains to be seen, and might only be discovered after serious self-reflection. Regardless, the young man accepts the seat, and slides down into it, fidgetting and picking at their nails as their hazey gaze skitters around the place. "T-thank you.." They blurt out, as if afraid that Kittie might be upset if they were to speak aloud.
(Your target has been approached by a member of the Destined Host who believes they are a key component in an ancient prophecy. They either want to enlist your target's help willingly or by force. The prophecy states that the blood of a chosen one will open a portal to the demon realm, bringing forth an entity powerful enough to protect the world from an impending apocalypse. Your target must either go along with the plan believing in the Host's intentions or resist and try to find another way to prevent the disaster.)
Having just walked in from the outdoors, Tabitha is still rather drippy and soppy wet from the torrential rains falling. She's found herself in the back room of the Black Rose, and while using the store as refuge from the downpour, is perusing the titles of the occult books on display. She has one tucked under her arm, though the title can't be seen by anyone.
The pitter-patter of rain is still audible in the silence of the Black Rose. Occasionally, the storm rages on, with lightning lighting up the dim atmosphere for a scant second, before the thunder rolls in, a the dull growl scattering forth. Alone, Tabitha is, at least for the time. At least for while the silence is held sacred. As she's dripping there though, book in hand, there for her is that odd feeling of being... watched?
Lost in some thought or another as Tabitha works her way through the titles of Occult books, there is a sense, like the hairs raising at the back of her neck. She turns her head slightly and darts to her eyes to the side as if to see whom or what might be causing that sensation. Of being studied and watched.
There is a sudden jump from Tabitha as the lightening strikes and the boom of thunder rattles the building for a second. Then she laughs. Laughs off the strange feeling. Surely it was just the static electricity building that caused the weird sensation.
As Tabitha's thoughts spring forth, eventually, she is no longer alone. The sound of a door opening and an umbrella being pulled closed greets her ears. Steps, soft, faint, they mesh well with the silent atmosphere of the bookstore. Still, Tabitha feels those eyes upon her. Watching. Studying. And it seems like whomever is staring is patient. No matter which way she turns, they're not visible. Until one glances at the window. There is a silhouette there, peering through the window, directly at the redhead. A flash of lightning erupts, illuminating, and whomever it was. They're gone.
Tabitha rubs at her eyes with another flash of lightening reveals itself and then the silhouette of a being. Just like a horror movie. They are there, then they are gone. She tells herself, "I'm just tired. That's all is." Murmured beneath her breath, she sets one book back into the shelf, back into the correct spot as if the woman would prefer order than to just stick it wherever on the bookcase.
The door opens again. These steps, almost impossibly so, they're even quieter. Whomever entered first is chatting up whomever is manning the cafe at the moment, seems to be that they're ordering tea. But the steps, those quiet ones. They're traveling through the store. Passing shelves. Black clothes can be seen, here and there, mere glimpses of some sort of tattered attire. Hard to tell if they're a man or woman. But as they pass through the shelves if one were to look at their face, it's clear. They're still staring at Tabitha. Sunglasses adorn their visage, with a face androgynous in nature. Hair swept back, black, with little grey streaks. Trenchcoat? Loose jeans. A fedora or... bowler cap? They move swiftly even when their steps are so... lightly placed. And they're practically zig-zagging around in their path. Getting closer, ever so closer to the red-head.
Suspicion has probably kept the reckless and fairly naive redhead alive to see twenty-six, and when those hairs begin to rise once more, Tabitha turns around and seeks to step out of the store, move around the few customers milling about while trying to also avoid the torrential rains. Her blue gaze finds the oddity in the room, and she's watching -them- now. Those ocean eyes scan over the attire. When there is a zig, she might zag, as if she tests whether this is the one whom she'd only seen through the window moments before.
As Tabitha rises to flee, placing faith in her skepticism, it seems the person, this 'oddity' flashes her a smile as they step along the book-shelves, only revealed by the gap there. And then they step forward, concealed once more by the array of shelves. They're certainly the one. But they're not following her. At least for now. Their steps have paused. And through the narrow gap of one bookshelf, the glint of sunglasses can be seen. Trained ever-so on the redhead.
Tabitha smiles back at the figure in black. And though it is not exactly following her as she makes her way from the back shelves toward the front lobby where a customer is purchasing an order at the cafe, she still catches the glimpse of him watching. "Hello?" she finally calls out, toward them.
Like a cuckoo bird, their voice rings out in greeting to Tabitha, meek and weak. Shy almost. "Hello?" that figure asks, their voice barely piercing the atmosphere that's oh-so-silent. "I need help," they state. Luckily for Tabitha, there is no desire, at least not in this moment, plucking the strings of her blood. Perhaps it is that, whatever this person, man, woman, thing, desires, changes far, far too swiftly. Or perhaps there is something far more reptilian and cold-blooded there.
Oh. "Oh," Tabitha say to the being. "Well, I don't work here but I can see if someone can come back here and help..." She looks toward the room, so close, and yet, so far. She chews lightly on her bottom lip. She stays positioned where she could find a retreat if need be. "What do you need help with?" she asks.
"Only you can help me, Miss Tabitha," the voice croons from behind the shelves, though this voice takes on... an almost sickly sweet air. Still, whomever this person is, they don't step out of the shelf. Whomever it is doesn't seem to want to move closer.
It would appear that Tabitha doesn't want to move closer, either. Especially ... "How do you know my name? Who are you?" She demands these answers, before her feet move in any one of the directions. "And why would I be the only one?" She's heard this before. Maybe multiple time, innumerable times. The witch takes on a stance that could be flight or fight. In her world, the two are similar enough.
The other person, who's been ordering at the cafe, a woman, she turns her head slightly to peer at Tabitha. And just as the barista moves along to make that customer's order, a smile is given. Almost mirroring the one from that terrible stranger. "Maybe you should go help him," the brunette urges, turning slowly to face the redhead. "Surely, it can't be that bad." As for the 'him' that lurks behind the shelves, he gives off no answer. But shuffling can be heard as he moves from one shelf to another, a desperate attempt to keep hidden as he tries to move closer to the cafe-area. It's a failure on the most part, he can't get closer without revealing his position. And at this point, his foot is visible, sticking out from behind a shelf that's a few seconds away from the cafe-area if one decided to sprint.
Really, it is just a matter of a snap of her fingers, or a click of her heels, though Tabitha wears white keds and not ruby slippers. She'd not need to sprint, though, without heels she might be able to beeline to the door fairly quick. Back out into the daylight, the rain, and --freedom? The brunette speaking to her draws her eyes away from the creeping creep behind the stocks. "What is this about?" she asks, as if now expecting that she will answer.
"Your blood, Miss Mattheson," the brunette states, that smile still etched upon her lips. "We would like a little... donation." The creep growls behind his hiding place, firmly planting the tip of his boots into the floor. "She's not going to give it to us, Eve, we need to take it."
"For what purpose?" Tabitha asks, her hackles (if she had them) going up. Hands, freed of books, clench at her sides, as if she's starting to draw the energy needed -- a power up so to speak -- to either suddenly do as the other did earlier. Be there. But then not. Or to strike, like lightening, at one of the two, should either rush her.
"To... open a door," the brunette states, flashing her wrist at Tabitha. Displayed there, a tattoo. A crimson hand, holding a blackened, thorned crown. "You see, you're a very special girl, and we need to use that specialness as a key to open a door." 'Eve', or so she's called, speaks with a hopeful, silky voice, as if to cajole the redhead to assist in whatever they're attempting to do. On the other hand, the creep, he still lurks behind the shelf. Tension there of course, as he steadies a hand as an anchor upon the side of the shelf. The glint of something metal just barely peeking out from his position.
Special. Doors, and Blood. Oh my! Tabitha has probably heard these types of things all before. "Blood to open a door to...?" she asks, not releases her stance. Those blue eyes scan between 'Eve' and the 'Creep' and to that glint of metal flashed.
"Do you really want to know where?" the one named 'Eve' asks, slipping the sleeve of her sweater back up to conceal her wrist. "We only need a small vial. Perhaps even less." The creep, despite Eve's attempts at negotiations however, seems to tire of all the talk. He's tensing. Ready. Highly telegraphed, perhaps, but who's to tell what may happen in the next few moments.
"Yes, I do. It matters." Tabitha says rather plainly to 'Eve'. "Considering it is my blood and you still haven't even said who you are or from where. I've never seen you before in my life." Maybe she has? It's really hard to say, truly. She looks beside her to the 'Creep'. "You should have him hold back or I'll drop him to the floor."
Eve seems to scoff a little, slanting her gaze. "I thought the tattoo might've cleared things up, you know?" she mutters, rubbing her face. The creep though, starts then, dashing towards Tabitha with dogged viciousness, snarling, frothing at the mouth. A dagger is in his hand, curved, serrated, vicious. The perfect instrument, it seems to extract as much blood from a victim as much as possible.
"I wasn't paying attention to your tattoos. I was too busy being stalked..." Tabitha says with a sudden twist. A hand is raised up and a fist it made, squeezing her fingers together with all her might so that her nails, short as they are, dig into her flesh to cause herself pain. But 'Creep' might feel something far more serious than a pierce of flesh that brings just a minor bit of blood where the hard nails break skin. Especially when she speaks in a foreign tongue to further along the ritual.
A panic attack would certainly and suddenly stop someone, and at the surprise of his current condition, 'Creep' as dubbed by Tabitha, suddenly collapses on to the ground, curling up into a ball. He nearly cuts himself with his own serrated blade, clutching at his chest. "Fucking... FUCK!" he screeches, and Eve looks none too pleased by how the situation is turning out. Especially as the Barista begins to return, confusedly glancing at the situation. And, logically of course, already calling the cops. "This isn't over," Eve growls, suddenly fleeing the scene, leaving her tea abandoned in favor of avoiding any repercussions for 'Creep's' actions.
Since the cops have been called, Tabitha takes to kneel by the 'creep' in order to 'act' like she's 'caring' for the being as it curls up on the ground. Instead, she's seeking to take his ritual knife from him while he is too distracted by his speeding heart. "I warned you," she whispers, before she calls aloud, "Call 9-1-1. This .... man .... is having a heartattack!"
The creep is all swearing and nothing else, it seems. He's not even registering the redhead's words, and with ease, Tabitha is able to take the dagger from him. It doesn't take long for the cops to arrive nor some clinic personnel to cart the man off. And so, now, the hedge-witch is left alone, with the barista as company, having successfully thwarted whatever dark and dismal thing was to occur. Though still, there is that feeling of being watched... and still, the storm rages on...