Encounterlogs
Konstantins Odd Encounter Sr Sean 240828
In the heart of a bustling morning, Rachel and Konstantin's encounter begins with a distraught woman, mascara-streaked and shoeless, frantically claiming her friends were consumed by demons. Her story, a mix of bachelorette party gone wrong and alleged demon encounter, prompts action from Konstantin and Rachel amidst the wary eyes of Havenites. While Konstantin plans a surprise for the disheveled woman, Rachel, with a mix of empathy and strategic manipulation, engages her, promising help and leveraging her apparent trust. Their dynamic, marked by Konstantin's brusqueness and Rachel's more nuanced approach, showcases a partnership balancing on the edge of concern and the necessity for discreet action in their unusual world.
As the story unfolds, Rachel attempts to calm and redirect the woman, promising aid and hinting at a safe haven within the Institute. Despite a near misstep when the woman spots Konstantin and mistakenly fears a mugging attempt, swift intervention from their associates ensures the woman's silence and safety. This intervention, executed with a blend of tranq darts and quick thinking, leads to her quiet removal. Rachel's efforts to frame the scenario as an enrollment in a special academy hints at a deeper network and resources at their disposal, albeit utilized with a heavy hand. The resolution, with both protagonists heading home to reclaim their disrupted morning, leaves a trail of questions regarding the fate of the distressed woman and the broader implications of their actions within the intricate balance of powers in Haven.
(Rachel's odd encounter(SRSean):SRSean)
[Thu Aug 22 2024]
In a Stylish White-Marbled Penthouse Kitchen
A southern archway beckons entry into the expansive Penthouse living area from the pristine white-marbled kitchen. The transition from sleek black flooring gradually ascends from shades of gray to soft, muted whites, unveiling a chef's sanctuary ensconced within the apartment's dark, silver-swirl adorned walls.
Equipped with double ovens, a stainless steel refrigerator, and an eight-burner electric cooktop of ceramic glass, this culinary haven boasts top-tier amenities. The cabinetry, fashioned in mission style from polished, dark oak, enhances the space's modern aesthetic, epitomizing elegance in its simplicity.
At the heart of the kitchen stands a sizable island, its smooth, monochromatic marble top complemented by storage cabinetry below for dry goods and concealed bins. Opposite, against the windows in an L-shaped configuration, a sleek bartop on a raised pedestal accommodates six barstools, inviting guests to savor the panoramic eastern vista.
It is morning, about 77F(25C) degrees,
God. What a perfect morning. The sun is shining, commuters are actually driving half-decently for Massachusetts, and people look so -happy-. As Konstantin and Rachel come racing downtown, people even signal to merge or turn out of their way. What could possibly ruin thi- Oh. That.
Rounding the corner out down by Rosie's, in full view of pedestrians, is a woman. She might have been pretty, twenty-four hours ago, her dusky, dirty blonde hair likely done up perfectly, her high-slit dress set just so, her heels and clutch a pristine, complementary match. Now? Her mascara is ruined, she's missing a shoe, she's been crying, and worst of all she's grabbing on to everyone she comes across. Pretty or messy, most Havenites are kind enough to stop and listen to a woman in distress. No one has called the HSD...yet. But they're watching. Some are giving her a wide berth. Others stop to try to help her regain her footing, ask her if she needs help. None of it matters.
"They're real, I swea' to God," Holy hell, that accent. That non-rhotic grate on the ears. Boston girl, to be sure. "Demons, they ate my friends, Sidney, Allie, Bethany, Michelle! We were out at the Succubus, y'know, 'cause Michelle's-" even in her fear, some latent bachelorette sway enters her voice, head lifted to the heavens to cry out - 'Gettin' MARRIED! WOO! And there was this guy, so, I mean, I mean, SO hot, y'know? We thought he was, like, one of those mail-a-strippahs that Sidney had called - the bitch - because she planned the whole thing, but but but"
Eyes on the target? Rachel, Konstantin? Do you have eyes on the target?"
Squinting into the distance, Konstantin is on the lookout well before they reach the target. You know what? For what -could- be happening in Haven right now, knowing its track record, this is still a pretty smashing result. Sure, his tremendous breakfast has been interrupted and he is struggling with a head-pounding hangover but ultimately the worst is in store for the poor girl that's making an issue of herself with all of her blabbing. For a moment, Konstantin even looks out east across the bay to take in the cliffsides on its south side as they dart over the bridge.
Turning the corner at Prospect and Hart, it takes very little time at all for Konstantin to spot the girl in question. He turns off the road just between Rosies and the petrol station, dismounting there. He waits for Rachel to join him in getting off before leaning in, gesturing in the direction of the shrill-voiced troublemaker; "See if you can get her to follow us behind diner. If not, keep her looking at you. I have little surprise for her."
He leaves no time for Rachel to agree or question the plan, setting off in the direction of Hart Avenue with the intent of turning left and approaching our bostonian beauty.
That bitch Sidney better watch it though; they've only got one hypnotist here and Konstantin tends to make up for his deficiencies with brutality.
Squinting into the distance, Konstantin is on the lookout well before they reach the target. You know what? For what -could- be happening in Haven right now, knowing its track record, this is still a pretty smashing result. Sure, his tremendous breakfast has been interrupted and he is struggling with a head-pounding hangover but ultimately the worst is in store for the poor girl that's making an issue of herself with all of her blabbing. For a moment, Konstantin even looks out east across the bay to take in the cliffsides on its south side as they dart over the bridge.
Turning the corner at Prospect and Hart, it takes very little time at all for Konstantin to spot the girl in question. He turns off the road just between Rosies and the petrol station, dismounting there. He waits for Rachel to join him in getting off before leaning in, gesturing in the direction of the shrill-voiced troublemaker; "See if you can get her to follow us behind diner. If not, keep her looking at you. I have little surprise for her."
He leaves no time for Rachel to agree or question the plan, setting off in the direction of Hart Avenue with the intent of turning left and approaching our bostonian beauty.
That bitch Sidney better watch it though if she decides to turn up again; they've only got one hypnotist here and Konstantin tends to make up for his deficiencies with brutality.
"Wait, no, Kostya--..." Aaaaaand he's off. That checks out, Konstantin jetting into the distance without inquiring after her opinion. she checks her bag. Rachel packs heavy. There's clinking as she moves through an odd (and frankly) suspicious assortment of items: vials of drugs, bags of drugs, loose articles of drugs... there's variety only in what an astute eye would pick out as arcane accessories. She pulls a book out, rifling through it.
Dammit.
If Konstantin's gone, the only way she's getting them out of his mess - /his/, she'd like to emphasize - is if she succeeds in executing her role.
She approaches the girl. "Hi." Her voice is tremulous. Not at all the way it was before. She's cultured it into something else. Something that might appeal. There are two that can play at this game. "I, um." Oh, how rude of her to assume that she can up and help, like she's some spectacular savior. "I'm sorry, you seem like you're- uh. Are you okay? Can I help get you anywhere?"
Rachel plops her sunglasses on while she's at it. It's getting bright out, now that it's 10 AM.
She's rounding the corner. We've got eyes on, but we can't send any more agents without making a mess. There's a short, static-y BZZT on comms before a different voice grabs hold and nearly shouts into Rachel and Konstantin's ears. We've got the fucker in custody. One of our lesser vassals, the asshole got 'hungry' and decided to go on a spree without oversight. One's dead. Two are in Webster, feed-sick - one in a coma. The other's AWOL. We've got scouts looking for her. This one's the last. There's already questions. Orderites are sniffing around the Clinic. We've even got Templars trying to poke their nose in - apparently two of them we're on a date at the Club and saw the initial feed. Make this quick and quiet. We don't need another mess on our hands.
"I SWEAR!" cries the girl, no time to give her name, for she's already fumbling down the block to her next victim, some pimply White Oak student, too entranced and full of hormones to think logically. Their eyes meet, a block and a half away, and he's already running to help her, the Romeo of his own love story, saving the dam- COCK BLOCKED, as Rachel comes swooping into view, and this woebegone bachelorette's eyes are only on Rachel. Hands, clammy, hot and wet, grab at Rachel's arms, pulling her in close the momen't she gets within arm's reach.
"I...I swear, I'm NAWT-" Ow. Like nails on a chalkboard. "Lyin'. I'm nawt! There was this guy, at the Suc, last night. Like...oh my god, so hawt, but he was he was he was he-" She can't get her words out, her breath REEKS of cheap vodka and cranberry juice and she has no sense of personal space. "Girl, girl, -listen-." Conspiratorial. So fucking loud. Likely hungover or feeding sick. "I'm nawt okay, or, well, no, I am, but I lost my other heel and they were a present from my girlfriend an- Oh my god, you are so pretty, who does your ha- wait wait wait."
In, deep, right to Rachel's cheek, she stage-whispers, "This demon guy came out of the shadows, like a suck-you-buss, and he stole my friends." So loud. The White Oak Wild Cat teen comes up behind Rachel to help. "And Sidney too. But fuck her."
It's -their- mess because they're doing this together, mmkay sweaty? As Rachel approaches past him, Konstantin lingers at the corner and reaches into his pocket. He grasps one of the tranquiliser darts in hand, carefully popping the safety cap off with his thumb before arming the dart's pressurised injection system with the careful manipulation of the retaining tab his thumbnail. You might be forgiven for assuming he's done this before, as a casual observer.
Rachel's sudden up close and personal introduction to the drunken mess clinging to her limbs is entirely risible to the russian, Konstantin shaking his head slowly with the beginnings of a smirk on his lips until his earpiece blares out again. He grunts darkly, turning his head aside into his shoulder to his his lips from any observant bystanders as he hisses down the line; "Dispatch, watch tone before I come to office and put fist down your throat. Stressful situation but don't forget your place, da?" With a tightly furrowed brow, he turns his gaze back to Rachel's situation and waits patiently for her to hold up her end (or not, depending on how much of a handful our queen of the night happens to be.
Konstantin touches his earpiece again, switching to another channel for a moment. "Simonov, Artyom. Head to clinic; be ready in case Order makes any problems with our patients there, da? Nice and quiet for now, I will let you know when to be breaking out the taser."
Oh, please don't touch Rachel. Her blazer's just been pressed, and her shirt is so clean. It's something of a feat to maintain her act. She'd probably like nothing more than to walk in the other direction. There's coffee on the corner. It's so close. Coffee doesn't come with all this screeching.
"I don't think that you're lying," she says gently in between the girl's monologuing. Unfortunately, right when she tries to continue, it's made clear the speech isn't at its conclusion. Today just isn't Rachel's day for being heard.
"Right, yes, I'm listening." Unfortunately.
"My hair--...?" Oh, they've moved on from that too.
"A demon guy," she repeats. "...What'd he look like?" And, just because it seems like this is the only way to hold the girl's attention, she adds, "I believe you."
Her eyes skid past her new friend, in search of Konstantin -- and then snap back.
There's some genuineness this time, for whatever reason, when she says, "It's okay. Let me help you. Are you new to town?" Important. Another question, hidden within that one. "Do you..." She looks over her shoulder at the teen. "...go to school with him?" They're probably strangers, from the looks of it, but Rachel's got to start somewhere.
Her sunglasses are lowered, just a smidge, so she can peer past the lenses. "I need you to keep your voice down and follow me, okay?"
"Da, ser," is returned to Konstantin's ear, a bit buzzy, as if wherever Simonov and Artyom are is filled with comms traffic. "We are rounding Elm. Is just taser, for now?" Simple question, of course. Massive implications. "Is likely there are many white knight bastards. And college is not good for brawl." The men go, as instructed, comms-silent, a faint ping on Konstantin's phone showing that his agents have arrived at the gates of the Institute. Shadowed beneath an awning few, if passersby take notice of Konstantin. One or two do seem to peer into the darkness, but for the most part, they're too busy either rushing for an early lunch break or watching the soap opera unfold on the block between Rachel, the girl, and the overly-insistent White Oak Student.
Click goes the dart. There's a shot, but it isn't clean. The girl has no balance, she's all over Rachel, bobbling and stumbling. She needs to be moved, else Konstantin risks hitting Rachel, or worse, hitting his target dead on and causing more of a scene.
Poor Rachel. This girl has found her lifeline and she is not letting go. Every other pedestrian had tried to comfort her or pass her along. Rachel has made the mistake of stopping to, at least in this girl's mind, actually listen. Help found, she isn't letting go easy and those nails PRESS into the sleeves of Rachel's blazer out of sheer, hungover desperation. "You don't?" Oh, dear. "You believe me? Oh, thank gawd. Black hair, beautiful blue eyes, like...6'4" but you know how guys always lie about their height, I bet he was wearing lifts AND everyone kept saying, 'Donna, you're crazy. Let the guy dance, stop whining, you didn't even want to come anyhow, are you -really- Michelle's friend'," Voice risen in derisive mockery of the ever-consistent bitching that happens at every bachelorette-party-gone-wrong since the dawn of time.
The girl wends around Rachel to peer at the college boy, lifting her right hand off of Rachel's arm to waggle a few fingers at him and -breathe- out vodka fumes with a "Heyyyy cutie, give me a second, this nice lady is helpi- Oh, do you play football? My college ex played football," Annnnnndd she's back to Rachel. "Don't you think football players are so...." She lulls. "...Oh, yeah, sweetie, of course, where do you wanna go?"
Right result. Wrong message. Now she clings to Rachel for a different reason. "
Konstantin watches Rachel's predicament with wry amusement, leaning back against the corner as he prepares the dart in the launcher. A small shake of his head in disbelief and a quick glance around before Konstantin catches Rachel's gaze when she gives him The Look:tm:. He pops off his shot as she plies her hypnotism, dart straying wide and skipping across the pavement a good way down the road, into the grass at the side of the road. A quiet curse hissed in russian as he steps back around the corner, opting to wait to see what Rachel does before he makes his next move. (Will emote again after Rachel
Honestly, shoot Rachel, Konstantin. It might be better for all.
...Then again, Rachel would have to cop the blame, if that's the way this goes. Can't give Konstantin any more reason to doubt her competence.
"Let's go to Rosie's," she says, ushering the girl forward. "You can wait around back while I get you some water and food, okay?"
The good thing about wearing this Bostonian like a barnacle is that Rachel doesn't have to do much towing; one way or the other, she's coming with. "You're okay," Rachel says. The act's long past. She means to help now -- really and truly. "I don't know anyone who looks like that..."
Before that can cause panic, she adds, "But I have a cop friend. I can ask if he's in the records." What an abuse of power.
Rachel keeps talking on and on and on - just a barrage of soothing nonsense - as they stumble their way over to where Konstantin is. Look at Rachel, please. Pay attention to Rachel.
When they're in reasonable proximity to Konstantin, she wheels the girl around, hands on her upper arms, as if to hold her still and composed. "You're going to be okay, but you can't go around telling everyone about what happened. If you promise you won't, I can help."
Easy enough for Rachel to command it -- but she doesn't. Something's up, Konstantin.
Konstantin draws back into the alleyway slightly as Rachel approaches his corner. This time, Konstantin primes a dart in his pocket, removing the cap and priming it for its intended purpose. This time though; Konstantin isn't so interested in employing the launcher. Unsure if his first shot connected he prepares the contingency, relying on Rachel to get the girl around the corner and out of sight.
Rachel is handling business so far, and he is content to let her continue, remaining silent just a pace behind the girl with one hand ready to sieze her and the other holding the dart tight in case she needs a little chemical persuasion to keep quiet.. provided our college lad of indeterminate football-team-membership doesn't make a problem of himself.
The dart goes wide with a 'plink' and the Wildcat behind Rachel flicks his head to the side, following its path. He's too slow on the uptake to dart in front of it in some ill-advised savior attempt but he does take a step forward to try to help Rachel lead the woman away. He bends down, offering a hand, and gets pricked in the arm for his trouble. "Oh, please, here, let me helll---" and the boy. Goes. Down. Thumping into the grass outside of Rosie's frontage. The woman latched onto Rachel is too caught up in her gaze to really be fazed by it, though she does turn to Rachel to scoff, and lean into her, as if they were the closest of girlfriends, to say "Pffft...footbal players. Can't keep it up in the bedroom, can't keep it up on the street."
"Food sounds AMAZING! I haven't had shit to eat since that stupid seafood dinner Sidney reserved for us last night - Michelle doesn't even like crab! Do you like crab?" A finger comes up, waggling in Rachel's face unevenly. "...You look more like a chowder girlie." She's not paying attention, following doe-eyed at Rachel's heel, latched on tight. "Gawd, you're so nice. And you know a cop? Cops are hot. Does he have a gun? Has he let you shoot his gun? I dated a security guard for a while and he let me shoot his tas-"
Wheeled and turned, the woman grabs onto the Rachel's cheeks, staring deep into her face. "...I promise. I'll ... I just want my friends back." A beat, and a grimace, "And Sidney too," she grouses, "I guess."
"Bitch."
"Ser? Ser?" Comms buzz, prickling at Konstantin's ears. Rachel's too. There's a problem big enough they've gone on the main channel. "One of the women, ser, she is waking. Orderites, they're trying to cordon her off for question. Your orders, ser?" Rachel's got the woman dead to rights. Reeled her in. Clean shot. But Simonov has some panic in his voice.
A quick buzz overrides Simonov's voice. "Shadow HQ, leave the boy. Don't exacerbate. Some Demigod sophomore. HSD has been contacted to clean him up. Focus on the woman. Research suggests she may be a passive. Unclear."
Konstantin catches sight of the boy dropping just as he pulls back around the corner. A slight wince and a cleching of his jaw; not out of frustration or sympathy but instead to stifle a singular laugh. He gets it together, moving back to give Rachel the space to bring the girl into some semblance of cover from the public and do what she can with her potent mind-crushing mastery of the hypnotic arts.
As the 'conversation' between the two women continues, Konstantin draws his hand from his pocket, lifting the dart enough for Rachel to see it and remains poised, ready to lurch forward and plant it in the hysterical girl's back. Some partygirls would be glad for a free dose of ketamine but it's definitely past dancing hours at this point.
His face twists as his operative reports back and he takes another step back, hissing at a whisper; "She's checked in as Hand patient, no? Order knows better than to interfere with- " before being cut off. He sniffs once and shakes his head, turning his full attention to Rachel and her new best galpal in the whooooole world with a final mutter of; "Withdraw. Bring van down to hart, might need subject pickup."
"No, I'm not big on seafood," Rachel says. She humors the girl. "You've got me pegged. Corn or clam chowder, all the way." The rest she doesn't bother commenting on. For all Rachel's patience - here Konstantin might scoff, were he privy to narrative voice - this is a peg above what she's willing to engage in.
The easiest thing to do would be to lie: her friends are fine. Rachel could convince her of it, make some flimsy excuse that she's forced to believe -- maybe that all of them ghosted her (led probably by Sidney), never to be found again. Their friendship was a practical joke, in the style of a 90s coming-of-age film.
She doesn't. She's loathe to, for some reason.
"Forget about your friends," she says. There's quiet authority in her voice; it brooks no disagreement. "You're going to go to sleep for a little while..." And here, she cajoles, stepping forward in a way that would encourage her to backpedal all the way to where Konstantin is. "...and then, after they let you go, you're going to enroll at the Institute. You're not going to make a scene. You're going to ask for Aleaxndra or Father Jack, and you're going to /learn/."
Rachel looks to past the girl's shoulder, to Konstantin. She's made his job just that smidge harder. Maybe he understands why.
As if on cue, a singular HSD squad car comes wee-wooing down Prospect, pulling up to the corner curb and throwing on the lights and hazards. Out jump two deputies, jogging over to the unconscious White Oak student. One plays crowd control as a few folks on their lunch break can't help but look away from one pretty woman leading another pretty woman away from a passed-out nineteen year old, all before noon. Reflective glasses and a hand at his holster keep them at bay, while the other plays his part. Reaching down to cuff the boy, jostling him Weekend-at-Bernie's style so as to not arouse suspicion further, he fishes in the kid's pocket and throws his wallet at his partner. "Hey, Sanchez. Take a look at this. Kid's not even twenty-one." Ah, everyone nods. That explains it. There's a time and a place for underage drinking, and, as everyone knows, Thursday morning is neither the right time, nor is downtown the right place. "God damn it," hams up Sanchez. "It's the college, Burnes, I swear to god. I'd love an actual call that isn't another D&D." Burnes nods, throwing the kid into the back of the squad car and doing a half-hearted reading of Miranda rights before getting into the car, Sanchez too, and backing into a K-turn to turn around and wheel off back to the HSD. Credits roll. Executive Producer, Dick Wolf.
"Yes, but they're-" And Simonov stops. Pickup is more important. Whisperers can handle the Clinic anyhow. "Da, ser. Hart. On our way," and then comms go dark and the little tracker on Konstantin's phone fairly quickly pings to show the two agents whipping down to the Bridge to get on site, fast. Keep them on target, Konstantin. Rachel's got a good hand on this. If you need to, drug her, but if Rachel can get her loaded without a fuss... If she's a Passive, better she's in our hands. Unnecessary reminder from the Shadows, perhaps, but it seems like HQ is a little peeved at a 2-in-1 all before noon on a Thursday. And who can blame them? Nobody likes cold borscht or warm caviar.
"Oh, yeah, me to-" Dead silence, nigh-zombified, the moment she and Rachel round the corner, near an alley where either Konstantin can subdue her, or his agents can bag and tag her. "...Institute? But I already graduat-" She tries, for a moment, to fight. "What about my girlfriend back i-" No fighting. Not from her, not to Rachel. "...Father Jack. Alexandra. Can you show me where it is? I lost my shoe..." Screeching down the corner before slowing to a crawl is an unmarked van. Tinted windows obscure the driver. Konstantin has a shot, but the woman is wavering. "...Oh. In there?" she asks, voice low, slurred, pointing at the van. "You know, my ex-girlfriend was a surfer and she had a van just like that..."
Tensing slightly as the HSD rock up, Konstantin leans aside against the wall a little more. No doubt the HSD would appreciate efforts to keep things quiet after the mess made by the errant vassal but the russian doesn't fancy having to deal with the hassle of explaining who they are and what they're up to when Rachel is on the cusp of great success. As the daring crime-fighting duo peel back out to the sound of the end credit music, Konstantin relaxes some and focuses back in on Rachel's handling of the girl.
Continuing the tense will-he-wont-he of the primed tranquiliser dart clutched in his pocket, Konstantin stands on pins as Rachel works her magic, currently dressed like a bank-robber and looming creepily behind the confused subject of Rachel's wiles.
Seeing the van pull up, Konstantin lifts his free hand, signalling with a flat palm to the goons in the cab to hold for now. He lets Rachel keep doing her thing.
See, Rachel He DOES trust her and her abilities. Absolutely and totally. That's not a sedative in his pocket though, ready to jab into Sidney's least favourite girlfoe at a moment's notice, not at all.
Tensing slightly as the HSD rock up, Konstantin leans aside against the wall a little more. No doubt the HSD would appreciate efforts to keep things quiet after the mess made by the errant vassal but the russian doesn't fancy having to deal with the hassle of explaining who they are and what they're up to when Rachel is on the cusp of great success. As the daring crime-fighting duo peel back out to the sound of the end credit music, Konstantin relaxes some and focuses back in on Rachel's handling of the girl.
Continuing the tense will-he-wont-he of the primed tranquiliser dart clutched in his pocket, Konstantin stands on pins as Rachel works her magic, the man currently dressed like a bank-robber and looming creepily behind the confused subject of Rachel's wiles.
Seeing the van pull up, Konstantin lifts his free hand, signalling with a flat palm to the goons in the cab to hold for now. He lets Rachel keep doing her thing.
See, Rachel He DOES trust her and her abilities. Absolutely and totally. That's not a sedative in his pocket though, ready to jab into Sidney's least favourite girlfoe at a moment's notice, not at all.
Zero care for that boy on the ground. The cops have it -- what, exactly, would she do that they couldn't? He'll be fiiiiine.
Her attention's for the one with the potential for saving. "Different kind of school," Rachel says to the girl. "Have you read The Name of the Wind?" Rachel appraises her new friend and, in doing so, revises her comparison. They might need something a little more basic. "Harry Potter. It's like that." That's a quick enough explanation -- and hopefully a persuasive one, too, with or without the use of her abilities. Every kid growing up wanted to live that particular fantasy. Of course, the White Oak isn't quite so pleasant; but no one need burst her bubble yet.
"We can walk you there," she says. A look, given to Konstantin, lurking in the shadows. He's going to have to stop skulking if they've any hope of playing 'friendly.' "..."
She probably shouldn't have said 'we.'
She fixes her little faux pas, best she can. "I was meeting him--" She out and says it, lifting her chin in Konstantin's direction. Put-that-dart-away-real-fast. "But we're heading back in that direction anyway. We'll drop you off at the gate. Straight to the enrollment office, okay? No stops. And you stay on campus until someone can talk to you."
See? No creepy van for the girl.
...Assuming she cooperates.
Rachel seems to prefer that she does, even if the alternative's strictly easier.
"Okay, yeah...." mumbles the girl as she's led by Rachel. "I always did wanna get my master's degree. Social Work. Or Dance." How....? No time to question. She's hooked. Maybe a little too tightly. She sways, tugging at Rachel's sleeve. "Oh, I like Harry Potter. Will you, do you, are you gonna- we'll do classes together? You'd make a GREAT Social Worker." A pause, as she drunkenly appraises Rachel. "And a fuckin' killer danc-" Wait. She swings her head, "We?" And then she clocks the shadow man, trying to push Rachel behind her. "Oh my god, run, it's a muggah!"
Konstantin may trust in Rachel's abilities but his men are a little squirrelier, after the race to, and down from, the Institue. Rachel lulls the girl with her voice just as Simonov throws on the emergency brake. Artyom throws the door wide, and click-pop goes his tranq and this poor little latent makes one last swipe for Rachel's assistance before her step falters. Konstantin's man catches the girl by the shoulders before she can brain herself on the lip of the van and drags her in quick without a fuss. Door stays open, though as Simonov cracks the window, looking out at Rachel and Konstantin. "Ser, Miss Rachel, ma'am, do you need ride?" He looks over his shoulder, where Artyom has begun binding and blindfolding the hypnotized latent, taking out a syringe to draw her blood for testing.
"Is room. Can drop you off on way back to Institute?"
There IS room, and time. A ping on both Rachel's and Konstantin's phones flicks in time with the clocktower chiming Noon. Well done. Prepping enrollment paperwork now. Take a breather. Get some lunch.
"Ser?" Simonov asks again, gesturing to the middle row of seats.
Just past noon. If Rachel and Konstantin rush, JUST maybe, they might be able to get back home and Konstantin can get his surprise, all before the borscht gets too gross to reheat.
Konstantin grunts as he endures the torture of momentary exposure to shrill bostonian shrieking, responding by slipping the dart from his pocket and taking two steps towards her and clearing the distance with semi-violent intent. Thankfully, before he can deliver his own dose of shut-up-and-sleep juice, he catches sight of Artyom lining up his shot. He pauses, making eyecontact with the woman again to hold her attention as the other russian delivers her medicine from afar with pneumatic force.
He tosses the dart aside into the grit and filth of the path beside the diner, not wanting to bother resecuring the cap and the safety clip. "Take her, we will drive back on bike", Konstantin assures the goons. They've outdone themselves today, maybe he'll have to supply a little high end booze as a reward. That's like the russian equivalent of a corporate america style pizza party, right?
He shakes his head at Rachel a little bit, snorting amusedly; "Come on, Chowdergirl, let's go home. I want my breakfast."
It's for the best. Rachel can't sit next to that through class. Imagine how her grades would slip. She follows along after Konstantin, and as they go, fall back into their normal pattern. "'Miss Rachel,'" she tells him, in an effort to have him learn by osmosis. "/They/ know." The goons. Is Konstantin worse than a goon? "Give me a little respect."
She doth hold dominion over the breakfast, so he should really be listening to her.
"Da, Ser," says Simonov, "Good day, Miss Rachel," and the windows roll up and door slams shut. The two men drive off, quick and quiet, northwards towards the Institute. Likely they'll want more than liquor. It is a capitalist society after all. America has corrupted them.
Onto the bike Konstantin and Rachel go, off to enjoy Rachel's hard work.
Konstantin concedes with a nod and a sigh. Alright. Credit where credit is due. "Miss Chowdergirl", Konstantin corrects, soundly reprimanded. He smirks aside to her with an amused roll of his eyes
"Put helmet on." Hah.
Rachel puts the goddamned helmet on. She's going to throw it down the street if Konstantin keeps at it. "I hate you," she tells him. She has the audacity to thump him on the back of the head once they're on the bike and he's preoccupied with starting up.
No problem there, Konstantin keeps the boys well fed so they can keep gooning to their heart's content.
OOC And scene! "Y'all can leave through the DOWN door. Thanks so much!"
As the story unfolds, Rachel attempts to calm and redirect the woman, promising aid and hinting at a safe haven within the Institute. Despite a near misstep when the woman spots Konstantin and mistakenly fears a mugging attempt, swift intervention from their associates ensures the woman's silence and safety. This intervention, executed with a blend of tranq darts and quick thinking, leads to her quiet removal. Rachel's efforts to frame the scenario as an enrollment in a special academy hints at a deeper network and resources at their disposal, albeit utilized with a heavy hand. The resolution, with both protagonists heading home to reclaim their disrupted morning, leaves a trail of questions regarding the fate of the distressed woman and the broader implications of their actions within the intricate balance of powers in Haven.
(Rachel's odd encounter(SRSean):SRSean)
[Thu Aug 22 2024]
In a Stylish White-Marbled Penthouse Kitchen
A southern archway beckons entry into the expansive Penthouse living area from the pristine white-marbled kitchen. The transition from sleek black flooring gradually ascends from shades of gray to soft, muted whites, unveiling a chef's sanctuary ensconced within the apartment's dark, silver-swirl adorned walls.
Equipped with double ovens, a stainless steel refrigerator, and an eight-burner electric cooktop of ceramic glass, this culinary haven boasts top-tier amenities. The cabinetry, fashioned in mission style from polished, dark oak, enhances the space's modern aesthetic, epitomizing elegance in its simplicity.
At the heart of the kitchen stands a sizable island, its smooth, monochromatic marble top complemented by storage cabinetry below for dry goods and concealed bins. Opposite, against the windows in an L-shaped configuration, a sleek bartop on a raised pedestal accommodates six barstools, inviting guests to savor the panoramic eastern vista.
It is morning, about 77F(25C) degrees,
God. What a perfect morning. The sun is shining, commuters are actually driving half-decently for Massachusetts, and people look so -happy-. As Konstantin and Rachel come racing downtown, people even signal to merge or turn out of their way. What could possibly ruin thi- Oh. That.
Rounding the corner out down by Rosie's, in full view of pedestrians, is a woman. She might have been pretty, twenty-four hours ago, her dusky, dirty blonde hair likely done up perfectly, her high-slit dress set just so, her heels and clutch a pristine, complementary match. Now? Her mascara is ruined, she's missing a shoe, she's been crying, and worst of all she's grabbing on to everyone she comes across. Pretty or messy, most Havenites are kind enough to stop and listen to a woman in distress. No one has called the HSD...yet. But they're watching. Some are giving her a wide berth. Others stop to try to help her regain her footing, ask her if she needs help. None of it matters.
"They're real, I swea' to God," Holy hell, that accent. That non-rhotic grate on the ears. Boston girl, to be sure. "Demons, they ate my friends, Sidney, Allie, Bethany, Michelle! We were out at the Succubus, y'know, 'cause Michelle's-" even in her fear, some latent bachelorette sway enters her voice, head lifted to the heavens to cry out - 'Gettin' MARRIED! WOO! And there was this guy, so, I mean, I mean, SO hot, y'know? We thought he was, like, one of those mail-a-strippahs that Sidney had called - the bitch - because she planned the whole thing, but but but"
Eyes on the target? Rachel, Konstantin? Do you have eyes on the target?"
Squinting into the distance, Konstantin is on the lookout well before they reach the target. You know what? For what -could- be happening in Haven right now, knowing its track record, this is still a pretty smashing result. Sure, his tremendous breakfast has been interrupted and he is struggling with a head-pounding hangover but ultimately the worst is in store for the poor girl that's making an issue of herself with all of her blabbing. For a moment, Konstantin even looks out east across the bay to take in the cliffsides on its south side as they dart over the bridge.
Turning the corner at Prospect and Hart, it takes very little time at all for Konstantin to spot the girl in question. He turns off the road just between Rosies and the petrol station, dismounting there. He waits for Rachel to join him in getting off before leaning in, gesturing in the direction of the shrill-voiced troublemaker; "See if you can get her to follow us behind diner. If not, keep her looking at you. I have little surprise for her."
He leaves no time for Rachel to agree or question the plan, setting off in the direction of Hart Avenue with the intent of turning left and approaching our bostonian beauty.
That bitch Sidney better watch it though; they've only got one hypnotist here and Konstantin tends to make up for his deficiencies with brutality.
Squinting into the distance, Konstantin is on the lookout well before they reach the target. You know what? For what -could- be happening in Haven right now, knowing its track record, this is still a pretty smashing result. Sure, his tremendous breakfast has been interrupted and he is struggling with a head-pounding hangover but ultimately the worst is in store for the poor girl that's making an issue of herself with all of her blabbing. For a moment, Konstantin even looks out east across the bay to take in the cliffsides on its south side as they dart over the bridge.
Turning the corner at Prospect and Hart, it takes very little time at all for Konstantin to spot the girl in question. He turns off the road just between Rosies and the petrol station, dismounting there. He waits for Rachel to join him in getting off before leaning in, gesturing in the direction of the shrill-voiced troublemaker; "See if you can get her to follow us behind diner. If not, keep her looking at you. I have little surprise for her."
He leaves no time for Rachel to agree or question the plan, setting off in the direction of Hart Avenue with the intent of turning left and approaching our bostonian beauty.
That bitch Sidney better watch it though if she decides to turn up again; they've only got one hypnotist here and Konstantin tends to make up for his deficiencies with brutality.
"Wait, no, Kostya--..." Aaaaaand he's off. That checks out, Konstantin jetting into the distance without inquiring after her opinion. she checks her bag. Rachel packs heavy. There's clinking as she moves through an odd (and frankly) suspicious assortment of items: vials of drugs, bags of drugs, loose articles of drugs... there's variety only in what an astute eye would pick out as arcane accessories. She pulls a book out, rifling through it.
Dammit.
If Konstantin's gone, the only way she's getting them out of his mess - /his/, she'd like to emphasize - is if she succeeds in executing her role.
She approaches the girl. "Hi." Her voice is tremulous. Not at all the way it was before. She's cultured it into something else. Something that might appeal. There are two that can play at this game. "I, um." Oh, how rude of her to assume that she can up and help, like she's some spectacular savior. "I'm sorry, you seem like you're- uh. Are you okay? Can I help get you anywhere?"
Rachel plops her sunglasses on while she's at it. It's getting bright out, now that it's 10 AM.
She's rounding the corner. We've got eyes on, but we can't send any more agents without making a mess. There's a short, static-y BZZT on comms before a different voice grabs hold and nearly shouts into Rachel and Konstantin's ears. We've got the fucker in custody. One of our lesser vassals, the asshole got 'hungry' and decided to go on a spree without oversight. One's dead. Two are in Webster, feed-sick - one in a coma. The other's AWOL. We've got scouts looking for her. This one's the last. There's already questions. Orderites are sniffing around the Clinic. We've even got Templars trying to poke their nose in - apparently two of them we're on a date at the Club and saw the initial feed. Make this quick and quiet. We don't need another mess on our hands.
"I SWEAR!" cries the girl, no time to give her name, for she's already fumbling down the block to her next victim, some pimply White Oak student, too entranced and full of hormones to think logically. Their eyes meet, a block and a half away, and he's already running to help her, the Romeo of his own love story, saving the dam- COCK BLOCKED, as Rachel comes swooping into view, and this woebegone bachelorette's eyes are only on Rachel. Hands, clammy, hot and wet, grab at Rachel's arms, pulling her in close the momen't she gets within arm's reach.
"I...I swear, I'm NAWT-" Ow. Like nails on a chalkboard. "Lyin'. I'm nawt! There was this guy, at the Suc, last night. Like...oh my god, so hawt, but he was he was he was he-" She can't get her words out, her breath REEKS of cheap vodka and cranberry juice and she has no sense of personal space. "Girl, girl, -listen-." Conspiratorial. So fucking loud. Likely hungover or feeding sick. "I'm nawt okay, or, well, no, I am, but I lost my other heel and they were a present from my girlfriend an- Oh my god, you are so pretty, who does your ha- wait wait wait."
In, deep, right to Rachel's cheek, she stage-whispers, "This demon guy came out of the shadows, like a suck-you-buss, and he stole my friends." So loud. The White Oak Wild Cat teen comes up behind Rachel to help. "And Sidney too. But fuck her."
It's -their- mess because they're doing this together, mmkay sweaty? As Rachel approaches past him, Konstantin lingers at the corner and reaches into his pocket. He grasps one of the tranquiliser darts in hand, carefully popping the safety cap off with his thumb before arming the dart's pressurised injection system with the careful manipulation of the retaining tab his thumbnail. You might be forgiven for assuming he's done this before, as a casual observer.
Rachel's sudden up close and personal introduction to the drunken mess clinging to her limbs is entirely risible to the russian, Konstantin shaking his head slowly with the beginnings of a smirk on his lips until his earpiece blares out again. He grunts darkly, turning his head aside into his shoulder to his his lips from any observant bystanders as he hisses down the line; "Dispatch, watch tone before I come to office and put fist down your throat. Stressful situation but don't forget your place, da?" With a tightly furrowed brow, he turns his gaze back to Rachel's situation and waits patiently for her to hold up her end (or not, depending on how much of a handful our queen of the night happens to be.
Konstantin touches his earpiece again, switching to another channel for a moment. "Simonov, Artyom. Head to clinic; be ready in case Order makes any problems with our patients there, da? Nice and quiet for now, I will let you know when to be breaking out the taser."
Oh, please don't touch Rachel. Her blazer's just been pressed, and her shirt is so clean. It's something of a feat to maintain her act. She'd probably like nothing more than to walk in the other direction. There's coffee on the corner. It's so close. Coffee doesn't come with all this screeching.
"I don't think that you're lying," she says gently in between the girl's monologuing. Unfortunately, right when she tries to continue, it's made clear the speech isn't at its conclusion. Today just isn't Rachel's day for being heard.
"Right, yes, I'm listening." Unfortunately.
"My hair--...?" Oh, they've moved on from that too.
"A demon guy," she repeats. "...What'd he look like?" And, just because it seems like this is the only way to hold the girl's attention, she adds, "I believe you."
Her eyes skid past her new friend, in search of Konstantin -- and then snap back.
There's some genuineness this time, for whatever reason, when she says, "It's okay. Let me help you. Are you new to town?" Important. Another question, hidden within that one. "Do you..." She looks over her shoulder at the teen. "...go to school with him?" They're probably strangers, from the looks of it, but Rachel's got to start somewhere.
Her sunglasses are lowered, just a smidge, so she can peer past the lenses. "I need you to keep your voice down and follow me, okay?"
"Da, ser," is returned to Konstantin's ear, a bit buzzy, as if wherever Simonov and Artyom are is filled with comms traffic. "We are rounding Elm. Is just taser, for now?" Simple question, of course. Massive implications. "Is likely there are many white knight bastards. And college is not good for brawl." The men go, as instructed, comms-silent, a faint ping on Konstantin's phone showing that his agents have arrived at the gates of the Institute. Shadowed beneath an awning few, if passersby take notice of Konstantin. One or two do seem to peer into the darkness, but for the most part, they're too busy either rushing for an early lunch break or watching the soap opera unfold on the block between Rachel, the girl, and the overly-insistent White Oak Student.
Click goes the dart. There's a shot, but it isn't clean. The girl has no balance, she's all over Rachel, bobbling and stumbling. She needs to be moved, else Konstantin risks hitting Rachel, or worse, hitting his target dead on and causing more of a scene.
Poor Rachel. This girl has found her lifeline and she is not letting go. Every other pedestrian had tried to comfort her or pass her along. Rachel has made the mistake of stopping to, at least in this girl's mind, actually listen. Help found, she isn't letting go easy and those nails PRESS into the sleeves of Rachel's blazer out of sheer, hungover desperation. "You don't?" Oh, dear. "You believe me? Oh, thank gawd. Black hair, beautiful blue eyes, like...6'4" but you know how guys always lie about their height, I bet he was wearing lifts AND everyone kept saying, 'Donna, you're crazy. Let the guy dance, stop whining, you didn't even want to come anyhow, are you -really- Michelle's friend'," Voice risen in derisive mockery of the ever-consistent bitching that happens at every bachelorette-party-gone-wrong since the dawn of time.
The girl wends around Rachel to peer at the college boy, lifting her right hand off of Rachel's arm to waggle a few fingers at him and -breathe- out vodka fumes with a "Heyyyy cutie, give me a second, this nice lady is helpi- Oh, do you play football? My college ex played football," Annnnnndd she's back to Rachel. "Don't you think football players are so...." She lulls. "...Oh, yeah, sweetie, of course, where do you wanna go?"
Right result. Wrong message. Now she clings to Rachel for a different reason. "
Konstantin watches Rachel's predicament with wry amusement, leaning back against the corner as he prepares the dart in the launcher. A small shake of his head in disbelief and a quick glance around before Konstantin catches Rachel's gaze when she gives him The Look:tm:. He pops off his shot as she plies her hypnotism, dart straying wide and skipping across the pavement a good way down the road, into the grass at the side of the road. A quiet curse hissed in russian as he steps back around the corner, opting to wait to see what Rachel does before he makes his next move. (Will emote again after Rachel
Honestly, shoot Rachel, Konstantin. It might be better for all.
...Then again, Rachel would have to cop the blame, if that's the way this goes. Can't give Konstantin any more reason to doubt her competence.
"Let's go to Rosie's," she says, ushering the girl forward. "You can wait around back while I get you some water and food, okay?"
The good thing about wearing this Bostonian like a barnacle is that Rachel doesn't have to do much towing; one way or the other, she's coming with. "You're okay," Rachel says. The act's long past. She means to help now -- really and truly. "I don't know anyone who looks like that..."
Before that can cause panic, she adds, "But I have a cop friend. I can ask if he's in the records." What an abuse of power.
Rachel keeps talking on and on and on - just a barrage of soothing nonsense - as they stumble their way over to where Konstantin is. Look at Rachel, please. Pay attention to Rachel.
When they're in reasonable proximity to Konstantin, she wheels the girl around, hands on her upper arms, as if to hold her still and composed. "You're going to be okay, but you can't go around telling everyone about what happened. If you promise you won't, I can help."
Easy enough for Rachel to command it -- but she doesn't. Something's up, Konstantin.
Konstantin draws back into the alleyway slightly as Rachel approaches his corner. This time, Konstantin primes a dart in his pocket, removing the cap and priming it for its intended purpose. This time though; Konstantin isn't so interested in employing the launcher. Unsure if his first shot connected he prepares the contingency, relying on Rachel to get the girl around the corner and out of sight.
Rachel is handling business so far, and he is content to let her continue, remaining silent just a pace behind the girl with one hand ready to sieze her and the other holding the dart tight in case she needs a little chemical persuasion to keep quiet.. provided our college lad of indeterminate football-team-membership doesn't make a problem of himself.
The dart goes wide with a 'plink' and the Wildcat behind Rachel flicks his head to the side, following its path. He's too slow on the uptake to dart in front of it in some ill-advised savior attempt but he does take a step forward to try to help Rachel lead the woman away. He bends down, offering a hand, and gets pricked in the arm for his trouble. "Oh, please, here, let me helll---" and the boy. Goes. Down. Thumping into the grass outside of Rosie's frontage. The woman latched onto Rachel is too caught up in her gaze to really be fazed by it, though she does turn to Rachel to scoff, and lean into her, as if they were the closest of girlfriends, to say "Pffft...footbal players. Can't keep it up in the bedroom, can't keep it up on the street."
"Food sounds AMAZING! I haven't had shit to eat since that stupid seafood dinner Sidney reserved for us last night - Michelle doesn't even like crab! Do you like crab?" A finger comes up, waggling in Rachel's face unevenly. "...You look more like a chowder girlie." She's not paying attention, following doe-eyed at Rachel's heel, latched on tight. "Gawd, you're so nice. And you know a cop? Cops are hot. Does he have a gun? Has he let you shoot his gun? I dated a security guard for a while and he let me shoot his tas-"
Wheeled and turned, the woman grabs onto the Rachel's cheeks, staring deep into her face. "...I promise. I'll ... I just want my friends back." A beat, and a grimace, "And Sidney too," she grouses, "I guess."
"Bitch."
"Ser? Ser?" Comms buzz, prickling at Konstantin's ears. Rachel's too. There's a problem big enough they've gone on the main channel. "One of the women, ser, she is waking. Orderites, they're trying to cordon her off for question. Your orders, ser?" Rachel's got the woman dead to rights. Reeled her in. Clean shot. But Simonov has some panic in his voice.
A quick buzz overrides Simonov's voice. "Shadow HQ, leave the boy. Don't exacerbate. Some Demigod sophomore. HSD has been contacted to clean him up. Focus on the woman. Research suggests she may be a passive. Unclear."
Konstantin catches sight of the boy dropping just as he pulls back around the corner. A slight wince and a cleching of his jaw; not out of frustration or sympathy but instead to stifle a singular laugh. He gets it together, moving back to give Rachel the space to bring the girl into some semblance of cover from the public and do what she can with her potent mind-crushing mastery of the hypnotic arts.
As the 'conversation' between the two women continues, Konstantin draws his hand from his pocket, lifting the dart enough for Rachel to see it and remains poised, ready to lurch forward and plant it in the hysterical girl's back. Some partygirls would be glad for a free dose of ketamine but it's definitely past dancing hours at this point.
His face twists as his operative reports back and he takes another step back, hissing at a whisper; "She's checked in as Hand patient, no? Order knows better than to interfere with- " before being cut off. He sniffs once and shakes his head, turning his full attention to Rachel and her new best galpal in the whooooole world with a final mutter of; "Withdraw. Bring van down to hart, might need subject pickup."
"No, I'm not big on seafood," Rachel says. She humors the girl. "You've got me pegged. Corn or clam chowder, all the way." The rest she doesn't bother commenting on. For all Rachel's patience - here Konstantin might scoff, were he privy to narrative voice - this is a peg above what she's willing to engage in.
The easiest thing to do would be to lie: her friends are fine. Rachel could convince her of it, make some flimsy excuse that she's forced to believe -- maybe that all of them ghosted her (led probably by Sidney), never to be found again. Their friendship was a practical joke, in the style of a 90s coming-of-age film.
She doesn't. She's loathe to, for some reason.
"Forget about your friends," she says. There's quiet authority in her voice; it brooks no disagreement. "You're going to go to sleep for a little while..." And here, she cajoles, stepping forward in a way that would encourage her to backpedal all the way to where Konstantin is. "...and then, after they let you go, you're going to enroll at the Institute. You're not going to make a scene. You're going to ask for Aleaxndra or Father Jack, and you're going to /learn/."
Rachel looks to past the girl's shoulder, to Konstantin. She's made his job just that smidge harder. Maybe he understands why.
As if on cue, a singular HSD squad car comes wee-wooing down Prospect, pulling up to the corner curb and throwing on the lights and hazards. Out jump two deputies, jogging over to the unconscious White Oak student. One plays crowd control as a few folks on their lunch break can't help but look away from one pretty woman leading another pretty woman away from a passed-out nineteen year old, all before noon. Reflective glasses and a hand at his holster keep them at bay, while the other plays his part. Reaching down to cuff the boy, jostling him Weekend-at-Bernie's style so as to not arouse suspicion further, he fishes in the kid's pocket and throws his wallet at his partner. "Hey, Sanchez. Take a look at this. Kid's not even twenty-one." Ah, everyone nods. That explains it. There's a time and a place for underage drinking, and, as everyone knows, Thursday morning is neither the right time, nor is downtown the right place. "God damn it," hams up Sanchez. "It's the college, Burnes, I swear to god. I'd love an actual call that isn't another D&D." Burnes nods, throwing the kid into the back of the squad car and doing a half-hearted reading of Miranda rights before getting into the car, Sanchez too, and backing into a K-turn to turn around and wheel off back to the HSD. Credits roll. Executive Producer, Dick Wolf.
"Yes, but they're-" And Simonov stops. Pickup is more important. Whisperers can handle the Clinic anyhow. "Da, ser. Hart. On our way," and then comms go dark and the little tracker on Konstantin's phone fairly quickly pings to show the two agents whipping down to the Bridge to get on site, fast. Keep them on target, Konstantin. Rachel's got a good hand on this. If you need to, drug her, but if Rachel can get her loaded without a fuss... If she's a Passive, better she's in our hands. Unnecessary reminder from the Shadows, perhaps, but it seems like HQ is a little peeved at a 2-in-1 all before noon on a Thursday. And who can blame them? Nobody likes cold borscht or warm caviar.
"Oh, yeah, me to-" Dead silence, nigh-zombified, the moment she and Rachel round the corner, near an alley where either Konstantin can subdue her, or his agents can bag and tag her. "...Institute? But I already graduat-" She tries, for a moment, to fight. "What about my girlfriend back i-" No fighting. Not from her, not to Rachel. "...Father Jack. Alexandra. Can you show me where it is? I lost my shoe..." Screeching down the corner before slowing to a crawl is an unmarked van. Tinted windows obscure the driver. Konstantin has a shot, but the woman is wavering. "...Oh. In there?" she asks, voice low, slurred, pointing at the van. "You know, my ex-girlfriend was a surfer and she had a van just like that..."
Tensing slightly as the HSD rock up, Konstantin leans aside against the wall a little more. No doubt the HSD would appreciate efforts to keep things quiet after the mess made by the errant vassal but the russian doesn't fancy having to deal with the hassle of explaining who they are and what they're up to when Rachel is on the cusp of great success. As the daring crime-fighting duo peel back out to the sound of the end credit music, Konstantin relaxes some and focuses back in on Rachel's handling of the girl.
Continuing the tense will-he-wont-he of the primed tranquiliser dart clutched in his pocket, Konstantin stands on pins as Rachel works her magic, currently dressed like a bank-robber and looming creepily behind the confused subject of Rachel's wiles.
Seeing the van pull up, Konstantin lifts his free hand, signalling with a flat palm to the goons in the cab to hold for now. He lets Rachel keep doing her thing.
See, Rachel He DOES trust her and her abilities. Absolutely and totally. That's not a sedative in his pocket though, ready to jab into Sidney's least favourite girlfoe at a moment's notice, not at all.
Tensing slightly as the HSD rock up, Konstantin leans aside against the wall a little more. No doubt the HSD would appreciate efforts to keep things quiet after the mess made by the errant vassal but the russian doesn't fancy having to deal with the hassle of explaining who they are and what they're up to when Rachel is on the cusp of great success. As the daring crime-fighting duo peel back out to the sound of the end credit music, Konstantin relaxes some and focuses back in on Rachel's handling of the girl.
Continuing the tense will-he-wont-he of the primed tranquiliser dart clutched in his pocket, Konstantin stands on pins as Rachel works her magic, the man currently dressed like a bank-robber and looming creepily behind the confused subject of Rachel's wiles.
Seeing the van pull up, Konstantin lifts his free hand, signalling with a flat palm to the goons in the cab to hold for now. He lets Rachel keep doing her thing.
See, Rachel He DOES trust her and her abilities. Absolutely and totally. That's not a sedative in his pocket though, ready to jab into Sidney's least favourite girlfoe at a moment's notice, not at all.
Zero care for that boy on the ground. The cops have it -- what, exactly, would she do that they couldn't? He'll be fiiiiine.
Her attention's for the one with the potential for saving. "Different kind of school," Rachel says to the girl. "Have you read The Name of the Wind?" Rachel appraises her new friend and, in doing so, revises her comparison. They might need something a little more basic. "Harry Potter. It's like that." That's a quick enough explanation -- and hopefully a persuasive one, too, with or without the use of her abilities. Every kid growing up wanted to live that particular fantasy. Of course, the White Oak isn't quite so pleasant; but no one need burst her bubble yet.
"We can walk you there," she says. A look, given to Konstantin, lurking in the shadows. He's going to have to stop skulking if they've any hope of playing 'friendly.' "..."
She probably shouldn't have said 'we.'
She fixes her little faux pas, best she can. "I was meeting him--" She out and says it, lifting her chin in Konstantin's direction. Put-that-dart-away-real-fast. "But we're heading back in that direction anyway. We'll drop you off at the gate. Straight to the enrollment office, okay? No stops. And you stay on campus until someone can talk to you."
See? No creepy van for the girl.
...Assuming she cooperates.
Rachel seems to prefer that she does, even if the alternative's strictly easier.
"Okay, yeah...." mumbles the girl as she's led by Rachel. "I always did wanna get my master's degree. Social Work. Or Dance." How....? No time to question. She's hooked. Maybe a little too tightly. She sways, tugging at Rachel's sleeve. "Oh, I like Harry Potter. Will you, do you, are you gonna- we'll do classes together? You'd make a GREAT Social Worker." A pause, as she drunkenly appraises Rachel. "And a fuckin' killer danc-" Wait. She swings her head, "We?" And then she clocks the shadow man, trying to push Rachel behind her. "Oh my god, run, it's a muggah!"
Konstantin may trust in Rachel's abilities but his men are a little squirrelier, after the race to, and down from, the Institue. Rachel lulls the girl with her voice just as Simonov throws on the emergency brake. Artyom throws the door wide, and click-pop goes his tranq and this poor little latent makes one last swipe for Rachel's assistance before her step falters. Konstantin's man catches the girl by the shoulders before she can brain herself on the lip of the van and drags her in quick without a fuss. Door stays open, though as Simonov cracks the window, looking out at Rachel and Konstantin. "Ser, Miss Rachel, ma'am, do you need ride?" He looks over his shoulder, where Artyom has begun binding and blindfolding the hypnotized latent, taking out a syringe to draw her blood for testing.
"Is room. Can drop you off on way back to Institute?"
There IS room, and time. A ping on both Rachel's and Konstantin's phones flicks in time with the clocktower chiming Noon. Well done. Prepping enrollment paperwork now. Take a breather. Get some lunch.
"Ser?" Simonov asks again, gesturing to the middle row of seats.
Just past noon. If Rachel and Konstantin rush, JUST maybe, they might be able to get back home and Konstantin can get his surprise, all before the borscht gets too gross to reheat.
Konstantin grunts as he endures the torture of momentary exposure to shrill bostonian shrieking, responding by slipping the dart from his pocket and taking two steps towards her and clearing the distance with semi-violent intent. Thankfully, before he can deliver his own dose of shut-up-and-sleep juice, he catches sight of Artyom lining up his shot. He pauses, making eyecontact with the woman again to hold her attention as the other russian delivers her medicine from afar with pneumatic force.
He tosses the dart aside into the grit and filth of the path beside the diner, not wanting to bother resecuring the cap and the safety clip. "Take her, we will drive back on bike", Konstantin assures the goons. They've outdone themselves today, maybe he'll have to supply a little high end booze as a reward. That's like the russian equivalent of a corporate america style pizza party, right?
He shakes his head at Rachel a little bit, snorting amusedly; "Come on, Chowdergirl, let's go home. I want my breakfast."
It's for the best. Rachel can't sit next to that through class. Imagine how her grades would slip. She follows along after Konstantin, and as they go, fall back into their normal pattern. "'Miss Rachel,'" she tells him, in an effort to have him learn by osmosis. "/They/ know." The goons. Is Konstantin worse than a goon? "Give me a little respect."
She doth hold dominion over the breakfast, so he should really be listening to her.
"Da, Ser," says Simonov, "Good day, Miss Rachel," and the windows roll up and door slams shut. The two men drive off, quick and quiet, northwards towards the Institute. Likely they'll want more than liquor. It is a capitalist society after all. America has corrupted them.
Onto the bike Konstantin and Rachel go, off to enjoy Rachel's hard work.
Konstantin concedes with a nod and a sigh. Alright. Credit where credit is due. "Miss Chowdergirl", Konstantin corrects, soundly reprimanded. He smirks aside to her with an amused roll of his eyes
"Put helmet on." Hah.
Rachel puts the goddamned helmet on. She's going to throw it down the street if Konstantin keeps at it. "I hate you," she tells him. She has the audacity to thump him on the back of the head once they're on the bike and he's preoccupied with starting up.
No problem there, Konstantin keeps the boys well fed so they can keep gooning to their heart's content.
OOC And scene! "Y'all can leave through the DOWN door. Thanks so much!"