Encounterlogs
Laurens Odd Encounter Sr Rachel 240504
Lauren's night spirals into an uneasy slumber filled with flickering shadows and the encroaching darkness of a dream that tugs her back into a clinic from her past, a place stark and devoid of color except for overwhelming whites that press in from all angles. In this dreamspace, she encounters a figure unfamiliar yet strangely authoritative—Doctor Bennett, who introduces himself with a kindness that doesn't quite reach his eyes, promising a brief interrogation that hints at freedom to follow. Lauren, feeling trapped and regressing to defenses learned in youth, reluctantly engages, her answers a mix of evasion and bare truths about her family, straddling the blurred lines between reality and the nightmarish fiction her mind wanders through.
The interaction with Dr. Bennett intensifies as he probes with a clinical curiosity that feels both invasive and detached, focusing on Lauren's extended family in a way that suggests a search for something—or someone—beyond the immediate. Lauren deflects, her responses a dance of vague details and outright fabrications designed to guard the true depths of her solitude and loss. As the dream's pressure mounts, her awareness of its false nature does nothing to mitigate the dread it stirs. Questions about the duration of the dream and a longing for escape underscore her discomfort, leaving her clinging to the hope of waking before any truths can be unearthed by the insidious Dr. Bennett. The story leaves Lauren teetering on the edge of revelation and desperation, trapped within a dreamscape that threatens to unravel her from within.
(Lauren's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Fri May 3 2024]
In Living Room
The living room is a warm and inviting space, with plush, comfortable
furniture arranged in a cozy seating area. A large, ornate fireplace
dominates the southern wall, its marble mantelpiece adorned with intricate
carvings and a large, gilded mirror. The fireplace is flanked by built-in
bookshelves, filled with a variety of books and decorative objects. The walls
are painted a rich, warm color, with artwork and family portraits hung
throughout the space. The floor is covered in hardwood, with a large,
intricately patterned rug anchoring the seating area. The furniture includes
a large, overstuffed sofa and several armchairs, upholstered in a soft,
textured fabric. A coffee table sits at the center of the seating area, its
surface adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and several books. The room is
illuminated by a combination of natural light from the tall windows and the
warm glow of several table lamps scattered throughout the space. The overall
effect is one of comfort and relaxation, creating a perfect spot for family
gatherings or quiet evenings spent reading by the fire.
It is before dawn, about 56F(13C) degrees, and the sky is covered by wispy white clouds. There is a waning crescent moon.
(Your target has been singled out by a dream stalker who's invading their dreams. They cannot be woken, but their allies may be able to go into their dreams after them to help them fight off the invader and survive the nightmare.
)
The fire chews away at wood in the hearth, spitting out sparks and soot. It smells of smoke in here, like the forest has been brought indoors. It's bright in here; the lights are on, too. Outside, the horizon's begun to brighten, with pinks and purples painted across the sky.
This has been a hard night for sleep. It was too hot in here, and the outdoors too loud. Lauren might now feel her eyelids lose their fight against gravity. She's so bone tired that the edges of her furniture might soon begin to blur; the definition of her mantle place might be lost; and the patterns on the rugs might begin to spiral.
What sleep is to be had will be fitful, sure to carry the too vivid color of nightmares.
The shadows cast by her fire seem to stretch, long-limbed, until they engulf the room.
Lights out, Lauren.
Lauren has just woken up, which happens to be, coincidentally, the best time to go back to sleep. Her venture out from the bedroom to the living room doesn't seem to have helped with the sleepiness any, and her couch where she sits near the fire is much too comfortable to /not/ let her eyes drift closed and her thoughts wander. It's just another Friday morning, she's still jobless - it's not like she's got anywhere to be. May as well just... let... herself... drift...
Lauren's in a familiar clinic from her youth. It's just outside of Haven, not that Lauren's granted any view of the outdoors. No, all she can see is white on white on white. The bed's white. The pillow is white. The sheets are white. The curtains are white. Even the orderlies passing by, visible through the one small window pointing into the building from her room, seem blanched of color.
Their shoes squeak against linoleum.
Above, the lights buzz, pestering her, like gnats in summer. It's too hot here, too. It feels like the walls are shrinking in, bit by bit.
That is, until, mercifully, the door opens on its rusted metal hinge.
"Miss Foster." She sees a clipboard first, and then the man, once he deems it appropriate to stop writing. On the bridge of his nose are narrow spectacles. His body's a wiry coat rack upon which the coat simply does not wish to hang. It nearly falls off sloped shoulders. "How are you doing?"
Lauren isn't a stranger to nightmares. No, the strangeness here is this nightmare in particular - it's been what, almost two decades since she's been back here? She's got plenty of fresher nightmare material for her brain to wrack through. Doesn't mean this one is any less effective, though. Oh, no.
Already, as the walls seem to close in around her, she too shrinks in on herself, bit by bit, almost like she's a teenager again. Her knees curl close to her chest, her arms come to wrap around them, and the person who enters the room is met with a stare, stony and closed-off and defensive.
"Fine," comes the answer. She's fine, she's always fine here when they ask, this is fine, she just has to put up with their invasive questions until they get what they need and go away. She knows how this goes.
The strangeness is also this man. Of course, it's been some time, so her memory might lose small things - the texture of hair, perhaps; the length of the nose; or pockmarks upon the cheeks. In this case, however, he's simply nondescript, in a way no face would be if she'd been here for a considerable length of time. She doesn't know him.
"I'm Doctor Bennett," he says. He even extends the farce of an outreached hand. "I'm here to ask you a few questions, if that's alright." His voice is kindly; his face isn't. It's the sort of ghoulish that can't be masked behind a smile.
"Won't be more than a half hour, and then we'll get you some time outdoors. How does that sound? Wouldn't that be nice?" He says it like he's luring a child with the promise of ice cream, doled out from his white van.
The sun. It's been a while since she's seen it, and felt its warmth. It would, indeed, be nice to feel human again.
Lauren's memory isn't serving to be the best right now - could've seen him before, could've not - but then again, he's introducing himself so maybe this /is/ the first they're meeting. She considers the outstretched hand for long, long moments, enough amount of time passing that any normal person would get awkward and pretend they weren't going for a handshake anyway; if he's still got his hand out after that through, she'll shake it. Just briefly. Just to get it out of the way.
"... sure," she agrees, trying not to pretend she's wiping her hand clean on her shirt - that would be rude. She's still doing it though. It's not like there's anything else to do or anywhere else to go. "Do you have a watch?" She sure doesn't. It'd better be half an hour exactly and not a minute longer.
Dr. Bennett pulls a stopwatch out of his pocket. It's old-school, with a bracket ring at the top so that it can be worn on a cord. He sits himself down on Lauren's bed, his arm across his knee, and his hand dangling. Click. He pushes a button in; the timer starts. His smile hasn't faded. "Thirty seconds on the dot," he promises.
"Now," he says to Lauren. "Talk to me about your family. Where are they from?" He's got his clipboard out again, and his pen in hand. That goes 'click,' too.
He starts scribbling, even before Lauren talks. He's observing her from over his glasses and, no doubt, taking an account of her behavior.
On /her/ bed?! Lauren pulls away, not so quick as to seem as though she's avoiding him, but, well, she's definitely avoiding him. She stands, feet finding the floor and taking her as far away from the good doctor as they can in the tiny, cramped space. She can just pretend to be a walk-y talker, it's fine, surely.
"Oh, around." she starts, which does leave something to be desired, as far as answers go. She must know it too, because then she continues on, tongue darting across her lips nervously. "My grandparents built our house themselves, you know. Out in the woods. South side, though, not up here, so maybe you don't know, depending on how often you get around. Havenite born and raised, my dad and me both. We didn't really come to town often though, apart from school and the occasional farmer's market. We have a garden out back too. My dad wanted to homeschool me, but my mom said it'll be good to be around kids my age." She's talking a lot without telling him any of what he's looking for - she's better at it now, than she used to be, when she first came here. "Develops social skills and all of that. The walk to school and back every day gets annoying though." A pause. She's running out of steam. Time for the pity card instead. "Not that it matters anyway, now that they're all dead."
"Ah-ah-ah," the doctor admonishes. He's still writing when he lifts a finger, an eyebrow arched. "No, no. I'm not interested in your parents." He offers no condolences. Instead, the interrogation continues, masquerading as innocent conversation. All the while, the infernal scratch of his pen on paper persists. "Who else is there? Extended family. Cousins? Uncles? Aunts?"
"Or perhaps a good family friend, mm?"
"Come, sit," he says, unctuous. He smooths the covers next to him, so that no wrinkles remain.
The 'ah-ah-ah- makes her twitch, annoyed before she's even heard the rest of Doctor Bennett's words, and the annoyance only increases then. All that effort for nothing. "No." she says, after a brief pause. "Small family. The great heir, born to rule over a kingdom of ashes and all of that." If he's not going to take truth as an answer, she's just going to embellish it further. "No cousins or uncles or aunts that I have met." If there's ones she /hasn't/ met, she doesn't say, of course.
Is there a chair somewhere around here? Lauren would rather go take a seat there if she has to, jittery and still on edge, unless there's no other option. "Has it been thirty minutes yet?"
The interaction with Dr. Bennett intensifies as he probes with a clinical curiosity that feels both invasive and detached, focusing on Lauren's extended family in a way that suggests a search for something—or someone—beyond the immediate. Lauren deflects, her responses a dance of vague details and outright fabrications designed to guard the true depths of her solitude and loss. As the dream's pressure mounts, her awareness of its false nature does nothing to mitigate the dread it stirs. Questions about the duration of the dream and a longing for escape underscore her discomfort, leaving her clinging to the hope of waking before any truths can be unearthed by the insidious Dr. Bennett. The story leaves Lauren teetering on the edge of revelation and desperation, trapped within a dreamscape that threatens to unravel her from within.
(Lauren's odd encounter(SRRachel):SRRachel)
[Fri May 3 2024]
In Living Room
The living room is a warm and inviting space, with plush, comfortable
furniture arranged in a cozy seating area. A large, ornate fireplace
dominates the southern wall, its marble mantelpiece adorned with intricate
carvings and a large, gilded mirror. The fireplace is flanked by built-in
bookshelves, filled with a variety of books and decorative objects. The walls
are painted a rich, warm color, with artwork and family portraits hung
throughout the space. The floor is covered in hardwood, with a large,
intricately patterned rug anchoring the seating area. The furniture includes
a large, overstuffed sofa and several armchairs, upholstered in a soft,
textured fabric. A coffee table sits at the center of the seating area, its
surface adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and several books. The room is
illuminated by a combination of natural light from the tall windows and the
warm glow of several table lamps scattered throughout the space. The overall
effect is one of comfort and relaxation, creating a perfect spot for family
gatherings or quiet evenings spent reading by the fire.
It is before dawn, about 56F(13C) degrees, and the sky is covered by wispy white clouds. There is a waning crescent moon.
(Your target has been singled out by a dream stalker who's invading their dreams. They cannot be woken, but their allies may be able to go into their dreams after them to help them fight off the invader and survive the nightmare.
)
The fire chews away at wood in the hearth, spitting out sparks and soot. It smells of smoke in here, like the forest has been brought indoors. It's bright in here; the lights are on, too. Outside, the horizon's begun to brighten, with pinks and purples painted across the sky.
This has been a hard night for sleep. It was too hot in here, and the outdoors too loud. Lauren might now feel her eyelids lose their fight against gravity. She's so bone tired that the edges of her furniture might soon begin to blur; the definition of her mantle place might be lost; and the patterns on the rugs might begin to spiral.
What sleep is to be had will be fitful, sure to carry the too vivid color of nightmares.
The shadows cast by her fire seem to stretch, long-limbed, until they engulf the room.
Lights out, Lauren.
Lauren has just woken up, which happens to be, coincidentally, the best time to go back to sleep. Her venture out from the bedroom to the living room doesn't seem to have helped with the sleepiness any, and her couch where she sits near the fire is much too comfortable to /not/ let her eyes drift closed and her thoughts wander. It's just another Friday morning, she's still jobless - it's not like she's got anywhere to be. May as well just... let... herself... drift...
Lauren's in a familiar clinic from her youth. It's just outside of Haven, not that Lauren's granted any view of the outdoors. No, all she can see is white on white on white. The bed's white. The pillow is white. The sheets are white. The curtains are white. Even the orderlies passing by, visible through the one small window pointing into the building from her room, seem blanched of color.
Their shoes squeak against linoleum.
Above, the lights buzz, pestering her, like gnats in summer. It's too hot here, too. It feels like the walls are shrinking in, bit by bit.
That is, until, mercifully, the door opens on its rusted metal hinge.
"Miss Foster." She sees a clipboard first, and then the man, once he deems it appropriate to stop writing. On the bridge of his nose are narrow spectacles. His body's a wiry coat rack upon which the coat simply does not wish to hang. It nearly falls off sloped shoulders. "How are you doing?"
Lauren isn't a stranger to nightmares. No, the strangeness here is this nightmare in particular - it's been what, almost two decades since she's been back here? She's got plenty of fresher nightmare material for her brain to wrack through. Doesn't mean this one is any less effective, though. Oh, no.
Already, as the walls seem to close in around her, she too shrinks in on herself, bit by bit, almost like she's a teenager again. Her knees curl close to her chest, her arms come to wrap around them, and the person who enters the room is met with a stare, stony and closed-off and defensive.
"Fine," comes the answer. She's fine, she's always fine here when they ask, this is fine, she just has to put up with their invasive questions until they get what they need and go away. She knows how this goes.
The strangeness is also this man. Of course, it's been some time, so her memory might lose small things - the texture of hair, perhaps; the length of the nose; or pockmarks upon the cheeks. In this case, however, he's simply nondescript, in a way no face would be if she'd been here for a considerable length of time. She doesn't know him.
"I'm Doctor Bennett," he says. He even extends the farce of an outreached hand. "I'm here to ask you a few questions, if that's alright." His voice is kindly; his face isn't. It's the sort of ghoulish that can't be masked behind a smile.
"Won't be more than a half hour, and then we'll get you some time outdoors. How does that sound? Wouldn't that be nice?" He says it like he's luring a child with the promise of ice cream, doled out from his white van.
The sun. It's been a while since she's seen it, and felt its warmth. It would, indeed, be nice to feel human again.
Lauren's memory isn't serving to be the best right now - could've seen him before, could've not - but then again, he's introducing himself so maybe this /is/ the first they're meeting. She considers the outstretched hand for long, long moments, enough amount of time passing that any normal person would get awkward and pretend they weren't going for a handshake anyway; if he's still got his hand out after that through, she'll shake it. Just briefly. Just to get it out of the way.
"... sure," she agrees, trying not to pretend she's wiping her hand clean on her shirt - that would be rude. She's still doing it though. It's not like there's anything else to do or anywhere else to go. "Do you have a watch?" She sure doesn't. It'd better be half an hour exactly and not a minute longer.
Dr. Bennett pulls a stopwatch out of his pocket. It's old-school, with a bracket ring at the top so that it can be worn on a cord. He sits himself down on Lauren's bed, his arm across his knee, and his hand dangling. Click. He pushes a button in; the timer starts. His smile hasn't faded. "Thirty seconds on the dot," he promises.
"Now," he says to Lauren. "Talk to me about your family. Where are they from?" He's got his clipboard out again, and his pen in hand. That goes 'click,' too.
He starts scribbling, even before Lauren talks. He's observing her from over his glasses and, no doubt, taking an account of her behavior.
On /her/ bed?! Lauren pulls away, not so quick as to seem as though she's avoiding him, but, well, she's definitely avoiding him. She stands, feet finding the floor and taking her as far away from the good doctor as they can in the tiny, cramped space. She can just pretend to be a walk-y talker, it's fine, surely.
"Oh, around." she starts, which does leave something to be desired, as far as answers go. She must know it too, because then she continues on, tongue darting across her lips nervously. "My grandparents built our house themselves, you know. Out in the woods. South side, though, not up here, so maybe you don't know, depending on how often you get around. Havenite born and raised, my dad and me both. We didn't really come to town often though, apart from school and the occasional farmer's market. We have a garden out back too. My dad wanted to homeschool me, but my mom said it'll be good to be around kids my age." She's talking a lot without telling him any of what he's looking for - she's better at it now, than she used to be, when she first came here. "Develops social skills and all of that. The walk to school and back every day gets annoying though." A pause. She's running out of steam. Time for the pity card instead. "Not that it matters anyway, now that they're all dead."
"Ah-ah-ah," the doctor admonishes. He's still writing when he lifts a finger, an eyebrow arched. "No, no. I'm not interested in your parents." He offers no condolences. Instead, the interrogation continues, masquerading as innocent conversation. All the while, the infernal scratch of his pen on paper persists. "Who else is there? Extended family. Cousins? Uncles? Aunts?"
"Or perhaps a good family friend, mm?"
"Come, sit," he says, unctuous. He smooths the covers next to him, so that no wrinkles remain.
The 'ah-ah-ah- makes her twitch, annoyed before she's even heard the rest of Doctor Bennett's words, and the annoyance only increases then. All that effort for nothing. "No." she says, after a brief pause. "Small family. The great heir, born to rule over a kingdom of ashes and all of that." If he's not going to take truth as an answer, she's just going to embellish it further. "No cousins or uncles or aunts that I have met." If there's ones she /hasn't/ met, she doesn't say, of course.
Is there a chair somewhere around here? Lauren would rather go take a seat there if she has to, jittery and still on edge, unless there's no other option. "Has it been thirty minutes yet?"