Encounterlogs
Leos Odd Encounter Sr Aristotle 240117
One frosty evening, Leo Renner finds himself unexpectedly drawn into a sinister interaction while ferrying lumber to his porch. As darkness envelops Guardian Lane, a series of peculiar sounds draws his attention; a broken branch signals an intruder's presence, and whispers of an indiscernible chant quicken the night air. Armed with a revolver and an axe, Leo confronts the unknown with caustic words and gunfire aimed in the direction of the eerie disturbances. However, this act triggers a powerful spell that induces an overwhelming sleepiness, a condition Leo tries to resist by shooting himself in the foot—a desperate attempt to stave off unconsciousness. Whether the shot is effective or not, Leo's intentions are to escape by truck. However, he succumbs to the spell, collapsing into the snow.
Leo awakens, bound and chilled to a cold metal slab within an isolated, barren room. Despite his considerable strength, efforts to break free initially fail, but the arrival of his captor—an aging man with an unsettling presence—provides a distraction. As Leo feigns continued immobility, the elderly man bares his sinister intentions, revealing his plan to siphon Leo's youth to extend his own life. Seizing the opportunity, Leo frees himself and attacks the man, using the ropes that once bound him. Having incapacitated his assailant, who in turn suffers a fatal heart attack, Leo exits the makeshift prison located in the forest near The Lodge and Antlers. With his usual rugged demeanor, he contacts the authorities and vacates the scene, leaving behind the sinister plot and its perpetrator.
Meanwhile, Casey's encounter with Marcus takes a supernatural turn as well. Their discourse about a cursed chess piece of Solomon Inigo, imbued with the prideful spirit of a ghost, unfolds with urgent whispers and frustrated denials. Casey elucidates the troubling effects the chess piece may have on Haven, suggesting its destruction. Marcus, initially protective of this item, comes to a reluctant agreement, recognizing the peril it represents. However, their plan is complicated by the emergence of shadowy tendrils searching for the artifact.
The adrenaline-fueled culmination involves a chase, where Casey and Marcus frantically attempt to escape the pursuing demon in a van headed toward the safety of streetlights. In a moment of possession, Marcus reveals the location of the piece, hidden within the van lining. However, his behavior takes a dangerous turn as the King's influence asserts dominance, preventing him from giving up the piece. Casey acts decisively with a taser, rendering Marcus unconscious, retrieving the piece, and pouring holy water upon it, severing its malevolent connection. Through ingenuity and courage, they thwart the malevolence born of Solomon Inigo's chess piece, gaining a momentary victory against the pervasive dark magic.
(Leo's odd encounter(SRAristotle):SRAristotle)
[Tue Jan 16 2024]
On Guardian lane
The hard-packed dirt road is wide enough for two cars to passs but just barely. Along each side, the foliage has been left to grow as it will with no attempt to tame it or trim it for appearance. Overhead, the tree branches grow thicker than previous, causing more of the shade during the day and an even deeper darkness at night.
It is night, about 18F(-7C) degrees, There is a first quarter moon.
Leo was in the middle of carrying lumber to his porch.
Leo was in the middle of carrying lumber to his porch from his trucks. (fix)
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
With the sun having set, the temperature drops significantly, though bundled up in winter wear as he carts lumber about saves Leo from the worst of the biting cold. The lumber carried is a task simple enough, and there's very little happening outside of the mundane moment. It's silent for a moment as Leo goes back and forth carting off his chores, but after a while, the sound of a breaking branch can be heard crunched somewhere closeby, but out of sight, as if someone were trying to sneak up but given away by the ground beneath them.
Leo turns to face the branch, pulling out his revolver. Dropping his pile to retrieve the axe from the back of his truck, Leo slowly approaches. "Who's there?" Comes his rumbling, throaty voice. "Your sneaking is worse than King Kong's."
Leo's acute senses, whether conscious or not, pick up both the sounds of bipedal footsteps drawing closer - though, they're slow, and softly pressed on the ground. Whomever is approaching doesn't want to be found out. There's the musk of someone's body odor in the air, imperceptible to anyone without an acute sense of smell, but that slight change in the air is something Leo can detect. Someone is approaching, but they can't seem to be seen yet. All of the footfalls stop though once Leo calls them out. There is silence. There is silence for a while, but when the silence is broken, it's with a whisper. The language isn't clear of what it might be, but with it's monotone it becomes apparent someone is quietly chanting.
Whirling around, Leo fires off a few shots into the general direction that the chanting is coming from. One might get 'lucky' and hit something there. "I told you. Come out. You're pissin' me off, you and your Z-rate mumbo jumbo bullshit." Leo continues to insult and belittle as he advances.
Those first few shots fired strike into the trees and bushes and in the spaces surrounding them. It ceases the chanting, or likely masks the fact them given the lound bang from the firearms. Whether or not it ceased the chanting, it doesn't hinder the effects. The world seems to blur around Leo, vision darkening with a fog setting in his mind as a lethargy overtakes him, pulling him down with an irresistible urge to sleep.
"Grrrr..." Leo growls, the inhuman sound. "No. No. No." Leo denies, pulling the revolver up to his leg and firing the gun directly into his foot in an effort to keep himself awake. Either way, works or not, Leo is heading directly for his truck. Trying to get the door open, trying to get in. Speeding off if he can, Leo figuring that if he's going to fall asleep- he might as well lead the figure on a wild goose chase.
If Leo can't, well. He falls ignobaly into the snow, face-first.
Face first in the snow is a chilling cold, and it would prove to wake someone quickly were it a slumber brought on by normal circumstances. It's a chill that lingers through Leo's slumber, and it's the chill that wakes him. His limbs feel heavy as the waking world returns to him, but his entire body is cold. A slight lift of either his arms or legs would reveal immobility - he's waking bound to something. A slab of metal, maybe? Whatever it is is cold on the parts of his skin that isn't covered. He's face down on it, bound, and being face down makes it difficult to ascertain his location, but conscious starts to return to him in a place not where he was originally.
It would also be noted, that there's a sharp, stinging pain that shoots through Leo as his conscious starts to return, that injury to his foot seemingly left untreated by whomever apprehended him, and it acts as a constant, stinging reminder of a failed attempt to fight himself against a supernaturally induced slumber.
Where ever this room is, it seems hidden away, untouched by the warmth of daylight. The air within is frigid, biting at the skin of anyone who dares to enter. Bare, stone walls rise on all sides, their surfaces slick with a thin layer of condensation, a testament to the pervasive chill that clings to the air. Dim light struggles to penetrate the obsidian darkness, originating from a solitary, feeble candle placed on a rough-hewn wooden table. The flickering flame casts long, dancing shadows that seem to writhe with a life of their own. The room itself is devoid of comfort or ornamentation austerity accentuated by the absence of any furnishings save for the stark table and the metal slab that Leo finds himself bound to, face-down. A haunting silence reigns, occasionally broken by the distant echoes of unseen drips.
Leo lets out another animalistic growl as he comes to, arms shaking about violently in an effort to free himself. Super strong, Leo is not. He grunts and he groans as he does his best to break free. But... nothing. Leo clicks his teeth a little as he thinks.
Those violent efforts to free himself soon bring his consciousness flooding back with stark awareness as adrenaline courses through him. It's dark. It stinks, and it's cold - whatever he's bound with doesn't feel too strong. Rope, perhaps? Enough friction might allow him to free himself. Unfortunately, footsteps echoing off of a stone floor can be heard drawing nearer - those animalistic growls alerting whomever brought him here, that their captive is now awake.
Leo speeds up with his trying efforts. If he manages to break himself free, the loner would pretend to not be free. Laying there until he gets a good handle on who's there. How many. So on and so forth.
Leo's able to free himself - the speed of his efforts mixed with a bit of desperation is enough to free him just as the door opens. With it, comes slow, dragging footsteps. Leo's able to pretend he still secured, but it wouldn't be long before his captor is revealed to be an elderly man. He 'barges' into the cold room with an eerie confidence. His hunched figure moves silently across the stone floor, and the shadows seem to gather around him, lending an almost spectral quality to his entrance. His thin, bony fingers grasp the edges of a hood that conceals much of his face, but what is visible reveals a pair of piercing, calculating eyes that gleam with a strange intensity. The flickering candlelight plays tricks on the lines of his deeply creased face, casting unsettling shadows that accentuate the contours of his age. The room seems to respond to his presence, the temperature dropping even further as if acknowledging the coldness within him. He glides towards the restrained figure with an air of quiet menace, the faint tap of a cane echoing through the chamber. His intentions remain shrouded in mystery, and the frailty that first meets the eye disguises an underlying potency, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the room. "Good. You're awake." He croons. "You seem strong. Young. You'll do nicely." He says, as if sizing him up for a moment. "That youth is wasted on you." He croaks.
It seems there is just one person here, the elderly man who lords over the 'trapped' Leo as if to appraise him. "I'm sorry you have to experience this, young man." He says. It seems whatever he's intending to do, he is indeed remorseful for it. "I only do this every few decades though... you're older than what I would normally claim, but you'll buy me fifty years perhaps." It begins to become apparent that this man might be some youth stealing ritualist. He starts to chant.
Leo says absolutely nothing. Just staring at the man. Remaining grim-faced and taciturn as ever. The gruff figure of Leo flicking his gaze about this way and that, before returning his attention back to the old guy. He waits... and waits... until the man gets closer. And then Leo springs into action, using all of the... quite frankly, not impressive, speed at Leo's disposal. While Leo isn't very fast- he does have surprise at Leo's advantage. Using this opportunity, if he can, to wrap the rope around the man's throat, to cut off any cries for help. Strangling the man to death, if Leo can. At least, until he's unconscious.
This elderly man wasn't expecting Leo to spring - nor was he expecting those binds to not be restraining him. The man screams, his chanting being cut short as strong hands wrap around a cold, frail neck. That cry for help is silenced, and the elderly man grips at Leo's person to try and free himself. But, his strength is no match for that of one about 40 years his junior. Life would've slipped from his being were it not for sanctuary that sees Leo's grip softening enough for the man to pull himself away. But - he's both startled and panicked, and equally terrified. Perhaps this is why he claimed Leo is older than those he would usually prey on. A hand grips his chest as he collapses to the ground, struggling. While sanctuary protected him from being strangled to death, it doesn't seem to offer any aid for his own body giving up on him. It seems his heart is going and he may be in for a painful last few moments.
Leo gives a last kick to the man, if Sanctuary will allow it, before Leo turns to walk out that door. Spitting aside. "Mother-fuckers. I just. Want to live in my cabin. Die alone in my cabin. But you... you can't fucking allow that, will you? Just one. Fucking. Useless man out in the woods his wishes." This said as Leo searches the... bunker? To find his stuff. If Leo finds it, he'd call the police. "This is Leo Renner. Don't know where I am, but this old guy's having a heart attack."
That man takes the kick. Not willingly, of course, but it's sending him onto his back where he grips at his chest and writhes, and writhes, and writhes... until he stops. Leo's able to find his belongings easily enough - nothing was trashed, and a phone call to the police is made easily enough. Should Leo step outside, he'd find himself in the southern forest a bit behind The Lodge and Antlers. Not terribly deep, but far enough that it'd be a bit of a hike. Relatively safe.
And off that way, Leo fucks!
OOC: Hope you enjoyed! Have a good day!
(Welcome! Give me a set to catch me up?)
"I guess you have all the answers then, Marcus," Casey says. "And I text her all the time, but she's always busy with this or that. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Casey says to Marcus.
"Maybe you're the problem. We used to hang out, her, Yasmin and I, and then she drifted away," Casey says. "So maybe you being a 'friend' is what's really bringing her down, getting her away from the real friends," Casey says. With a final tap of the text, Casey then tucks the phone away.
"I did. I came here looking for that chess piece, Marcus. Because there's 'weird vibes' with it, for sure," Casey says.
"And you speak for her, do you?" Casey says. "I'm pretty sure the Rachel I know speaks well enough for herself," Casey says.
Casey leans forward then, frowning. "... Rachel put me up to this," Casey says to Marcus. "Guess you don't know her as well as you thought," Casey effortlessly says.
Marcus laughs brightly in Casey's face. She can probably smell the bacon on his breath. Lovely. "I spoke for her because she's asleep, but I guess there was no need. Since she's been sleep-texting you and everything." He's still standing proud, his voice is still brazen. But it cracks. There's a furrow in his brow, a slight shift in his posture from one foot to another. He's losing hold of something. He blows out a breath and tries to retain his composure before the cracks are noticed. "Tell Solomon Inigo he can have his evil chess piece back when he's ready to make a deal, okay? Not a moment before. Otherwise...I'll destroy it." He wets his lips. He seems...anxious now. He's losing it...whatever bravado he had, it's slipping away. "I'll fucking eat it if I have to."
In the vicinity of the trailer, the sense of petty pride seems stronger. For Marcus, that seems... normal. He doesn't have the pricking supernatural senses of a ghost hunter. But for Casey, the veteran of many hauntings? Well. What seemed off outside the trailer could have just been something strange, if it wasn't for the dreams: but here? These feelings inside her seem -wrong-, and combined with her divinations it suggest the object of her scrying is close at hand.
Casey pauses. "It's a chess piece of Inigo's?" A beat more. "Solomon Inigo?"
A dash of her tongue across her teeth. "Well," Casey says to Marcus. "I don't want to keep any evil chess piece around, and only recently found out he's been doing some weird stuff," Casey says to Marcus.
"Tell you what," Casey says to Marcus. "I want to help you destroy it," Casey says. "Because eating it won't do jack, you know?" Casey says, voice airy.
"And you obviously need my help. I'm the weird stuff expert here, after all..." Casey says. "... you want to be one too?" Casey asks of Marcus, her voice tight.
A chess piece of Solomon Inigo's? That's surely unrelated to black magic in the city of Haven.
Marcus is losing his grip on his arrogance, on his pride. "You really didn't know?" He's questioning not only Casey, but himself. It's as if the real question is, 'How could I have been wrong?' He studies her face with a fresh uncertainty. It looks a bit painful; he really could use those glasses. "I found it on his desk," he says, eyeballing Casey stubbornly. It's as if he's trying to chase the tide of those feelings, trying to get them back, but they're rolling away from him, and quickly. He flinches.
But the cracks in his countenance don't quite turn his decision around immediately. "I'm sick of him. I'm sick of whatever he's doing, and whatever that..." He gestures rapidly but vaguely in the air. "...whatever that thing is doing." He doesn't elaborate on whatever that means. "I'm sick of getting forced into raw deals. Over and over. Me and Rachel, both dooming ourselves as we try to save each other. Getting closer and closer to Hell. Because you're right." He grits his teeth. It's hard for him to say, even now, the pride not having totally receded. He has to hiss it out. "I -haven't- been doing a good job of taking care of her. I've fucked it up. But now I have something Solomon wants. And I'm not giving it up for someone doing a welfare check!"
Some thing: some arcane artifact, curling around the entire city, drawing all of Haven's residents into Lucifer's sin. It's a welfare check, surely.
Casey stands there. She had a sense of fashion - not really ultrafashion, but Casey kept herself clean, and had a thrift store sort of vibe. Her most proud possession, that Numero Sept shoulderbag - her very stance seemed to accent it more than anything, hip out, lips turned down into a frown, manicured short nails tapping away on the strap.
"I guess I don't know everything, but yeah," Casey says. "Raw deals, seeming to turn some people into braindead puppets who ignore their very sense of self, their pride, their reality in order to really dive into the whole madness," Casey rolls her eyes. "You know what?" Casey points her finger at Marcus.
"He's not a bad guy, just attracts... nevermind. I, for one, am tired of it," Casey says. "And whatever stupid magic he's doing right now - or whatever spirit he's bound to this chess piece, we need to *fix it*, Marcus," Casey says.
"I don't know if you need to hold him hostage or whatever, or whatever raw deals you guys didn't watch enough cautionary movie tales to figure out you were making a bad decision, but whatever's happening right now?" Casey says.
"It's gotta stop."
Whatever passion was in the woman was bleeding out in a hurry as that pride in Marcus' features fades. "I *like* Rachel, and I don't know what's happening between her and I, not really, but..." Casey says. "... let's, at least, do this right thing by her? And break whatever this chess piece is doing down?" Casey asks.
Here, in this place, even Casey feels it: she's right. Everything she is saying is right, because -she- knows what's correct. -She- knows what is going on.
"-Is- it what's right by her?" Marcus wants to know. He's still got enough of the arrogance to get angry at someone who is very evidently just trying to help. In fact, it seems to be building up again, gaining momentum. He glares up at Casey, turning his head slightly to show more of the whites of his eyes. "-Is- it? Because I took a big risk to get that King, before I even knew what it was or what it does. And believe it or not, I did it for her, because otherwise...more shit is just going to -happen- to us. I'm tired of things -happening- to me! I'm taking goddamn control!"
"Maybe -you'd- be happy once it's destroyed. And then you can just fuck off to wherever you came from. But for Rachel and I...this chess piece is a big deal. It's the first time we've done anything but lose, over and fucking over." His fingers tuck into a tense fist. Not really looking like he's aiming to punch anyone, just...deeply, righteously angry. The anger of someone who -knows- they're right in every sense. "Our first tiny victory, and it's a so-called friend who's going to yank it away from us and leave us at square one. Less than square one, because now we've pissed off Solomon Inigo -and- we have nothing to show for it."
"And *what* does that piece do for that control?" Casey says, fanning her hair back over her shoulder. "I'd argue that it's making you *lose* control. It's making me lose control," Casey says. A lift of her chin. "Lesson number one, so listen up," Casey says. "Ghosts tend to be imprints of the recently dead on this world," Casey says. "Their emotions, their memories... all of it," Casey says. "Do I *know* what he did? I don't. But I know there's spiritual activity here," Casey says.
"And if he..." Casey sounded so certain. "Decided to put a ghost that died due to his or her pride, bind it to a chess piece, and let it out into the world..."
"Freeing it? Taking it out of its control?" Casey says to Marcus.
"What I've come to learn is that you can't... really... rely on people. Or rely on a happy ending," Casey says. "You can rely on reducing a little bit of pain in others. You can give freedom to a spirit that's lost in it's emotion, and let them move on," Casey says.
"And you can give that spirit the freedom it needs, and release whatever imprint and spell it's putting on all of us," Casey says.
"And take that piece out of his hands. Or you can wait for him to find out where it's gone, and do whatever else he wants to do," Casey says, folding her arms over her front. "And steal the piece back," Casey says.
"Leaving you below square one. You have the opportunity for a win. To reduce his power, to provide peace to a spirit, and to... you know," she begins.
"Give yourself and Rachel something to feel proud about," Casey says. "A win. The thought that you're doing something good."
Some coiling smoke seems to start rising, now, around the corners of the trailer. Marcus and Casey both have seen that before: the Mists, but tainted a little by hellfire. The tendrils seem to be like long arms, starting to reach out, starting to feel around. Is something seeking the statue?
Marcus does listen to what Casey has to say. He makes subtle faces, he rolls his eyes, he looks generally irritable, but to his credit, he listens. At the beginning of this conversation, he surely wouldn't have, but he wavers now. Still, when he speaks again, his voice comes out stubborn and forceful -- maybe just to compensate for those cracks still etching their way through his pride. "Well, I met a spirit, too," he says to her at last. "Like a ghost that'd been mutilated. Weeping sores, lash marks, brands, scars...everything you can imagine. I've never seen something in such torment. You know what I did? I set it free. Because I hated to see it suffer." He grinds his molars. "I thought that might be a win, like you said. A good deed. Something," he uses Casey's phrase, "to feel proud about." There's a bitter, mocking undertone to his voice. Really, an overtone.
"And what did I learn from that? Good deeds aren't free, either. Not any more than the bad ones." He laughs, a mirthless bark of a sound.
"I've always heard the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Always sounded like bullshit to me. But now I see it so clearly. Anytime you want something, anytime you need something, even if it's for someone else's sake. That's a want right there. A need. Something to be used. Something to be taken advantage of, manipulated, corrupted into something Else." His voice is tinged with hatred. "There's no way out but through." But his eyes shift aside. He blinks, noticing the anomaly. "Shit..."
"He's trying to get it back," Marcus says, alarmed. His eyes narrow as he looks around. Does he mean Solomon, or...someone else? "Maybe you're right," he grudgingly admits. "We might have to destroy it after all. Jesus Christ."
The shadowy arms seem to feel around blindly. One dark appendage seems to slip inside the cushion of a couch seat, seeming so much like it is looking for a lost remote: if a thing of smoke and shadow can lose a remote.
"No, I guess not," Casey says, with a heady sigh. "I was told I was schizophrenic, seeing things, whatever, from an early childhood. Making it up," Casey says. "Guess I could get what's mine, but if this world is going to be shitty about it all..." Casey begins by saying, Casey's shoulders relaxing. "I could be shitty too, and add to it, and I guess I do, but..." Casey chews on her lower lip.
"I could decide to help where I see fit, and..." Casey pauses.
"Make things lighter, even momentarily, for something else. You just can't be naive about it, you kn..." Casey says.
She lets her features fall, paling.
She shifts the purse to her front, and starts rummaging around for the book she brought with herself. "I think we do," Casey says.
"And I don't think we have much more time to make a decision. His demon is coming for it," Casey says to Marcus.
"Is it safe? Secret?" Casey says, leaning forward towards Marcus.
"... show me?" Casey whispers.
A long, shadowy hand starts to blindly feel towards the door to the outide. It seems as if it has too many joints: it's like the articulated limb of a daddy long-legs, except that on its end is five spindly fingers. If there is any saving grace, it is that it is -only- a shadow. It's clear it is not three-dimensional at all.
"-His- demon?" Marcus looks to Casey warily. But an uneasy alliance must be struck. "Who knows what's secret or safe from something like that?" he mumbles, the arrogance whittling away further. He does his best to puff himself up and summon it again, but it's artificial. He simply slowly backs off from the shadow as it searches the couch cushions, but when it starts to slink outside...that's when he makes a run for the door to try and get ahead of it. "Come on!"
"Salt, and suffering," Casey murmurs. "I'm going to try to draw something on the door to lock it outside, and..." Casey pauses.
"You seriously hid it *outside*?" Casey hushes in a brisk whisper. Casey's eyes were open, her gaze flickering towards the door itself as her fingers clasp the strap tightly.
"Worked well enough on you!" Marcus snipes back, ready to get to belittling again at the drop of a hat. "You walked right past it!" Never mind the shadowy demon tendrils; it's all about Casey and her inability to find the chess piece on her own. But Marcus only spares a moment for this banter. "I don't want to say where it is, it'll probably hear me!" he calls. Maybe at another time, in another place, he might've waited for Casey's go-ahead to swing open the door. It might've been smart. But Marcus is full of Good Ideas today, Good And Superior Ideas He Had All By Himself. He flings it ajar.
Outside: outside, the trailer park is mess of shadows. Those long, spindly, arachnid things seem to be haunting the outside of the trailer. Strange things lurk inside of trash cans, their shadows stretching and then disappearing inside the lids. Too-long, too-many-jointed arms reach underneath the trailer -- and then, slinking across the dirt, the shadow of a figure that isn't there, is one stretching out towards Marcus' van.
Casey hisses a moment at Marcus' snipe, but anything else that she might have felt was overtaken by the sights outside.
"Well, this is, at least, the best outcome. He's trying to just take it back, and maybe leave you in peace... s?" Casey says, the woman resorting to bad humor once she has the opprotunity to.
Perhaps out of an abundance of dumb, Casey flicks her hand to her LED flashlight she kept with herself, turning it on to illuminate one of the shadowy hands. The one aiming for the van, at least.
Uttering some curses in nonsensical combinations under his breath before lunging forward, Marcus sprints towards the van. Physically incapable of running like hell, he instead runs like heck, and prays that's fast enough. Either way, when he gets to the vehicle and tries to fling the door open, he finds it...locked, of course. He digs into the pocket for the key fob. Wrong pocket. He drops an F-bomb and tries another one. There it is. He peers through the dim evening light to try and find the unlock button, but apparently he can't see it quite well enough, because in the end he just presses something and hopes it's the right one.
Running -- Marcus and Casey both, bats out of hell. The girl is faster, pounding towards the van, and then she's there. Marcus hits it just behind her, but those long, reaching shadows are coming close. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Then the van unlocks: Marcus, it seems, always has the luck.
"If it's in there... just *drive* - I'll do what I need to in the back of the van!" Casey says. When she hears the van unlocking, she wastes no time in rounding to the passenger side - she was faster at that - her purse bobbing with each movement.
Just to open the door and fling herself into the seat. "Don't go into the forest, or across the bridge, just... I dunno, do loops around main!"
Marcus piles in the driver's seat and hastily starts the vehicle, as long as it has the good sense to start. There hasn't been anything wrong with it thus far, but if a shadow were to poke beneath the hood...who knows? He barely even shuts the door before he floors it. Forget seatbelts. Dandelion Parkway rarely sees such crazy driving, and probably never from a Volkswagen camper. He veers off onto Prospect and doesn't look back -- well, he does, but only through his rearview and side mirrors.
It seems as if Marcus and Casey are free of shadows, right? They're back there. They're up here, driving, in a Scooby Doo Mystery Machine -- right? Hopefully. Of course... where -is- the chessman King?
No one would see it upon first glance, or second, or third. No one would see it upon a fairly thorough search. You'd have to really suspect Marcus's car had drugs in it before you tore it up badly enough to find it. But Marcus -- Marcus knows just where to look. A small slit has been made in the very corner of the roof lining, usually invisible. But while he has one hand on the steering wheel, and as he slows the car, Marcus opens that cut and feels around with his fingers. Out rolls an object -- an oversized chess piece. A dark King, with recursive tendrils.
Casey actually really dug being the Daphne in a Scooby Doo vibe. Marcus could be Scooby...!
Casey was wearing pants, thankfully, as Casey had to crawl between passenger and driver seat into the back of the van at that point, although Casey says, "Where is it?"
Casey pauses a few moments, and takes a breath. "Alright," Casey says.
"Probably be just like the bone bracelets and things we've done a *million* times before," Casey says to herself.
"Toss it here? And don't stop moving unless you have to, okay?" Casey says. "Or drive into the ballfield under the lights or something," Casey murmurs.
Marcus is Scooby, all right. Too close to home. "I am NOT letting this get back in his hands!" he growls. Ironically, it is this King that imbues him with the power to defy the one who seeks it. He takes a turn, looping back. He's not driving as fast anymore, but there's still a wild look in his eye. He gropes blindly for it; it's fallen between the door and the driver's seat. Marcus doesn't bother with his turn signal as he takes another left. "When I pick it up, things are gonna get ugly!" he warns. But there's no other way. His fingers close around the piece.
When Marcus' fingers close on the chess piece, pride, ambition -- power. They flood his body. Wait, is that some single finger of shadow creeping out of his air conditioning vent?
Marcus snorts like a medieval lord turning his nose up at a filthy peasant in a pigsty. He has the King in his hand, which can be glimpsed by Casey when Marcus flicks his wrist twice to quickly close the vents. One, two. No more heat. "Fuck off," he says with a glower. "It's mine now." Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good for the whole destroying it thing.
Nonetheless, those words don't seem addressed to Casey. Marcus is glaring at the front panel.
"The vent! Toss it back!" Casey calls to Marcus, Casey scuttling forward again.
It was worth a shot - Casey tries to literally draw the blade of her athame against the shadow-finger as it peeks from the vent.
Casey pauses, "Until shadow-things catch you," Casey says.
With a small sound from the driver-side backseat, Casey adjusts her sit, and levels her glare on the hand where she saw the glimpse of the chess piece.
She was going to start anyways. Athame draws across her palm, and she hoped to ruin his upholstery by beginning to draw a solomon's circle in blood on the back of the driver's seat.
The athame is scribed with sigils: imperfect, but sigils, and when Casey strikes at the reaching, grasping spider-finger it seems as if it tears it: it's like plucking at a piece of gauze that suddenly begins to bleed smoke. Marcus, for his part, is hoarding the King: it's about 9 inches tall, black, carved of wood, and it radiates power. For Casey, the connection could be broken to the spell: even just a douse in holy water might do it, short of destruction. It's a focus, a correspondence, and if the link is broken, whatever magic it amplifies will fade.
"The fuck are you doing!" It becomes immediately evident that Marcus, for all his supposed experience with cursed chess pieces and magical shadow entities, is unfamiliar with this kind of ritual magic, so commonly seen in Haven. There's laughter in his voice. He's starting to find this whole situation humorous, which is a bad sign for his overally sanity. The King in his hand is a bad sign for his overall sanity. "They've gotta make a movie out of this!" he yells above the sputtering of his engine. "This is cinematic gold!"
Casey pauses a moment, finding a small bottle that she pulls from her purse. It was a water bottle, yes, but the water had been stolen from the holy water fountain bin at Mass.
If she has to attend those things at White Oak, she may as well get *some* benefit from it.
"Hey, Marcus?" Casey says, sweetly, twisting the athame around.
"You *deserve* that kingpiece, most of all of us," Casey says. She lowers her head, letting her crystal blue eyes get big and excited.
"May I see it? Just for a minute?"
Casey says "I don't even have to touch it, just... hold it up for me?"
And yet Marcus does not relinquish the King. A slow smile is spreading, an uncharacteristically wicked one. Well, it might seem par for the course for Casey, who only knows this unfortunate side of him. Oh, dear, he's losing himself again. "Good one!" he laughs to Casey. His ego is swollen, but his brain is still working well enough to know a trick when he sees one. Instead, he yells something:
"Plot twist!" Transferring the King into his left hand so that it's far from Casey, Marcus tries to reach across with his right and fling open the passenger's side door. "I was going to give it to you, but instead you decided to fuck with me! OUT!"
Plot twist, indeed: when the door is flung open, the darkness outside the van seems to -twist-. It's like it's alive, and then there is a strange bulge, as if shadow is trying to push against the interior light of the van. Is that bubble of night moving? Oh, no. No, no, no: it's made of a hundred-hundred slender, grasping hands like tentacles.
The van is still moving, of course. Though it probably wouldn't actually be dangerous to get out of Marcus's car at the current MPH. At least...not for that reason.
"OUT!" Marcus screams, and he's screaming at the darkness as well as Casey. They are given equal measures of arrogance-bloated rage. No room for fear -- only hatred. "IT'S MINE NOW!" Still, he stops short of actually pushing Casey out of the car into the roiling chaos.
"Plot twist," Casey says, her tone of voice coy.
"Do you *really* have to make these things difficult?" Casey says. A heady sigh that passes her lips, and Casey runs her tongue over the same. "Well, okay," Casey says. "Just remember, you did this to yourself," Casey says.
Seated as she was *behind* Marcus, and in the back of the van at the driver's side, Casey pauses a few moments more.
Casey produces a taser, and jabs it into Marcus' side.
In taser school, they warn you to never tase someone with a gun, since it may cause them to shoot, or indeed anyone operating heavy machinery. Casey did not go to taser school, and when the dry-fired gun hits Marcus' side he has a sudden overwhelming shock of electricity running through his veins.
Whether Marcus indeed did this to himself, or the King did it to him, the distinction hardly matters anymore. The man is reduced to a nervous system that is entirely on fire. He howls in a bizarre, animalistic manner, he convulses violently, and, still shivering uncontrollably with currents, he faceplants straight on the steering wheel, his foot still on the gas pedal. HEAVY on the gas. The King is flung out of his hand, bouncing against the dashboard and then back towards Casey.
Oh, and if that's not enough Marcus's forehead rests riiiight on the horn.
Casey snaps out her hand as the pedal hits the floor. Even failing taser school as she did, Casey drops the device onto the ground as the king flies out of Marcus' hand. The dashboard hit, Casey had a moment of sinking feeling that the king would just roll outside, and Casey reaches out her hand to grasp it, ignoring the impending doom to splash the chess piece with holy water, once it was in her hot little hands.
When Casey's hand hits the object there is a sudden flash of sensation: power. She is powerful, awesome, amazing... and even as the holy water splashes it seems to sizzle. It boils off it, and with it some magical connection is broken. The things begin to fade away, the van crashed on the side of the road, but the King? It's amazing. And it's Casey's.
Twitching violently in a macabre sort of dance, Marcus provides an avant-garde soundtrack to this moment. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!
(OOC: I'm going to end the thwart successfully so we can go get the King and give it to Casey.)
Whatever. Marcus doesn't care. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!
Leo awakens, bound and chilled to a cold metal slab within an isolated, barren room. Despite his considerable strength, efforts to break free initially fail, but the arrival of his captor—an aging man with an unsettling presence—provides a distraction. As Leo feigns continued immobility, the elderly man bares his sinister intentions, revealing his plan to siphon Leo's youth to extend his own life. Seizing the opportunity, Leo frees himself and attacks the man, using the ropes that once bound him. Having incapacitated his assailant, who in turn suffers a fatal heart attack, Leo exits the makeshift prison located in the forest near The Lodge and Antlers. With his usual rugged demeanor, he contacts the authorities and vacates the scene, leaving behind the sinister plot and its perpetrator.
Meanwhile, Casey's encounter with Marcus takes a supernatural turn as well. Their discourse about a cursed chess piece of Solomon Inigo, imbued with the prideful spirit of a ghost, unfolds with urgent whispers and frustrated denials. Casey elucidates the troubling effects the chess piece may have on Haven, suggesting its destruction. Marcus, initially protective of this item, comes to a reluctant agreement, recognizing the peril it represents. However, their plan is complicated by the emergence of shadowy tendrils searching for the artifact.
The adrenaline-fueled culmination involves a chase, where Casey and Marcus frantically attempt to escape the pursuing demon in a van headed toward the safety of streetlights. In a moment of possession, Marcus reveals the location of the piece, hidden within the van lining. However, his behavior takes a dangerous turn as the King's influence asserts dominance, preventing him from giving up the piece. Casey acts decisively with a taser, rendering Marcus unconscious, retrieving the piece, and pouring holy water upon it, severing its malevolent connection. Through ingenuity and courage, they thwart the malevolence born of Solomon Inigo's chess piece, gaining a momentary victory against the pervasive dark magic.
(Leo's odd encounter(SRAristotle):SRAristotle)
[Tue Jan 16 2024]
On Guardian lane
The hard-packed dirt road is wide enough for two cars to passs but just barely. Along each side, the foliage has been left to grow as it will with no attempt to tame it or trim it for appearance. Overhead, the tree branches grow thicker than previous, causing more of the shade during the day and an even deeper darkness at night.
It is night, about 18F(-7C) degrees, There is a first quarter moon.
Leo was in the middle of carrying lumber to his porch.
Leo was in the middle of carrying lumber to his porch from his trucks. (fix)
(Your target is abducted in their sleep, waking up alone in a locked room. They need to either escape or draw attention to them so their allies can come and provide assistance.
)
With the sun having set, the temperature drops significantly, though bundled up in winter wear as he carts lumber about saves Leo from the worst of the biting cold. The lumber carried is a task simple enough, and there's very little happening outside of the mundane moment. It's silent for a moment as Leo goes back and forth carting off his chores, but after a while, the sound of a breaking branch can be heard crunched somewhere closeby, but out of sight, as if someone were trying to sneak up but given away by the ground beneath them.
Leo turns to face the branch, pulling out his revolver. Dropping his pile to retrieve the axe from the back of his truck, Leo slowly approaches. "Who's there?" Comes his rumbling, throaty voice. "Your sneaking is worse than King Kong's."
Leo's acute senses, whether conscious or not, pick up both the sounds of bipedal footsteps drawing closer - though, they're slow, and softly pressed on the ground. Whomever is approaching doesn't want to be found out. There's the musk of someone's body odor in the air, imperceptible to anyone without an acute sense of smell, but that slight change in the air is something Leo can detect. Someone is approaching, but they can't seem to be seen yet. All of the footfalls stop though once Leo calls them out. There is silence. There is silence for a while, but when the silence is broken, it's with a whisper. The language isn't clear of what it might be, but with it's monotone it becomes apparent someone is quietly chanting.
Whirling around, Leo fires off a few shots into the general direction that the chanting is coming from. One might get 'lucky' and hit something there. "I told you. Come out. You're pissin' me off, you and your Z-rate mumbo jumbo bullshit." Leo continues to insult and belittle as he advances.
Those first few shots fired strike into the trees and bushes and in the spaces surrounding them. It ceases the chanting, or likely masks the fact them given the lound bang from the firearms. Whether or not it ceased the chanting, it doesn't hinder the effects. The world seems to blur around Leo, vision darkening with a fog setting in his mind as a lethargy overtakes him, pulling him down with an irresistible urge to sleep.
"Grrrr..." Leo growls, the inhuman sound. "No. No. No." Leo denies, pulling the revolver up to his leg and firing the gun directly into his foot in an effort to keep himself awake. Either way, works or not, Leo is heading directly for his truck. Trying to get the door open, trying to get in. Speeding off if he can, Leo figuring that if he's going to fall asleep- he might as well lead the figure on a wild goose chase.
If Leo can't, well. He falls ignobaly into the snow, face-first.
Face first in the snow is a chilling cold, and it would prove to wake someone quickly were it a slumber brought on by normal circumstances. It's a chill that lingers through Leo's slumber, and it's the chill that wakes him. His limbs feel heavy as the waking world returns to him, but his entire body is cold. A slight lift of either his arms or legs would reveal immobility - he's waking bound to something. A slab of metal, maybe? Whatever it is is cold on the parts of his skin that isn't covered. He's face down on it, bound, and being face down makes it difficult to ascertain his location, but conscious starts to return to him in a place not where he was originally.
It would also be noted, that there's a sharp, stinging pain that shoots through Leo as his conscious starts to return, that injury to his foot seemingly left untreated by whomever apprehended him, and it acts as a constant, stinging reminder of a failed attempt to fight himself against a supernaturally induced slumber.
Where ever this room is, it seems hidden away, untouched by the warmth of daylight. The air within is frigid, biting at the skin of anyone who dares to enter. Bare, stone walls rise on all sides, their surfaces slick with a thin layer of condensation, a testament to the pervasive chill that clings to the air. Dim light struggles to penetrate the obsidian darkness, originating from a solitary, feeble candle placed on a rough-hewn wooden table. The flickering flame casts long, dancing shadows that seem to writhe with a life of their own. The room itself is devoid of comfort or ornamentation austerity accentuated by the absence of any furnishings save for the stark table and the metal slab that Leo finds himself bound to, face-down. A haunting silence reigns, occasionally broken by the distant echoes of unseen drips.
Leo lets out another animalistic growl as he comes to, arms shaking about violently in an effort to free himself. Super strong, Leo is not. He grunts and he groans as he does his best to break free. But... nothing. Leo clicks his teeth a little as he thinks.
Those violent efforts to free himself soon bring his consciousness flooding back with stark awareness as adrenaline courses through him. It's dark. It stinks, and it's cold - whatever he's bound with doesn't feel too strong. Rope, perhaps? Enough friction might allow him to free himself. Unfortunately, footsteps echoing off of a stone floor can be heard drawing nearer - those animalistic growls alerting whomever brought him here, that their captive is now awake.
Leo speeds up with his trying efforts. If he manages to break himself free, the loner would pretend to not be free. Laying there until he gets a good handle on who's there. How many. So on and so forth.
Leo's able to free himself - the speed of his efforts mixed with a bit of desperation is enough to free him just as the door opens. With it, comes slow, dragging footsteps. Leo's able to pretend he still secured, but it wouldn't be long before his captor is revealed to be an elderly man. He 'barges' into the cold room with an eerie confidence. His hunched figure moves silently across the stone floor, and the shadows seem to gather around him, lending an almost spectral quality to his entrance. His thin, bony fingers grasp the edges of a hood that conceals much of his face, but what is visible reveals a pair of piercing, calculating eyes that gleam with a strange intensity. The flickering candlelight plays tricks on the lines of his deeply creased face, casting unsettling shadows that accentuate the contours of his age. The room seems to respond to his presence, the temperature dropping even further as if acknowledging the coldness within him. He glides towards the restrained figure with an air of quiet menace, the faint tap of a cane echoing through the chamber. His intentions remain shrouded in mystery, and the frailty that first meets the eye disguises an underlying potency, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the room. "Good. You're awake." He croons. "You seem strong. Young. You'll do nicely." He says, as if sizing him up for a moment. "That youth is wasted on you." He croaks.
It seems there is just one person here, the elderly man who lords over the 'trapped' Leo as if to appraise him. "I'm sorry you have to experience this, young man." He says. It seems whatever he's intending to do, he is indeed remorseful for it. "I only do this every few decades though... you're older than what I would normally claim, but you'll buy me fifty years perhaps." It begins to become apparent that this man might be some youth stealing ritualist. He starts to chant.
Leo says absolutely nothing. Just staring at the man. Remaining grim-faced and taciturn as ever. The gruff figure of Leo flicking his gaze about this way and that, before returning his attention back to the old guy. He waits... and waits... until the man gets closer. And then Leo springs into action, using all of the... quite frankly, not impressive, speed at Leo's disposal. While Leo isn't very fast- he does have surprise at Leo's advantage. Using this opportunity, if he can, to wrap the rope around the man's throat, to cut off any cries for help. Strangling the man to death, if Leo can. At least, until he's unconscious.
This elderly man wasn't expecting Leo to spring - nor was he expecting those binds to not be restraining him. The man screams, his chanting being cut short as strong hands wrap around a cold, frail neck. That cry for help is silenced, and the elderly man grips at Leo's person to try and free himself. But, his strength is no match for that of one about 40 years his junior. Life would've slipped from his being were it not for sanctuary that sees Leo's grip softening enough for the man to pull himself away. But - he's both startled and panicked, and equally terrified. Perhaps this is why he claimed Leo is older than those he would usually prey on. A hand grips his chest as he collapses to the ground, struggling. While sanctuary protected him from being strangled to death, it doesn't seem to offer any aid for his own body giving up on him. It seems his heart is going and he may be in for a painful last few moments.
Leo gives a last kick to the man, if Sanctuary will allow it, before Leo turns to walk out that door. Spitting aside. "Mother-fuckers. I just. Want to live in my cabin. Die alone in my cabin. But you... you can't fucking allow that, will you? Just one. Fucking. Useless man out in the woods his wishes." This said as Leo searches the... bunker? To find his stuff. If Leo finds it, he'd call the police. "This is Leo Renner. Don't know where I am, but this old guy's having a heart attack."
That man takes the kick. Not willingly, of course, but it's sending him onto his back where he grips at his chest and writhes, and writhes, and writhes... until he stops. Leo's able to find his belongings easily enough - nothing was trashed, and a phone call to the police is made easily enough. Should Leo step outside, he'd find himself in the southern forest a bit behind The Lodge and Antlers. Not terribly deep, but far enough that it'd be a bit of a hike. Relatively safe.
And off that way, Leo fucks!
OOC: Hope you enjoyed! Have a good day!
(Welcome! Give me a set to catch me up?)
"I guess you have all the answers then, Marcus," Casey says. "And I text her all the time, but she's always busy with this or that. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Casey says to Marcus.
"Maybe you're the problem. We used to hang out, her, Yasmin and I, and then she drifted away," Casey says. "So maybe you being a 'friend' is what's really bringing her down, getting her away from the real friends," Casey says. With a final tap of the text, Casey then tucks the phone away.
"I did. I came here looking for that chess piece, Marcus. Because there's 'weird vibes' with it, for sure," Casey says.
"And you speak for her, do you?" Casey says. "I'm pretty sure the Rachel I know speaks well enough for herself," Casey says.
Casey leans forward then, frowning. "... Rachel put me up to this," Casey says to Marcus. "Guess you don't know her as well as you thought," Casey effortlessly says.
Marcus laughs brightly in Casey's face. She can probably smell the bacon on his breath. Lovely. "I spoke for her because she's asleep, but I guess there was no need. Since she's been sleep-texting you and everything." He's still standing proud, his voice is still brazen. But it cracks. There's a furrow in his brow, a slight shift in his posture from one foot to another. He's losing hold of something. He blows out a breath and tries to retain his composure before the cracks are noticed. "Tell Solomon Inigo he can have his evil chess piece back when he's ready to make a deal, okay? Not a moment before. Otherwise...I'll destroy it." He wets his lips. He seems...anxious now. He's losing it...whatever bravado he had, it's slipping away. "I'll fucking eat it if I have to."
In the vicinity of the trailer, the sense of petty pride seems stronger. For Marcus, that seems... normal. He doesn't have the pricking supernatural senses of a ghost hunter. But for Casey, the veteran of many hauntings? Well. What seemed off outside the trailer could have just been something strange, if it wasn't for the dreams: but here? These feelings inside her seem -wrong-, and combined with her divinations it suggest the object of her scrying is close at hand.
Casey pauses. "It's a chess piece of Inigo's?" A beat more. "Solomon Inigo?"
A dash of her tongue across her teeth. "Well," Casey says to Marcus. "I don't want to keep any evil chess piece around, and only recently found out he's been doing some weird stuff," Casey says to Marcus.
"Tell you what," Casey says to Marcus. "I want to help you destroy it," Casey says. "Because eating it won't do jack, you know?" Casey says, voice airy.
"And you obviously need my help. I'm the weird stuff expert here, after all..." Casey says. "... you want to be one too?" Casey asks of Marcus, her voice tight.
A chess piece of Solomon Inigo's? That's surely unrelated to black magic in the city of Haven.
Marcus is losing his grip on his arrogance, on his pride. "You really didn't know?" He's questioning not only Casey, but himself. It's as if the real question is, 'How could I have been wrong?' He studies her face with a fresh uncertainty. It looks a bit painful; he really could use those glasses. "I found it on his desk," he says, eyeballing Casey stubbornly. It's as if he's trying to chase the tide of those feelings, trying to get them back, but they're rolling away from him, and quickly. He flinches.
But the cracks in his countenance don't quite turn his decision around immediately. "I'm sick of him. I'm sick of whatever he's doing, and whatever that..." He gestures rapidly but vaguely in the air. "...whatever that thing is doing." He doesn't elaborate on whatever that means. "I'm sick of getting forced into raw deals. Over and over. Me and Rachel, both dooming ourselves as we try to save each other. Getting closer and closer to Hell. Because you're right." He grits his teeth. It's hard for him to say, even now, the pride not having totally receded. He has to hiss it out. "I -haven't- been doing a good job of taking care of her. I've fucked it up. But now I have something Solomon wants. And I'm not giving it up for someone doing a welfare check!"
Some thing: some arcane artifact, curling around the entire city, drawing all of Haven's residents into Lucifer's sin. It's a welfare check, surely.
Casey stands there. She had a sense of fashion - not really ultrafashion, but Casey kept herself clean, and had a thrift store sort of vibe. Her most proud possession, that Numero Sept shoulderbag - her very stance seemed to accent it more than anything, hip out, lips turned down into a frown, manicured short nails tapping away on the strap.
"I guess I don't know everything, but yeah," Casey says. "Raw deals, seeming to turn some people into braindead puppets who ignore their very sense of self, their pride, their reality in order to really dive into the whole madness," Casey rolls her eyes. "You know what?" Casey points her finger at Marcus.
"He's not a bad guy, just attracts... nevermind. I, for one, am tired of it," Casey says. "And whatever stupid magic he's doing right now - or whatever spirit he's bound to this chess piece, we need to *fix it*, Marcus," Casey says.
"I don't know if you need to hold him hostage or whatever, or whatever raw deals you guys didn't watch enough cautionary movie tales to figure out you were making a bad decision, but whatever's happening right now?" Casey says.
"It's gotta stop."
Whatever passion was in the woman was bleeding out in a hurry as that pride in Marcus' features fades. "I *like* Rachel, and I don't know what's happening between her and I, not really, but..." Casey says. "... let's, at least, do this right thing by her? And break whatever this chess piece is doing down?" Casey asks.
Here, in this place, even Casey feels it: she's right. Everything she is saying is right, because -she- knows what's correct. -She- knows what is going on.
"-Is- it what's right by her?" Marcus wants to know. He's still got enough of the arrogance to get angry at someone who is very evidently just trying to help. In fact, it seems to be building up again, gaining momentum. He glares up at Casey, turning his head slightly to show more of the whites of his eyes. "-Is- it? Because I took a big risk to get that King, before I even knew what it was or what it does. And believe it or not, I did it for her, because otherwise...more shit is just going to -happen- to us. I'm tired of things -happening- to me! I'm taking goddamn control!"
"Maybe -you'd- be happy once it's destroyed. And then you can just fuck off to wherever you came from. But for Rachel and I...this chess piece is a big deal. It's the first time we've done anything but lose, over and fucking over." His fingers tuck into a tense fist. Not really looking like he's aiming to punch anyone, just...deeply, righteously angry. The anger of someone who -knows- they're right in every sense. "Our first tiny victory, and it's a so-called friend who's going to yank it away from us and leave us at square one. Less than square one, because now we've pissed off Solomon Inigo -and- we have nothing to show for it."
"And *what* does that piece do for that control?" Casey says, fanning her hair back over her shoulder. "I'd argue that it's making you *lose* control. It's making me lose control," Casey says. A lift of her chin. "Lesson number one, so listen up," Casey says. "Ghosts tend to be imprints of the recently dead on this world," Casey says. "Their emotions, their memories... all of it," Casey says. "Do I *know* what he did? I don't. But I know there's spiritual activity here," Casey says.
"And if he..." Casey sounded so certain. "Decided to put a ghost that died due to his or her pride, bind it to a chess piece, and let it out into the world..."
"Freeing it? Taking it out of its control?" Casey says to Marcus.
"What I've come to learn is that you can't... really... rely on people. Or rely on a happy ending," Casey says. "You can rely on reducing a little bit of pain in others. You can give freedom to a spirit that's lost in it's emotion, and let them move on," Casey says.
"And you can give that spirit the freedom it needs, and release whatever imprint and spell it's putting on all of us," Casey says.
"And take that piece out of his hands. Or you can wait for him to find out where it's gone, and do whatever else he wants to do," Casey says, folding her arms over her front. "And steal the piece back," Casey says.
"Leaving you below square one. You have the opportunity for a win. To reduce his power, to provide peace to a spirit, and to... you know," she begins.
"Give yourself and Rachel something to feel proud about," Casey says. "A win. The thought that you're doing something good."
Some coiling smoke seems to start rising, now, around the corners of the trailer. Marcus and Casey both have seen that before: the Mists, but tainted a little by hellfire. The tendrils seem to be like long arms, starting to reach out, starting to feel around. Is something seeking the statue?
Marcus does listen to what Casey has to say. He makes subtle faces, he rolls his eyes, he looks generally irritable, but to his credit, he listens. At the beginning of this conversation, he surely wouldn't have, but he wavers now. Still, when he speaks again, his voice comes out stubborn and forceful -- maybe just to compensate for those cracks still etching their way through his pride. "Well, I met a spirit, too," he says to her at last. "Like a ghost that'd been mutilated. Weeping sores, lash marks, brands, scars...everything you can imagine. I've never seen something in such torment. You know what I did? I set it free. Because I hated to see it suffer." He grinds his molars. "I thought that might be a win, like you said. A good deed. Something," he uses Casey's phrase, "to feel proud about." There's a bitter, mocking undertone to his voice. Really, an overtone.
"And what did I learn from that? Good deeds aren't free, either. Not any more than the bad ones." He laughs, a mirthless bark of a sound.
"I've always heard the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Always sounded like bullshit to me. But now I see it so clearly. Anytime you want something, anytime you need something, even if it's for someone else's sake. That's a want right there. A need. Something to be used. Something to be taken advantage of, manipulated, corrupted into something Else." His voice is tinged with hatred. "There's no way out but through." But his eyes shift aside. He blinks, noticing the anomaly. "Shit..."
"He's trying to get it back," Marcus says, alarmed. His eyes narrow as he looks around. Does he mean Solomon, or...someone else? "Maybe you're right," he grudgingly admits. "We might have to destroy it after all. Jesus Christ."
The shadowy arms seem to feel around blindly. One dark appendage seems to slip inside the cushion of a couch seat, seeming so much like it is looking for a lost remote: if a thing of smoke and shadow can lose a remote.
"No, I guess not," Casey says, with a heady sigh. "I was told I was schizophrenic, seeing things, whatever, from an early childhood. Making it up," Casey says. "Guess I could get what's mine, but if this world is going to be shitty about it all..." Casey begins by saying, Casey's shoulders relaxing. "I could be shitty too, and add to it, and I guess I do, but..." Casey chews on her lower lip.
"I could decide to help where I see fit, and..." Casey pauses.
"Make things lighter, even momentarily, for something else. You just can't be naive about it, you kn..." Casey says.
She lets her features fall, paling.
She shifts the purse to her front, and starts rummaging around for the book she brought with herself. "I think we do," Casey says.
"And I don't think we have much more time to make a decision. His demon is coming for it," Casey says to Marcus.
"Is it safe? Secret?" Casey says, leaning forward towards Marcus.
"... show me?" Casey whispers.
A long, shadowy hand starts to blindly feel towards the door to the outide. It seems as if it has too many joints: it's like the articulated limb of a daddy long-legs, except that on its end is five spindly fingers. If there is any saving grace, it is that it is -only- a shadow. It's clear it is not three-dimensional at all.
"-His- demon?" Marcus looks to Casey warily. But an uneasy alliance must be struck. "Who knows what's secret or safe from something like that?" he mumbles, the arrogance whittling away further. He does his best to puff himself up and summon it again, but it's artificial. He simply slowly backs off from the shadow as it searches the couch cushions, but when it starts to slink outside...that's when he makes a run for the door to try and get ahead of it. "Come on!"
"Salt, and suffering," Casey murmurs. "I'm going to try to draw something on the door to lock it outside, and..." Casey pauses.
"You seriously hid it *outside*?" Casey hushes in a brisk whisper. Casey's eyes were open, her gaze flickering towards the door itself as her fingers clasp the strap tightly.
"Worked well enough on you!" Marcus snipes back, ready to get to belittling again at the drop of a hat. "You walked right past it!" Never mind the shadowy demon tendrils; it's all about Casey and her inability to find the chess piece on her own. But Marcus only spares a moment for this banter. "I don't want to say where it is, it'll probably hear me!" he calls. Maybe at another time, in another place, he might've waited for Casey's go-ahead to swing open the door. It might've been smart. But Marcus is full of Good Ideas today, Good And Superior Ideas He Had All By Himself. He flings it ajar.
Outside: outside, the trailer park is mess of shadows. Those long, spindly, arachnid things seem to be haunting the outside of the trailer. Strange things lurk inside of trash cans, their shadows stretching and then disappearing inside the lids. Too-long, too-many-jointed arms reach underneath the trailer -- and then, slinking across the dirt, the shadow of a figure that isn't there, is one stretching out towards Marcus' van.
Casey hisses a moment at Marcus' snipe, but anything else that she might have felt was overtaken by the sights outside.
"Well, this is, at least, the best outcome. He's trying to just take it back, and maybe leave you in peace... s?" Casey says, the woman resorting to bad humor once she has the opprotunity to.
Perhaps out of an abundance of dumb, Casey flicks her hand to her LED flashlight she kept with herself, turning it on to illuminate one of the shadowy hands. The one aiming for the van, at least.
Uttering some curses in nonsensical combinations under his breath before lunging forward, Marcus sprints towards the van. Physically incapable of running like hell, he instead runs like heck, and prays that's fast enough. Either way, when he gets to the vehicle and tries to fling the door open, he finds it...locked, of course. He digs into the pocket for the key fob. Wrong pocket. He drops an F-bomb and tries another one. There it is. He peers through the dim evening light to try and find the unlock button, but apparently he can't see it quite well enough, because in the end he just presses something and hopes it's the right one.
Running -- Marcus and Casey both, bats out of hell. The girl is faster, pounding towards the van, and then she's there. Marcus hits it just behind her, but those long, reaching shadows are coming close. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Then the van unlocks: Marcus, it seems, always has the luck.
"If it's in there... just *drive* - I'll do what I need to in the back of the van!" Casey says. When she hears the van unlocking, she wastes no time in rounding to the passenger side - she was faster at that - her purse bobbing with each movement.
Just to open the door and fling herself into the seat. "Don't go into the forest, or across the bridge, just... I dunno, do loops around main!"
Marcus piles in the driver's seat and hastily starts the vehicle, as long as it has the good sense to start. There hasn't been anything wrong with it thus far, but if a shadow were to poke beneath the hood...who knows? He barely even shuts the door before he floors it. Forget seatbelts. Dandelion Parkway rarely sees such crazy driving, and probably never from a Volkswagen camper. He veers off onto Prospect and doesn't look back -- well, he does, but only through his rearview and side mirrors.
It seems as if Marcus and Casey are free of shadows, right? They're back there. They're up here, driving, in a Scooby Doo Mystery Machine -- right? Hopefully. Of course... where -is- the chessman King?
No one would see it upon first glance, or second, or third. No one would see it upon a fairly thorough search. You'd have to really suspect Marcus's car had drugs in it before you tore it up badly enough to find it. But Marcus -- Marcus knows just where to look. A small slit has been made in the very corner of the roof lining, usually invisible. But while he has one hand on the steering wheel, and as he slows the car, Marcus opens that cut and feels around with his fingers. Out rolls an object -- an oversized chess piece. A dark King, with recursive tendrils.
Casey actually really dug being the Daphne in a Scooby Doo vibe. Marcus could be Scooby...!
Casey was wearing pants, thankfully, as Casey had to crawl between passenger and driver seat into the back of the van at that point, although Casey says, "Where is it?"
Casey pauses a few moments, and takes a breath. "Alright," Casey says.
"Probably be just like the bone bracelets and things we've done a *million* times before," Casey says to herself.
"Toss it here? And don't stop moving unless you have to, okay?" Casey says. "Or drive into the ballfield under the lights or something," Casey murmurs.
Marcus is Scooby, all right. Too close to home. "I am NOT letting this get back in his hands!" he growls. Ironically, it is this King that imbues him with the power to defy the one who seeks it. He takes a turn, looping back. He's not driving as fast anymore, but there's still a wild look in his eye. He gropes blindly for it; it's fallen between the door and the driver's seat. Marcus doesn't bother with his turn signal as he takes another left. "When I pick it up, things are gonna get ugly!" he warns. But there's no other way. His fingers close around the piece.
When Marcus' fingers close on the chess piece, pride, ambition -- power. They flood his body. Wait, is that some single finger of shadow creeping out of his air conditioning vent?
Marcus snorts like a medieval lord turning his nose up at a filthy peasant in a pigsty. He has the King in his hand, which can be glimpsed by Casey when Marcus flicks his wrist twice to quickly close the vents. One, two. No more heat. "Fuck off," he says with a glower. "It's mine now." Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good for the whole destroying it thing.
Nonetheless, those words don't seem addressed to Casey. Marcus is glaring at the front panel.
"The vent! Toss it back!" Casey calls to Marcus, Casey scuttling forward again.
It was worth a shot - Casey tries to literally draw the blade of her athame against the shadow-finger as it peeks from the vent.
Casey pauses, "Until shadow-things catch you," Casey says.
With a small sound from the driver-side backseat, Casey adjusts her sit, and levels her glare on the hand where she saw the glimpse of the chess piece.
She was going to start anyways. Athame draws across her palm, and she hoped to ruin his upholstery by beginning to draw a solomon's circle in blood on the back of the driver's seat.
The athame is scribed with sigils: imperfect, but sigils, and when Casey strikes at the reaching, grasping spider-finger it seems as if it tears it: it's like plucking at a piece of gauze that suddenly begins to bleed smoke. Marcus, for his part, is hoarding the King: it's about 9 inches tall, black, carved of wood, and it radiates power. For Casey, the connection could be broken to the spell: even just a douse in holy water might do it, short of destruction. It's a focus, a correspondence, and if the link is broken, whatever magic it amplifies will fade.
"The fuck are you doing!" It becomes immediately evident that Marcus, for all his supposed experience with cursed chess pieces and magical shadow entities, is unfamiliar with this kind of ritual magic, so commonly seen in Haven. There's laughter in his voice. He's starting to find this whole situation humorous, which is a bad sign for his overally sanity. The King in his hand is a bad sign for his overall sanity. "They've gotta make a movie out of this!" he yells above the sputtering of his engine. "This is cinematic gold!"
Casey pauses a moment, finding a small bottle that she pulls from her purse. It was a water bottle, yes, but the water had been stolen from the holy water fountain bin at Mass.
If she has to attend those things at White Oak, she may as well get *some* benefit from it.
"Hey, Marcus?" Casey says, sweetly, twisting the athame around.
"You *deserve* that kingpiece, most of all of us," Casey says. She lowers her head, letting her crystal blue eyes get big and excited.
"May I see it? Just for a minute?"
Casey says "I don't even have to touch it, just... hold it up for me?"
And yet Marcus does not relinquish the King. A slow smile is spreading, an uncharacteristically wicked one. Well, it might seem par for the course for Casey, who only knows this unfortunate side of him. Oh, dear, he's losing himself again. "Good one!" he laughs to Casey. His ego is swollen, but his brain is still working well enough to know a trick when he sees one. Instead, he yells something:
"Plot twist!" Transferring the King into his left hand so that it's far from Casey, Marcus tries to reach across with his right and fling open the passenger's side door. "I was going to give it to you, but instead you decided to fuck with me! OUT!"
Plot twist, indeed: when the door is flung open, the darkness outside the van seems to -twist-. It's like it's alive, and then there is a strange bulge, as if shadow is trying to push against the interior light of the van. Is that bubble of night moving? Oh, no. No, no, no: it's made of a hundred-hundred slender, grasping hands like tentacles.
The van is still moving, of course. Though it probably wouldn't actually be dangerous to get out of Marcus's car at the current MPH. At least...not for that reason.
"OUT!" Marcus screams, and he's screaming at the darkness as well as Casey. They are given equal measures of arrogance-bloated rage. No room for fear -- only hatred. "IT'S MINE NOW!" Still, he stops short of actually pushing Casey out of the car into the roiling chaos.
"Plot twist," Casey says, her tone of voice coy.
"Do you *really* have to make these things difficult?" Casey says. A heady sigh that passes her lips, and Casey runs her tongue over the same. "Well, okay," Casey says. "Just remember, you did this to yourself," Casey says.
Seated as she was *behind* Marcus, and in the back of the van at the driver's side, Casey pauses a few moments more.
Casey produces a taser, and jabs it into Marcus' side.
In taser school, they warn you to never tase someone with a gun, since it may cause them to shoot, or indeed anyone operating heavy machinery. Casey did not go to taser school, and when the dry-fired gun hits Marcus' side he has a sudden overwhelming shock of electricity running through his veins.
Whether Marcus indeed did this to himself, or the King did it to him, the distinction hardly matters anymore. The man is reduced to a nervous system that is entirely on fire. He howls in a bizarre, animalistic manner, he convulses violently, and, still shivering uncontrollably with currents, he faceplants straight on the steering wheel, his foot still on the gas pedal. HEAVY on the gas. The King is flung out of his hand, bouncing against the dashboard and then back towards Casey.
Oh, and if that's not enough Marcus's forehead rests riiiight on the horn.
Casey snaps out her hand as the pedal hits the floor. Even failing taser school as she did, Casey drops the device onto the ground as the king flies out of Marcus' hand. The dashboard hit, Casey had a moment of sinking feeling that the king would just roll outside, and Casey reaches out her hand to grasp it, ignoring the impending doom to splash the chess piece with holy water, once it was in her hot little hands.
When Casey's hand hits the object there is a sudden flash of sensation: power. She is powerful, awesome, amazing... and even as the holy water splashes it seems to sizzle. It boils off it, and with it some magical connection is broken. The things begin to fade away, the van crashed on the side of the road, but the King? It's amazing. And it's Casey's.
Twitching violently in a macabre sort of dance, Marcus provides an avant-garde soundtrack to this moment. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!
(OOC: I'm going to end the thwart successfully so we can go get the King and give it to Casey.)
Whatever. Marcus doesn't care. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!