Encounterlogs
Lepias Odd Encounter Sr Crystal 240924
On a quiet afternoon at the bar, Lepia encounters a disheveled and ostensibly troubled man who approaches her with a sense of desperation and uncertainty. The man, revealing himself to be Jesse , seems to have been unintentionally separated from his companion and expresses a fervent wish to return to her, hinting at a connection that suggests he might have been under some form of compulsion or devotion typical of a thrall. Lepia engages him with her peculiar, whimsical speech, offering him coffee and cryptic advice coated with her unique perspective on reality. Intrigued by her demeanor, Jesse finds a glimmer of hope and decides to confide in her, seeking her assistance to find his way back to his 'home' or whatever place he had been separated from.
As their odd conversation unfolds, Lepia proposes a surreal solution involving digging or tearing a hole as a metaphor for creating a passage for Jesse to find his way back. She shows a particular interest in some items Jesse scatters on the counter—a tube of lipstick and strands of blonde hair, suggesting they could be instrumental in the process. In exchange for her help, Lepia requests the strands of hair, hinting at a deeper, perhaps magical, significance to these objects. Jesse readily agrees, providing his contact information on a piece of paper and leaving the items with Lepia as a form of payment or promise. Despite the bizarre nature of their plan, Jesse leaves the encounter with renewed determination, instructed to prepare for an unspecified next step in their mysterious and unconventional quest to return him to his previous state or location. With Lepia's whimsical guidance and Jesse's newfound purpose, their story concludes on a note of tentative optimism, with plans for further collaboration to achieve Jesse's goal, despite the ambiguous and potentially dangerous path ahead.
(Lepia's odd encounter(SRCrystal):SRCrystal)
[Mon Sep 23 2024]
At the bar
This well lit area is home to a long, polished bar that stretches from
west to east along the centermost portion of the northern wall. A number of
refrigerators and shelves within have been filled with various drinks and
town memorabilia for display, but the large head of a black bear mounted
higher on the wall attracts more attention. Food for the bar is prepared on
a cast iron cooking surface behind the bar, but well within sight of
patrons. It's so large that several different meals can all be cooked at
the same time.
Starting to the side of the Lodge's entrance to the north, several booths
follow the old hardwood walls and wrap around the pool tables to the east.
Their sequence is only interrupted there by the exit to the courtyard in the
distance.
A small HD flatscreen television hangs in the southwestern corner, open to
sight for all of those at the bar.
It is noon, about 68F(20C) degrees,
(Your target and their allies encounter the former thrall of a vampire who's become accidentally separated from their master. Likely mind controlled into complete devotion the thrall wants nothing more than to return. It is up to the characters to either help them do so, or prevent them from doing so.
)
Nearby, the small HD flatscreen near the bar does its very best to broadcast today's local news to the patrons killing time at the bar. Right now, it's a bright-eyed meteorologist discussing the recent flooding that has finally subsided in Haven. Whether that's having a coffee the afternoon or just hanging out is anyone's guess, as it seems it's a very quiet afternoon, with just Lepia at the bar. Occasionally some footsteps mark the random passerby who considers stepping inside, only to second guess themselves and try their luck somewhere else. The Lodge can have that effect on some. This process repeats itself, until someone finally takes the bite and enters the bar, wearing a long coat over a disheveled figure. Their hair is messy, and they have a wide brimmed hat go go with that large dark coat. Seeing only Lepia around, they carefully approach her with their hands in their coat pockets.
Finally polishing off the salmon burger she ordered just a moment ago, Lepia stares long at the flickering TV, giving a yawn at the description of the weather. Whether it would be the truth remained to be seen, of course; what sort of divinator had a perfect success rate, much less one that relied on a fickle 'science' rather than the signs right in front of them? But then, footsteps came, soft and quiet, before she turns about on the barstool, looking at the strange man that approaches, head tilted slightly, eyes staring unblinkingly.
"...heyyy," The stranger sounds out a greeting. Their voice is light and feminine, but has the stain of an anxiety burdened soul. Twitchy, with the discriminable intent they're probably looking for help, or judging by their odd and bedraggled appearance, maybe even some handout. They reach up to remove that wide-brimmed hat and the scratchy red scarf covering their neck, unveiling a pale visage under the haze of dark-brown hair that has been cut and trimmed with no rhyme or reason at the ends.
Her green eyes gaze upon Lepia and forces a smile, albeit a strained one.
In the background, that meteorologist with the winning smile goes on to confidently state that the flooding was a freak accident, and Boston's best is hard at work trying to needle out what the heck happened. An interviewee then cuts in, theorizing, and probably joking that Nessie the cryptid had a hand in that flooding. Another chimes in it's climate change, sparking good-natured debate before the news caster apologizes that they're out of time. The man approaching Lepia doesn't seem to care about that one bit. He just has eyes on Lepia, and momentarily, the food that was on their plate. He meets her unbliking stare with one of their own. "Sorry. I uh," he begins awkwardly, being the one to blink and lose the staring contest. "Can you... I." He can't find the words right now, apparently.
"Hello hello hello. Threes, best done in threes, be careful with what you speak, things are listening." Lepia speaks in a strange, ethereal tone, the places where emphasis is placed just slightly wrong, before words on the television drawing a short, nervous giggle from her lips. "Can I? May I. You need; everyone needs, nature of the world, that of consequence. Consequence causes, need drives; like a bus, bus, bus." She flags down the waitstaff, ordering a cup of coffee with a hushed word, before placing it into the man's hands, before saying in a hushed word, "Sssh sh sh. It will be our secret."
He takes one step back, one deep breath, with two hands in front of him. It's a self-steadying ritual that some people do, even if it makes them look real strange doing it, especially after trying to approach a person they don't know like Lepia. "Okay. Breathe. Words," he urges himself. If it weren't for the desperate situation regarding his grooming, he'd probably look his age. Some grooming would go a long way in maintaining that androgynous look he once had. But now he plays the part as ragged scamp with a voice that belies the appearance.
"Okay. Hi, I'm-" he attempts to introduce himself, but this time it's not his blunder that is his undoing. Lepia steals his thunder!
He can only stare and stare, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide with the sense of awe like what Lepia has said has just enlightened him. The coffee probably helps too. With shaking hands, he gulps down some of the caffeinated sludge. "Thank you. I just." He grits his teeth, the frustration starting to flow from him, but stemmed with what he perceives as an open reception from the woman who graced him with a coffee. "I just really need help. No one around here is even paying attention to me. It's like I don't even exist," he chatters away, on the cusp of pouring out his woes unto Lepia.
"You exist. I exist. Silly little thing, maybe one day we won't, nature of how the world moves; consequences consequences consequences." Once again, Lepia speaks in that vaguely sing-songy tone, her head twitching gently at each statement of the word 'consequences'. "I wonder how you managed. Managed to find me. Managed for me to find you. Sit!" She pats the stool next to her and spins about on the stool, facing back around towards the counter rather than back towards the figure. "No one deserves ignoring; such is Prometheus' curse, disparity in the garden."
"Yeah. Yeah..." He ekes out gloomily at first, deciding at first he's being made fun of. Then it dawns on him that he's quelling some of the baseless worries he was panicking over. The waiters and waitresses, passerby alike did disregard him, but they knew he existed. He didn't see it that way until Lepia threw him a line for his sanity. He takes a seat by her side, obedient like a dog. "So like. Here's the-" Nope, not yet, one more greedy gulp from the cup that houses dark liquid, to find the nerves. "Here's the deal." The light, girly voice he somehow has grows ever quieter, ready to spill out a secret he desperately needs to share. Some comfort is stoked under the strange, whimsical nature that Lepia weaves. "I'm not supposed to be here. I have to get back," he gestures at himself, then towards hence he came. "Can you help me get back?" he asks her, unable to look her in the eye with this plea for assistance.
"Mmmm! Mm." The first hum one of interest, the second one of thought. Lepia considers the matter for a moment, before saying, "Going forwards is easy. Going backwards is hard. You traced your steps back, already? Tried reverse, walking backwards?" Her gaze shifts to the figure next to her, unblinking gaze staring right into his. A hand snakes up and lifts the drawstring of the baja sweater she wore, sticking the chewed end of it into her mouth and beginning to gnaw upon it once again.
"Wait. Wait. Hold on," the young man who hasn't yet shared his name tells no one in particular. "Sorry, sorry," he apologizes with a turn, smiling at Lepia meaningfully. "Before that. I'm supposed to tell you my name." He holds a finger up like he's schooling Lepia on something, in this case it is apparently etiquette. "I'm Jesse. I was Nathan before, but now I'm Jesse," he tells Lepia, complete with an air of pride in the feminine lilt.
"Now I need to-" He hesitates, and shakes his head, at odds with himself. "Now I need to know your name next, but I'm being really really rude," he expresses, the despair returning to form. It's halted, with this discourse. "I tried that. It didn't work. That's why I've come here. So you can help me." Now the discussion is just tantamount to two like-minded individuals discussing something pretty typical. Like he's done this with her before. "Because when I go, I need someone to tell her that this was all just one big misunderstanding."
"Now you need to know my name!" Lepia giggled a bit at the very idea of it, before saying, "A name for a name, but both at the same time will not do, will not do. Lepi, leap, leapt, clear over the horizon, clear over the pale. Now yours, in turn; this is the progression of things. Rudeness aside, these things have order to them." She speaks all of this with the drawstring still hanging out of a corner of her mouth; the moment she ceases speaking, she begins gnawing on the cloth once again, uneven teeth grinding against the fabric.
Two peas in a pod, some might conclude on momentary study of the two chatting together. It's probably more like one lost sock found another that didn't match and decided to become a mismatched pair. There are times when some socks must come to such drastic measures. He gets the name from Lepia, repeating it as she did in the same candor as 'The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.' The frazzled androgyne doesn't quite have the whimsy that Lepia has under her sleeve, sadly. So he reiterates more lamely, "Jesse, Nathan, Jesse. But mainly Jesse." His eyes are centered on the drawstring he chews at, as if this is the key to all his troubles and he must pay very close attention to it, and after a moment they dart back to meet Lepia's gaze expectantly. "So if it didn't work, what do I do now? I gotta get back or I'm in bad trouble."
"Mmmmmmm.... Mmmmm!" The hum continues from Lepia's lips, still thinking, still calculating. "I only know of one way. Dangerous it is, fraught with terror. Burying yourself might be an option; I could do it for you, but you may lose yourself before you find yourself again, such is the case with these things. Rejoining, returning, both the same things. Hmmm..." The hum continues, considering carefully. "Walking in the woods is a dangerous thing. Could make a hole, a way to peer through. Could see about doing that. Fabrics have holes, it is how one sees; make a hole wide enough, perception moves through, self moves through. Maybe we can do that."
Jesse, or Nathan, but mainly Jesse squints hard at Lepia. A fixation that typically comes the most studious of students absorbing what the lecturer tells them. No matter the content that leaves Lepia's thin mouth, he can only see her as the voice of reason right now. He has to,since she's the only person that is giving him the time of day and speaking to him. He digs inside of his pocket, and out comes a handful of things he scatters on the diner counter. A tube of lipstick missing the cap and what looks like someone has taken a bite out of it, a handful of blonde strands of hair, and a phone. It's the phone he was looking for, so the other stuff is kindly donated to whoever has the displeasure of having to clean after him. "I'm going to write this down," he tells her, as he's convinced she holds the answer to his dilemma. He's watched the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and as far as he is concerned that stuff is real, so this sounds like something that would work too.
He taps his nail-bitten thumbs over the phone, but it doesn't come to life. He still tries his hardest to contain this information despite the hiccup. "I'm going to dig a hole," he promises her. "It's not so hard to do," he copes some, briefly casting his gaze towards the Lodge's entryway. Then right back to Lepia in the hopes he imparts more 'wisdom' onto him.
"Dig a hole, tear a hole, gnaw a hole, these things are the same... Ah!" Lepia peers closely, at the hair, staring for a long time at it, as if it was something of great value. Her hand slowly reaches for it, though stopping before her fingers actually grasp it, making a grasping motion with her hand. "That will help." She then points to the lipstick with her other hand as well, saying, "That will help too. Do you need help? I can help. Only a gift in return, a gift to return." She giggles, once again, at the wordplay, seeming amused at the whole situation.
Initially happy to leave the two pieces from his coat pocket there, Jesse has no qualms with retrieving them and stuffing the lot inside his coat for safekeeping. They are now crucial pieces to the puzzle of going home. He blinks once, twice, then trice, fluttering long lashes that once gave him the charm to rizz ladies and gentleman alike. Those were probably happier times. "I'll keep them then," he assures her, prepping for the greatest mission of his life. Or he thinks. He cants his head to one side, curious and intrigue washing away the biting anxiety that loomed over him like a rain cloud just moments ago. "Huh. You'd really help me? What kind of things would you like in return?" The query posed gives him an excuse to look her up and down, but what he sees doesn't really give him much insight on what the lady likes. Hard book to digest, a cut above his level, clearly.
"The hair." Lepia states simply, in response to his question. It was rather apparent she valued it rather closely. "Making holes, mending holes, the same thing; such strands make perfect weaving. Aurum threads to sew kindly truths; it is through such pure substance dreams are made." She offers a hand to Jesse-Nathan-Jesse; if he takes it, she gives it a gentle squeeze, before saying, "We meet in time. Preparation must be made. You will need things. Those things are things I will bring, some things are things you will bring. Keep your eyes open, see what waits; bring that which stands out."
Picking out the clump of hair back from the recess of his pockets, Jesse passes the strands of straw-hued tresses back onto the diner counter, just for Lepia. He's done her the favor of hearing him out, after all. "It's yours," he grants her, finding a few hairs still sticking to his fingers. he corrects that, making sure Lepia gets the whole deal there. Not one strand gone astray, as far as he's concerned. Unless he has more in his pocket. "I have nothing but to wait," he returns to her, confident, scheming this nonsense that makes all the sense with her. "My number." He places a crumpled piece of paper onto the hair to add to his tribute. "I only bide my time now. You can find me here," he informs here, waving the phone about for emphasis. The phone that doesn't work. It wouldn't take too much effort to find him, everyone knows Jesse who claims he's lost, but doesn't give him the time like kind Lepia does. "There'll be a bigger reward once we get me back home," he further promises, icing on the cake.
Lepia accepts the strands of hairs, spiriting them away amidst the pockets of her baja jacket; the drawstring had not left her mouth the entire time she had been speaking with him, still gnawed upon on occasion. Her head bobs, enthusiastically, excitedly. "So it will be. So it will be. I look forwards to it." She accepts the paper, too, entering whatever number was scrawled upon it. "The demon box contains many things; it is best to speak in person, but this is an act of summoning, is it not? It is. Prometheus' blessing, curse, both alike; distant yet close. Walk safely Jesse-Nathan-Jesse, we will get you back. Home, home home. The least I can do, after fire destroyed mine."
He stays stark still, eying the paper and hair pile on the counter until it is taken by Lepia, answer to all things, as far as he's concerned. Then he slides out of the stool she graciously bade him to sit and stands with a newfound purpose: digging a hole. For himself. "I don't really like them either," he confesses of the demon boxes that make everything so convenient in this day and age. "My-"
*Twitch* *Twitch*
Two tweaks of the brow, a grimace, and he refrains from his original train of thought. "Friend says they lead to complacency. I think you'd like her. Once we find her," he prattles, counting his chickens before they hatch. "But that's something for next time." Phase two. His eyes start to water when she stresses that certain term that draws near to his heart: Home. "Thank you, Lepi. I-. I'm going home, and you'll be greatly rewarded, I promise," comes a promise that he probably can't keep. He might end up getting buried alive before anything resembling a reward can land for Lepia. "If the phone doesn't work, search the rooms." He jerks a thumb eastward, where the Antler's Hotel resides, closeby.
As their odd conversation unfolds, Lepia proposes a surreal solution involving digging or tearing a hole as a metaphor for creating a passage for Jesse to find his way back. She shows a particular interest in some items Jesse scatters on the counter—a tube of lipstick and strands of blonde hair, suggesting they could be instrumental in the process. In exchange for her help, Lepia requests the strands of hair, hinting at a deeper, perhaps magical, significance to these objects. Jesse readily agrees, providing his contact information on a piece of paper and leaving the items with Lepia as a form of payment or promise. Despite the bizarre nature of their plan, Jesse leaves the encounter with renewed determination, instructed to prepare for an unspecified next step in their mysterious and unconventional quest to return him to his previous state or location. With Lepia's whimsical guidance and Jesse's newfound purpose, their story concludes on a note of tentative optimism, with plans for further collaboration to achieve Jesse's goal, despite the ambiguous and potentially dangerous path ahead.
(Lepia's odd encounter(SRCrystal):SRCrystal)
[Mon Sep 23 2024]
At the bar
This well lit area is home to a long, polished bar that stretches from
west to east along the centermost portion of the northern wall. A number of
refrigerators and shelves within have been filled with various drinks and
town memorabilia for display, but the large head of a black bear mounted
higher on the wall attracts more attention. Food for the bar is prepared on
a cast iron cooking surface behind the bar, but well within sight of
patrons. It's so large that several different meals can all be cooked at
the same time.
Starting to the side of the Lodge's entrance to the north, several booths
follow the old hardwood walls and wrap around the pool tables to the east.
Their sequence is only interrupted there by the exit to the courtyard in the
distance.
A small HD flatscreen television hangs in the southwestern corner, open to
sight for all of those at the bar.
It is noon, about 68F(20C) degrees,
(Your target and their allies encounter the former thrall of a vampire who's become accidentally separated from their master. Likely mind controlled into complete devotion the thrall wants nothing more than to return. It is up to the characters to either help them do so, or prevent them from doing so.
)
Nearby, the small HD flatscreen near the bar does its very best to broadcast today's local news to the patrons killing time at the bar. Right now, it's a bright-eyed meteorologist discussing the recent flooding that has finally subsided in Haven. Whether that's having a coffee the afternoon or just hanging out is anyone's guess, as it seems it's a very quiet afternoon, with just Lepia at the bar. Occasionally some footsteps mark the random passerby who considers stepping inside, only to second guess themselves and try their luck somewhere else. The Lodge can have that effect on some. This process repeats itself, until someone finally takes the bite and enters the bar, wearing a long coat over a disheveled figure. Their hair is messy, and they have a wide brimmed hat go go with that large dark coat. Seeing only Lepia around, they carefully approach her with their hands in their coat pockets.
Finally polishing off the salmon burger she ordered just a moment ago, Lepia stares long at the flickering TV, giving a yawn at the description of the weather. Whether it would be the truth remained to be seen, of course; what sort of divinator had a perfect success rate, much less one that relied on a fickle 'science' rather than the signs right in front of them? But then, footsteps came, soft and quiet, before she turns about on the barstool, looking at the strange man that approaches, head tilted slightly, eyes staring unblinkingly.
"...heyyy," The stranger sounds out a greeting. Their voice is light and feminine, but has the stain of an anxiety burdened soul. Twitchy, with the discriminable intent they're probably looking for help, or judging by their odd and bedraggled appearance, maybe even some handout. They reach up to remove that wide-brimmed hat and the scratchy red scarf covering their neck, unveiling a pale visage under the haze of dark-brown hair that has been cut and trimmed with no rhyme or reason at the ends.
Her green eyes gaze upon Lepia and forces a smile, albeit a strained one.
In the background, that meteorologist with the winning smile goes on to confidently state that the flooding was a freak accident, and Boston's best is hard at work trying to needle out what the heck happened. An interviewee then cuts in, theorizing, and probably joking that Nessie the cryptid had a hand in that flooding. Another chimes in it's climate change, sparking good-natured debate before the news caster apologizes that they're out of time. The man approaching Lepia doesn't seem to care about that one bit. He just has eyes on Lepia, and momentarily, the food that was on their plate. He meets her unbliking stare with one of their own. "Sorry. I uh," he begins awkwardly, being the one to blink and lose the staring contest. "Can you... I." He can't find the words right now, apparently.
"Hello hello hello. Threes, best done in threes, be careful with what you speak, things are listening." Lepia speaks in a strange, ethereal tone, the places where emphasis is placed just slightly wrong, before words on the television drawing a short, nervous giggle from her lips. "Can I? May I. You need; everyone needs, nature of the world, that of consequence. Consequence causes, need drives; like a bus, bus, bus." She flags down the waitstaff, ordering a cup of coffee with a hushed word, before placing it into the man's hands, before saying in a hushed word, "Sssh sh sh. It will be our secret."
He takes one step back, one deep breath, with two hands in front of him. It's a self-steadying ritual that some people do, even if it makes them look real strange doing it, especially after trying to approach a person they don't know like Lepia. "Okay. Breathe. Words," he urges himself. If it weren't for the desperate situation regarding his grooming, he'd probably look his age. Some grooming would go a long way in maintaining that androgynous look he once had. But now he plays the part as ragged scamp with a voice that belies the appearance.
"Okay. Hi, I'm-" he attempts to introduce himself, but this time it's not his blunder that is his undoing. Lepia steals his thunder!
He can only stare and stare, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide with the sense of awe like what Lepia has said has just enlightened him. The coffee probably helps too. With shaking hands, he gulps down some of the caffeinated sludge. "Thank you. I just." He grits his teeth, the frustration starting to flow from him, but stemmed with what he perceives as an open reception from the woman who graced him with a coffee. "I just really need help. No one around here is even paying attention to me. It's like I don't even exist," he chatters away, on the cusp of pouring out his woes unto Lepia.
"You exist. I exist. Silly little thing, maybe one day we won't, nature of how the world moves; consequences consequences consequences." Once again, Lepia speaks in that vaguely sing-songy tone, her head twitching gently at each statement of the word 'consequences'. "I wonder how you managed. Managed to find me. Managed for me to find you. Sit!" She pats the stool next to her and spins about on the stool, facing back around towards the counter rather than back towards the figure. "No one deserves ignoring; such is Prometheus' curse, disparity in the garden."
"Yeah. Yeah..." He ekes out gloomily at first, deciding at first he's being made fun of. Then it dawns on him that he's quelling some of the baseless worries he was panicking over. The waiters and waitresses, passerby alike did disregard him, but they knew he existed. He didn't see it that way until Lepia threw him a line for his sanity. He takes a seat by her side, obedient like a dog. "So like. Here's the-" Nope, not yet, one more greedy gulp from the cup that houses dark liquid, to find the nerves. "Here's the deal." The light, girly voice he somehow has grows ever quieter, ready to spill out a secret he desperately needs to share. Some comfort is stoked under the strange, whimsical nature that Lepia weaves. "I'm not supposed to be here. I have to get back," he gestures at himself, then towards hence he came. "Can you help me get back?" he asks her, unable to look her in the eye with this plea for assistance.
"Mmmm! Mm." The first hum one of interest, the second one of thought. Lepia considers the matter for a moment, before saying, "Going forwards is easy. Going backwards is hard. You traced your steps back, already? Tried reverse, walking backwards?" Her gaze shifts to the figure next to her, unblinking gaze staring right into his. A hand snakes up and lifts the drawstring of the baja sweater she wore, sticking the chewed end of it into her mouth and beginning to gnaw upon it once again.
"Wait. Wait. Hold on," the young man who hasn't yet shared his name tells no one in particular. "Sorry, sorry," he apologizes with a turn, smiling at Lepia meaningfully. "Before that. I'm supposed to tell you my name." He holds a finger up like he's schooling Lepia on something, in this case it is apparently etiquette. "I'm Jesse. I was Nathan before, but now I'm Jesse," he tells Lepia, complete with an air of pride in the feminine lilt.
"Now I need to-" He hesitates, and shakes his head, at odds with himself. "Now I need to know your name next, but I'm being really really rude," he expresses, the despair returning to form. It's halted, with this discourse. "I tried that. It didn't work. That's why I've come here. So you can help me." Now the discussion is just tantamount to two like-minded individuals discussing something pretty typical. Like he's done this with her before. "Because when I go, I need someone to tell her that this was all just one big misunderstanding."
"Now you need to know my name!" Lepia giggled a bit at the very idea of it, before saying, "A name for a name, but both at the same time will not do, will not do. Lepi, leap, leapt, clear over the horizon, clear over the pale. Now yours, in turn; this is the progression of things. Rudeness aside, these things have order to them." She speaks all of this with the drawstring still hanging out of a corner of her mouth; the moment she ceases speaking, she begins gnawing on the cloth once again, uneven teeth grinding against the fabric.
Two peas in a pod, some might conclude on momentary study of the two chatting together. It's probably more like one lost sock found another that didn't match and decided to become a mismatched pair. There are times when some socks must come to such drastic measures. He gets the name from Lepia, repeating it as she did in the same candor as 'The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.' The frazzled androgyne doesn't quite have the whimsy that Lepia has under her sleeve, sadly. So he reiterates more lamely, "Jesse, Nathan, Jesse. But mainly Jesse." His eyes are centered on the drawstring he chews at, as if this is the key to all his troubles and he must pay very close attention to it, and after a moment they dart back to meet Lepia's gaze expectantly. "So if it didn't work, what do I do now? I gotta get back or I'm in bad trouble."
"Mmmmmmm.... Mmmmm!" The hum continues from Lepia's lips, still thinking, still calculating. "I only know of one way. Dangerous it is, fraught with terror. Burying yourself might be an option; I could do it for you, but you may lose yourself before you find yourself again, such is the case with these things. Rejoining, returning, both the same things. Hmmm..." The hum continues, considering carefully. "Walking in the woods is a dangerous thing. Could make a hole, a way to peer through. Could see about doing that. Fabrics have holes, it is how one sees; make a hole wide enough, perception moves through, self moves through. Maybe we can do that."
Jesse, or Nathan, but mainly Jesse squints hard at Lepia. A fixation that typically comes the most studious of students absorbing what the lecturer tells them. No matter the content that leaves Lepia's thin mouth, he can only see her as the voice of reason right now. He has to,since she's the only person that is giving him the time of day and speaking to him. He digs inside of his pocket, and out comes a handful of things he scatters on the diner counter. A tube of lipstick missing the cap and what looks like someone has taken a bite out of it, a handful of blonde strands of hair, and a phone. It's the phone he was looking for, so the other stuff is kindly donated to whoever has the displeasure of having to clean after him. "I'm going to write this down," he tells her, as he's convinced she holds the answer to his dilemma. He's watched the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and as far as he is concerned that stuff is real, so this sounds like something that would work too.
He taps his nail-bitten thumbs over the phone, but it doesn't come to life. He still tries his hardest to contain this information despite the hiccup. "I'm going to dig a hole," he promises her. "It's not so hard to do," he copes some, briefly casting his gaze towards the Lodge's entryway. Then right back to Lepia in the hopes he imparts more 'wisdom' onto him.
"Dig a hole, tear a hole, gnaw a hole, these things are the same... Ah!" Lepia peers closely, at the hair, staring for a long time at it, as if it was something of great value. Her hand slowly reaches for it, though stopping before her fingers actually grasp it, making a grasping motion with her hand. "That will help." She then points to the lipstick with her other hand as well, saying, "That will help too. Do you need help? I can help. Only a gift in return, a gift to return." She giggles, once again, at the wordplay, seeming amused at the whole situation.
Initially happy to leave the two pieces from his coat pocket there, Jesse has no qualms with retrieving them and stuffing the lot inside his coat for safekeeping. They are now crucial pieces to the puzzle of going home. He blinks once, twice, then trice, fluttering long lashes that once gave him the charm to rizz ladies and gentleman alike. Those were probably happier times. "I'll keep them then," he assures her, prepping for the greatest mission of his life. Or he thinks. He cants his head to one side, curious and intrigue washing away the biting anxiety that loomed over him like a rain cloud just moments ago. "Huh. You'd really help me? What kind of things would you like in return?" The query posed gives him an excuse to look her up and down, but what he sees doesn't really give him much insight on what the lady likes. Hard book to digest, a cut above his level, clearly.
"The hair." Lepia states simply, in response to his question. It was rather apparent she valued it rather closely. "Making holes, mending holes, the same thing; such strands make perfect weaving. Aurum threads to sew kindly truths; it is through such pure substance dreams are made." She offers a hand to Jesse-Nathan-Jesse; if he takes it, she gives it a gentle squeeze, before saying, "We meet in time. Preparation must be made. You will need things. Those things are things I will bring, some things are things you will bring. Keep your eyes open, see what waits; bring that which stands out."
Picking out the clump of hair back from the recess of his pockets, Jesse passes the strands of straw-hued tresses back onto the diner counter, just for Lepia. He's done her the favor of hearing him out, after all. "It's yours," he grants her, finding a few hairs still sticking to his fingers. he corrects that, making sure Lepia gets the whole deal there. Not one strand gone astray, as far as he's concerned. Unless he has more in his pocket. "I have nothing but to wait," he returns to her, confident, scheming this nonsense that makes all the sense with her. "My number." He places a crumpled piece of paper onto the hair to add to his tribute. "I only bide my time now. You can find me here," he informs here, waving the phone about for emphasis. The phone that doesn't work. It wouldn't take too much effort to find him, everyone knows Jesse who claims he's lost, but doesn't give him the time like kind Lepia does. "There'll be a bigger reward once we get me back home," he further promises, icing on the cake.
Lepia accepts the strands of hairs, spiriting them away amidst the pockets of her baja jacket; the drawstring had not left her mouth the entire time she had been speaking with him, still gnawed upon on occasion. Her head bobs, enthusiastically, excitedly. "So it will be. So it will be. I look forwards to it." She accepts the paper, too, entering whatever number was scrawled upon it. "The demon box contains many things; it is best to speak in person, but this is an act of summoning, is it not? It is. Prometheus' blessing, curse, both alike; distant yet close. Walk safely Jesse-Nathan-Jesse, we will get you back. Home, home home. The least I can do, after fire destroyed mine."
He stays stark still, eying the paper and hair pile on the counter until it is taken by Lepia, answer to all things, as far as he's concerned. Then he slides out of the stool she graciously bade him to sit and stands with a newfound purpose: digging a hole. For himself. "I don't really like them either," he confesses of the demon boxes that make everything so convenient in this day and age. "My-"
*Twitch* *Twitch*
Two tweaks of the brow, a grimace, and he refrains from his original train of thought. "Friend says they lead to complacency. I think you'd like her. Once we find her," he prattles, counting his chickens before they hatch. "But that's something for next time." Phase two. His eyes start to water when she stresses that certain term that draws near to his heart: Home. "Thank you, Lepi. I-. I'm going home, and you'll be greatly rewarded, I promise," comes a promise that he probably can't keep. He might end up getting buried alive before anything resembling a reward can land for Lepia. "If the phone doesn't work, search the rooms." He jerks a thumb eastward, where the Antler's Hotel resides, closeby.