Encounterlogs
Novels Odd Encounter Sr Tabitha 240828
In a tense encounter inside an nondescript clinic room, Novel faces interrogation by a duo claiming affiliation with a mysterious Institute. The scene is set with Novel, a captive with a unique physiology that supposedly could unlock supernatural secrets, expressing his frustration through aggressive gameplay on his outdated computer, yearning for the visceral thrill of real combat which his current situation sorely lacks. Amidst his digital rampage, a nurse named Mildred, accompanied by a musclebound man, enters to assess Novel's condition, only to be met with hostility and veiled threats from the captive. Despite Novel's unruly demeanor, the duo aims to extract information from him regarding the nature of his unique blood, believing it holds the key to achieving supernatural abilities themselves.
As their interrogation unfolds, the antagonistic relationship between Novel and his captors escalates, with threats exchanged and tension mounting. Novel's taunts and challenges only deepen the resolve of Mildred and her companion, who hint at their desperate desire to transform into beings like Novel through his blood. Despite drawing a substantial quantity of blood from Novel in their pursuit of answers, the captors face disappointment, receiving only cryptic advice to seek out a wizard named Fayad for the truths they so desperately seek. Deflated and perhaps realizing the complexity of unlocking supernatural secrets, the duo departs, leaving Novel to recover from the encounter, his body quickly healing from the invasive blood draw. In the quiet aftermath, Novel muses on the potential chaos his captors might unwittingly sow in their continued search for power, a notion that brings him a twisted sense of satisfaction as he drifts into a fitful rest.
(Novel's odd encounter(SRTabitha):SRTabitha)
[Sun Aug 25 2024]
In Room Four
It is morning, about 73F(22C) degrees,
(Your target is abducted by humans who believe that the target can help make them supernatural. They need to either get out of the situation themselves, or stall for long enough for their allies to come save them.
)
Novel is currently being an extremely difficult patient. While most clinic arrests that are done by various organizations for arbitrary reasons in order to torture, extort, and/or extract information, and it was performed the same by the Knights - the opposing faction to the Scions - the man genuinely belongs there. Unfortunately, they kept giving him the wrong drugs for someone with an abnormal brain chemistry and it's been too many days since he's killed something beyond that squirrel he managed to find. Currently? He's playing on his computer, shouting obscenities quite loudly, and violently shooting and knifing people in CoD. It's a bit disappointing for him, really, compared to the sensation of hot blood on his hands and bodies, the cries, the clash of steal...
But it's a start.
While Novel is angrily punching his fingers at his phone, and cussing at the screen and whatever pixellated creatures he's trying to DESTROY, he may not really notice that the door to room four has opened. This is until a nurse walks in, wearing her usual white with white hat. She wears sensible shoes, the nurse's dress falls below the knees. She couldn't even be a sexy nurse... Her face is pretty enough. And for someone like Novel, that could mean pretty enough to paint black and blue. She holds a clipboard which has pulled away from her chest and uncapped her pen to scrawl something about the man there. "And how are we feeling today, Mister..." She looks down at her clipboard, then up to Novel, "Norman."
Novel does not, unfortunately, have his phone. That was taken away too and stowed in their secure storage. He has his computer, dusty and old as it is, and then he put DOOM on it and various other games. Not even a fucking MICROPHONE on this thing, so he's yelling but it's just him that can hear him. The soft click-click of a mouse followed by the satisfying BOOM of a man's head being blown off at close range - well, he's gotten to the point where it's only a facsimile of the real thing. It barely does it for him. He hears the nurse as soon as he hears the door creak open downstairs.
Novel slams a fist down against the desk, with rather more force then necessary, spinning around in his chair to stare at the nurse with those wild eyes - which possess eerie, unnerving focus. "Novel," He hisses. "Don't have to use my last fucking name. I feel like a fucking lab rat, what do you want this time. If it's more fucking drugs, they better not be the weird shit just before you have some hooker strap me in."
The nurse gives Novel a blink, and that clipboard is clutched a little too tight to be anything but a pang of fear. She looks toward the door a moment, perhaps considering leaving the man there? When she looks back to Novel, she says, "Mister Norman, there is no reason for such hostilities. I am not the one who landed you here. I wouldn't want to call in my backup to hold you down... I wouldn't want to have to tie you to your bed, afterall. But drastic measures, take drastic measures, don't they?" She gives the dorm room door a light rap and it is returned with a return shave-and-a-haircut-two-bit call back. "They are much more brutish than I."
Novel snaps his teeth in a clack in an almost-snarl at the nurse, "Of course there fucking is. You bastards had me trapped in a goddamn room with a girl who zapped the fuck out of me just because she got off on it. AND you gave me some chems that screwed with me and made me more fucking violent than usual. You know how goddamn hard it is?" And then his teeth clench shut. A hiss of air between the lips, his head cocking at the door. There's a grinding as his jaw works back and forth and back and forth. The way he hunches forwards, his body posture - it almost seems as if he's going to lunge at the poor woman anyway.
And then, thankfully, the man leans back. Straightening up. A deep breath. A hand, brushing over his hair, as he reiterates, "Novel. Use fucking Novel. Why are you -here-?"
Novel moves restlessly. He doesn't sit still, shifting often in the chair, his hands flexing and his gaze wandering across his chosen domain.
"I assure you, I had nothing at all to do with any of that. I was just asked to ---" SRTabitha begins to say, stepping aside when the door does finally open again and a rather large man steps in. The door closes and he stays in front of it, arms crossed so that his size seems amplified. Outside of looking like a Chad, some gym rat, there's nothing uniquely special about him. The nurse continues. "It must be horrible, being stuck in here." She gestures about the dorm room, looking like it may need some sprucing. The clipboard is set off to the side, nothing more than a few scribbles on a blank sheet of paper. A ruse of some sort? Perhaps. But she looks realistically enough to be a nurse, and there is the outline of something within those pockets that would indicate she is a nurse, or at least some psycho like Novel has come across as. "I could give you something to calm you, if you would like that. But first off, if we're going to go by first names, I'm Mildred." Such an old fashioned name, but if Novel has some real good eyesight, he'd notice that the name on the pin piercing the nurse's uniform is 'Ratched'. Perhaps that would mean nothing to him.
Novel squints at Mr. Chad, all lanky and skinny. It seems he's contemplating something.
Novel unconsciously shifts his feet. A subtle tension, a slight curling of them as they press down against the old, battered wheelychair, this decorated room covered in various soccer paraphernalia. But all of it looks older than the man before the nurse. Outdated. Perhaps a previous tenant. Perhaps simply as part of the standard decoration.
The only real good thing is you can say there's nothing truly dishonest about the man. He shifts again, his fingers fidgeting, drumming them on the arm. And while the nurse talks his gaze remains on the big man. "Fine." He doesn't even notice the dichotomy. Nor, perhaps, does he care - the last name is meaningless to him.
"It won't fucking work. If you want you can give me some fucking cocaine or some fucking uppers. Or some shit for schizophrenia. If you give me tranquilizers I -will- try to kill you." His gaze, finally, flicks to the nurse. "Fine. Nice to meet you, Mildred."
"As if I would be just carrying around cocaine," Mildred says to Novel with a sudden laugh -- not an amused one either, it is high pitched and fearful. "This is an Institute and I am from the Clinic. But I could give you enough oxycotin that you do feel --" She is cut off by the large man who unfolds his arms and steps toward her to place a large mitt on her small arm. He steps forward. "Look," he says. "We were going to try it this way and offer you something to help with your situation, but if you are going to threaten her, we can do it the hard way. There's another standing outside, and it will just take one word from me or her to have them in here..." The large man gestures for someone to take a seat on his bed. "We want information. You give us what we want; and we'll give you what you want. We can't set you free, but we can give you a fix that you're so high you feel like you're a character in Trainspotting."
"As if I would be just carrying around cocaine," Mildred says to Novel with a sudden laugh -- not an amused one either, it is high pitched and fearful. "This is an Institute and I am from the Clinic. But I could give you enough oxycotin that you do feel --" She is cut off by the large man who unfolds his arms and steps toward her to place a large mitt on her small arm. He steps forward. "Look," he says. "We were going to try it this way and offer you something to help with your situation, but if you are going to threaten her, we can do it the hard way. There's another standing outside, and it will just take one word from me or her to have them in here..." The large man gestures for Novel to take a seat on his bed. "We want information. You give us what we want; and we'll give you what you want. We can't set you free, but we can give you a fix that you're so high you feel like you're a character in Trainspotting."
Novel shifts again, but not towards the bed. A more animalistic crouch on the chair, and an exasperated growl at the bigger man. "It's not a fucking threat. My happy place is killing something. If you make me relaxed, /I go to that fucking state/. Do you get that? You might have me on so many goddamn muscle relaxants that I can't move but at that point I'm so far fucking gone all I want to do is make your life a living hell. So don't give me things that make me chatty or happy, give me things that wind me up or give me a distraction or anti-fucking psychotics you fucking idiot," his tone comes out, clipped, bitter. "Which you would fucking KNOW if you this place wasn't a BULLSHIT facility."
Novel says "Yeah, well, you horsecock-gargling excuse for a an upright bipedal chicken that would forget how to breathe if you stopped concentrating on it because you have to breathe manually, you've yet to fucking ASK anything."
"You are a most unpleasant man," Mildred says to Novel. "Why did we think he would be a good option to speak to? He's clearly a degenerate to society and should probably be culled more than anything." The large man lifts his hand. "If you speak to her or me that way again, Novel, I will shove my gun right up your ass and fire it. Do you understand me? I won't go for your brains via your mouth." The large man pats where his piece may be. "This is pointless," Mildred says to the large man. "He is a waste of our time and energy. We thought he'd be a good little lab rat, but ..." She gestures to the unruly and unpleasant man huddled into his chair and ready to pounce like a trapped little rat.
The large man runs his fingers through his hair. "We want information on supernaturals. How you became this little miscreant piece of shit you are." There is no explanation as to why they want this. And likely there will be no information passed on as to why. But it may come clear to Novel, that they may simply be human. Maybe new Temple? Who can say. They bear no symbol.
Novel leers back at the big man. "You can certainly fucking TRY. I've already attempted a few things like that. You can pick up your gun but it's just gonna fall right back out of your goddamn hands isn't it?" The smile is ghoulish - but not, in fact, happy, there's a distinct amount of discontent and anguish in his features. "Believe fucking me, I wouldn't be here. And the attempt woulda left more shit on fire and more corpses in the street, and I probably wouldn't be upright and breathing, I'd either be strapped to a fucking chair and a smoking goddamn corpse or with enough holes they'd have had to have scraped me up with a shovel and buried me in a trashbag."
He squints. And then, suddenly, his smile widens, showing all white teeth as he starts to unfold. "You're not really with the Institute, are you?" A glint of his eyes. Amusement.
Novel says "You shoulda fuckin' said to begin with. I'll tell you anythin' you want to know."
"You seem to think highly of yourself, that your death would be of any single importance to anyone here. Haven would simply forget your name even as they were wiping your shit off these walls," the large man retorts back to Novel. "I've got my own tricks, too, even if you'd have made me a butterfingers." He may not be supernatural, but even humans have their means and ways, even if life is so much harder. "How'd a little pissant like yourself become the foul-mouthed little pissant you are?" he asked, speaking the man's angry, insulting language. Mildred, though, for her part, she has decided to take a step back, then to the side. Perhaps closer? Surely not. The man is a violent sociopath.
Novel sneers back at the man. "I didn't say I fucking -was-. It affects everyone equally. It's the same reason I can't break a table leg, fashion it into a spear, and impale you as soon as you walked into room. Without whatever it was I'd probably have become another goddamn statistic around here. Then again, without it, this whole town would probably be a fucking crater." He offers a smirk as the man drops back to his level. "Me? Good fucking breeding, interesting experiences, and bad goddamned people. How about you? Did you want to ask questions about the manticores in the fucking woods?"
Novel says "Surely some fucking tourists who had their brains replaced with steroids might have some more INTERESTING fucking questions than about -me-."
"On the contrary, we specifically want to know what makes your blood the blood it is," Milred says, finally pulling out a needle to probably collect some of said blood. The large man stands to his full, rather godlike forboding height. Surely there is some blood coursing through those bulging veins of his. "If you continue to insult, it will not take much to get my buddy outside the door there to come in and he is part of the clinic. We were believable enough to get them to come as backup..." He pasues, "I hear that there are tools there that can zap the mouth off you." The man shrugs. "The forests hold mystery, but our goal today is not that. We want to be you." Mildred pipes in, "Not you specifically..." Foul-mouthed oaf he is!
Novel groans and sort of rolls his eyes at this. "Blood, blood, blood, blood. Is that ALL anyone fucking cares about? First the fucking dragon, then the vampires, and the wizards. I already told you, but you didn't fucking believe me - breeding. That's fucking it. There's nothing else to it." He slouches back into the chair, starting to relax, seemingly resigned to whatever-this-is.
Novel leers back at Mildred, something starting to shift. His shoulders, moving. "Though. At least I'm -happy- most of the time, when I'm not thrown into this bullshit and pumped fulla sleepy drugs. But I'm the wrong fucking person to ask if you wanted to become something else."
Mildred pierces Novel's flesh with that long needle, sinking it deep into a vein to draw the blood into the wide tube. She seems knowledgeable of how to do this, so she's probably taken some classes, at least. She murmurs, "It has to be more than just breeding. After all, the Egyptians thought that they were practicing good breeding by having their siblings fuck each other, but look at the death rate of babies born with defects." She says to the large man, "It has to be more. I'm sure if I injected you with his blood, you would not just turn into him. Or like him." She smiles at the large man, who smiles back at her. "Just do the collect, babe, and we'll see..." The faux nurse/probably nurse's eyes widen. "Oh, I have some blood we collected off someone else, maybe we can --" She doesn't continue, glancing aside to Novel and his leering face. She steps away from all that tension. "That is really the answer we've gotten from everyone. No one wants to talk about it, unless they are whispering about it at booths in restaurants."
Novel doesn't look to be in good shape - there's other needle holes there, though likely for putting things in rather than taking them out. It's a normal bright crimson. There's nothing wrong about it. He doesn't resist it, his gaze wandering - he seems amused more than anything else, now, but his blood sugar is low or something. He's already slumping down in the chair, further, his voice starting to come woozy as that big syringe fills up. "It's the only answer - most of us have. You want more... answers. Go talk to Fayad. He's the wizard who knows all this... shit." He says, more measured, slowly, rolling his eyes some. "I tried giving you the answers you actually wanted. That you actually fucking... needed. But you didn't want to hear it. Great News Community Center. Can't miss it."
It is a rather large collect, to be sure. Not your typical blood draw syringe, and Mildred has taken a lot. It is at least one way to get some submission from the otherwise obstinate and angry man. "But we came to -- there ae plenty of people here who have fine breeding, who aren't the proverbial you..." She caps up the syringe and hands it over the to large man. "Everyone wants to call it a big secret, but the whole reason we even know is because of whispers at bars." She takes the man's hand. "Lets go. He needs sleep anyway. "We'll look for this Community Center. And this Fayad." Maybe they will. Maybe they won't. They look rather depleted? Defeated? And then, they are gone."
Novel unseen to the two who quickly leave his foul presence, the wound rapidly shuts on it's own. And the man wishes them well. After all, who else to cause some mayhem and suffering but two people merely 'looking for the truth'? There's a dragon who might find them useful. Though he really needs to check the patient roster again: Fayad's locked up here with him. He grunts, and shifts to doze in the chair.
As their interrogation unfolds, the antagonistic relationship between Novel and his captors escalates, with threats exchanged and tension mounting. Novel's taunts and challenges only deepen the resolve of Mildred and her companion, who hint at their desperate desire to transform into beings like Novel through his blood. Despite drawing a substantial quantity of blood from Novel in their pursuit of answers, the captors face disappointment, receiving only cryptic advice to seek out a wizard named Fayad for the truths they so desperately seek. Deflated and perhaps realizing the complexity of unlocking supernatural secrets, the duo departs, leaving Novel to recover from the encounter, his body quickly healing from the invasive blood draw. In the quiet aftermath, Novel muses on the potential chaos his captors might unwittingly sow in their continued search for power, a notion that brings him a twisted sense of satisfaction as he drifts into a fitful rest.
(Novel's odd encounter(SRTabitha):SRTabitha)
[Sun Aug 25 2024]
In Room Four
It is morning, about 73F(22C) degrees,
(Your target is abducted by humans who believe that the target can help make them supernatural. They need to either get out of the situation themselves, or stall for long enough for their allies to come save them.
)
Novel is currently being an extremely difficult patient. While most clinic arrests that are done by various organizations for arbitrary reasons in order to torture, extort, and/or extract information, and it was performed the same by the Knights - the opposing faction to the Scions - the man genuinely belongs there. Unfortunately, they kept giving him the wrong drugs for someone with an abnormal brain chemistry and it's been too many days since he's killed something beyond that squirrel he managed to find. Currently? He's playing on his computer, shouting obscenities quite loudly, and violently shooting and knifing people in CoD. It's a bit disappointing for him, really, compared to the sensation of hot blood on his hands and bodies, the cries, the clash of steal...
But it's a start.
While Novel is angrily punching his fingers at his phone, and cussing at the screen and whatever pixellated creatures he's trying to DESTROY, he may not really notice that the door to room four has opened. This is until a nurse walks in, wearing her usual white with white hat. She wears sensible shoes, the nurse's dress falls below the knees. She couldn't even be a sexy nurse... Her face is pretty enough. And for someone like Novel, that could mean pretty enough to paint black and blue. She holds a clipboard which has pulled away from her chest and uncapped her pen to scrawl something about the man there. "And how are we feeling today, Mister..." She looks down at her clipboard, then up to Novel, "Norman."
Novel does not, unfortunately, have his phone. That was taken away too and stowed in their secure storage. He has his computer, dusty and old as it is, and then he put DOOM on it and various other games. Not even a fucking MICROPHONE on this thing, so he's yelling but it's just him that can hear him. The soft click-click of a mouse followed by the satisfying BOOM of a man's head being blown off at close range - well, he's gotten to the point where it's only a facsimile of the real thing. It barely does it for him. He hears the nurse as soon as he hears the door creak open downstairs.
Novel slams a fist down against the desk, with rather more force then necessary, spinning around in his chair to stare at the nurse with those wild eyes - which possess eerie, unnerving focus. "Novel," He hisses. "Don't have to use my last fucking name. I feel like a fucking lab rat, what do you want this time. If it's more fucking drugs, they better not be the weird shit just before you have some hooker strap me in."
The nurse gives Novel a blink, and that clipboard is clutched a little too tight to be anything but a pang of fear. She looks toward the door a moment, perhaps considering leaving the man there? When she looks back to Novel, she says, "Mister Norman, there is no reason for such hostilities. I am not the one who landed you here. I wouldn't want to call in my backup to hold you down... I wouldn't want to have to tie you to your bed, afterall. But drastic measures, take drastic measures, don't they?" She gives the dorm room door a light rap and it is returned with a return shave-and-a-haircut-two-bit call back. "They are much more brutish than I."
Novel snaps his teeth in a clack in an almost-snarl at the nurse, "Of course there fucking is. You bastards had me trapped in a goddamn room with a girl who zapped the fuck out of me just because she got off on it. AND you gave me some chems that screwed with me and made me more fucking violent than usual. You know how goddamn hard it is?" And then his teeth clench shut. A hiss of air between the lips, his head cocking at the door. There's a grinding as his jaw works back and forth and back and forth. The way he hunches forwards, his body posture - it almost seems as if he's going to lunge at the poor woman anyway.
And then, thankfully, the man leans back. Straightening up. A deep breath. A hand, brushing over his hair, as he reiterates, "Novel. Use fucking Novel. Why are you -here-?"
Novel moves restlessly. He doesn't sit still, shifting often in the chair, his hands flexing and his gaze wandering across his chosen domain.
"I assure you, I had nothing at all to do with any of that. I was just asked to ---" SRTabitha begins to say, stepping aside when the door does finally open again and a rather large man steps in. The door closes and he stays in front of it, arms crossed so that his size seems amplified. Outside of looking like a Chad, some gym rat, there's nothing uniquely special about him. The nurse continues. "It must be horrible, being stuck in here." She gestures about the dorm room, looking like it may need some sprucing. The clipboard is set off to the side, nothing more than a few scribbles on a blank sheet of paper. A ruse of some sort? Perhaps. But she looks realistically enough to be a nurse, and there is the outline of something within those pockets that would indicate she is a nurse, or at least some psycho like Novel has come across as. "I could give you something to calm you, if you would like that. But first off, if we're going to go by first names, I'm Mildred." Such an old fashioned name, but if Novel has some real good eyesight, he'd notice that the name on the pin piercing the nurse's uniform is 'Ratched'. Perhaps that would mean nothing to him.
Novel squints at Mr. Chad, all lanky and skinny. It seems he's contemplating something.
Novel unconsciously shifts his feet. A subtle tension, a slight curling of them as they press down against the old, battered wheelychair, this decorated room covered in various soccer paraphernalia. But all of it looks older than the man before the nurse. Outdated. Perhaps a previous tenant. Perhaps simply as part of the standard decoration.
The only real good thing is you can say there's nothing truly dishonest about the man. He shifts again, his fingers fidgeting, drumming them on the arm. And while the nurse talks his gaze remains on the big man. "Fine." He doesn't even notice the dichotomy. Nor, perhaps, does he care - the last name is meaningless to him.
"It won't fucking work. If you want you can give me some fucking cocaine or some fucking uppers. Or some shit for schizophrenia. If you give me tranquilizers I -will- try to kill you." His gaze, finally, flicks to the nurse. "Fine. Nice to meet you, Mildred."
"As if I would be just carrying around cocaine," Mildred says to Novel with a sudden laugh -- not an amused one either, it is high pitched and fearful. "This is an Institute and I am from the Clinic. But I could give you enough oxycotin that you do feel --" She is cut off by the large man who unfolds his arms and steps toward her to place a large mitt on her small arm. He steps forward. "Look," he says. "We were going to try it this way and offer you something to help with your situation, but if you are going to threaten her, we can do it the hard way. There's another standing outside, and it will just take one word from me or her to have them in here..." The large man gestures for someone to take a seat on his bed. "We want information. You give us what we want; and we'll give you what you want. We can't set you free, but we can give you a fix that you're so high you feel like you're a character in Trainspotting."
"As if I would be just carrying around cocaine," Mildred says to Novel with a sudden laugh -- not an amused one either, it is high pitched and fearful. "This is an Institute and I am from the Clinic. But I could give you enough oxycotin that you do feel --" She is cut off by the large man who unfolds his arms and steps toward her to place a large mitt on her small arm. He steps forward. "Look," he says. "We were going to try it this way and offer you something to help with your situation, but if you are going to threaten her, we can do it the hard way. There's another standing outside, and it will just take one word from me or her to have them in here..." The large man gestures for Novel to take a seat on his bed. "We want information. You give us what we want; and we'll give you what you want. We can't set you free, but we can give you a fix that you're so high you feel like you're a character in Trainspotting."
Novel shifts again, but not towards the bed. A more animalistic crouch on the chair, and an exasperated growl at the bigger man. "It's not a fucking threat. My happy place is killing something. If you make me relaxed, /I go to that fucking state/. Do you get that? You might have me on so many goddamn muscle relaxants that I can't move but at that point I'm so far fucking gone all I want to do is make your life a living hell. So don't give me things that make me chatty or happy, give me things that wind me up or give me a distraction or anti-fucking psychotics you fucking idiot," his tone comes out, clipped, bitter. "Which you would fucking KNOW if you this place wasn't a BULLSHIT facility."
Novel says "Yeah, well, you horsecock-gargling excuse for a an upright bipedal chicken that would forget how to breathe if you stopped concentrating on it because you have to breathe manually, you've yet to fucking ASK anything."
"You are a most unpleasant man," Mildred says to Novel. "Why did we think he would be a good option to speak to? He's clearly a degenerate to society and should probably be culled more than anything." The large man lifts his hand. "If you speak to her or me that way again, Novel, I will shove my gun right up your ass and fire it. Do you understand me? I won't go for your brains via your mouth." The large man pats where his piece may be. "This is pointless," Mildred says to the large man. "He is a waste of our time and energy. We thought he'd be a good little lab rat, but ..." She gestures to the unruly and unpleasant man huddled into his chair and ready to pounce like a trapped little rat.
The large man runs his fingers through his hair. "We want information on supernaturals. How you became this little miscreant piece of shit you are." There is no explanation as to why they want this. And likely there will be no information passed on as to why. But it may come clear to Novel, that they may simply be human. Maybe new Temple? Who can say. They bear no symbol.
Novel leers back at the big man. "You can certainly fucking TRY. I've already attempted a few things like that. You can pick up your gun but it's just gonna fall right back out of your goddamn hands isn't it?" The smile is ghoulish - but not, in fact, happy, there's a distinct amount of discontent and anguish in his features. "Believe fucking me, I wouldn't be here. And the attempt woulda left more shit on fire and more corpses in the street, and I probably wouldn't be upright and breathing, I'd either be strapped to a fucking chair and a smoking goddamn corpse or with enough holes they'd have had to have scraped me up with a shovel and buried me in a trashbag."
He squints. And then, suddenly, his smile widens, showing all white teeth as he starts to unfold. "You're not really with the Institute, are you?" A glint of his eyes. Amusement.
Novel says "You shoulda fuckin' said to begin with. I'll tell you anythin' you want to know."
"You seem to think highly of yourself, that your death would be of any single importance to anyone here. Haven would simply forget your name even as they were wiping your shit off these walls," the large man retorts back to Novel. "I've got my own tricks, too, even if you'd have made me a butterfingers." He may not be supernatural, but even humans have their means and ways, even if life is so much harder. "How'd a little pissant like yourself become the foul-mouthed little pissant you are?" he asked, speaking the man's angry, insulting language. Mildred, though, for her part, she has decided to take a step back, then to the side. Perhaps closer? Surely not. The man is a violent sociopath.
Novel sneers back at the man. "I didn't say I fucking -was-. It affects everyone equally. It's the same reason I can't break a table leg, fashion it into a spear, and impale you as soon as you walked into room. Without whatever it was I'd probably have become another goddamn statistic around here. Then again, without it, this whole town would probably be a fucking crater." He offers a smirk as the man drops back to his level. "Me? Good fucking breeding, interesting experiences, and bad goddamned people. How about you? Did you want to ask questions about the manticores in the fucking woods?"
Novel says "Surely some fucking tourists who had their brains replaced with steroids might have some more INTERESTING fucking questions than about -me-."
"On the contrary, we specifically want to know what makes your blood the blood it is," Milred says, finally pulling out a needle to probably collect some of said blood. The large man stands to his full, rather godlike forboding height. Surely there is some blood coursing through those bulging veins of his. "If you continue to insult, it will not take much to get my buddy outside the door there to come in and he is part of the clinic. We were believable enough to get them to come as backup..." He pasues, "I hear that there are tools there that can zap the mouth off you." The man shrugs. "The forests hold mystery, but our goal today is not that. We want to be you." Mildred pipes in, "Not you specifically..." Foul-mouthed oaf he is!
Novel groans and sort of rolls his eyes at this. "Blood, blood, blood, blood. Is that ALL anyone fucking cares about? First the fucking dragon, then the vampires, and the wizards. I already told you, but you didn't fucking believe me - breeding. That's fucking it. There's nothing else to it." He slouches back into the chair, starting to relax, seemingly resigned to whatever-this-is.
Novel leers back at Mildred, something starting to shift. His shoulders, moving. "Though. At least I'm -happy- most of the time, when I'm not thrown into this bullshit and pumped fulla sleepy drugs. But I'm the wrong fucking person to ask if you wanted to become something else."
Mildred pierces Novel's flesh with that long needle, sinking it deep into a vein to draw the blood into the wide tube. She seems knowledgeable of how to do this, so she's probably taken some classes, at least. She murmurs, "It has to be more than just breeding. After all, the Egyptians thought that they were practicing good breeding by having their siblings fuck each other, but look at the death rate of babies born with defects." She says to the large man, "It has to be more. I'm sure if I injected you with his blood, you would not just turn into him. Or like him." She smiles at the large man, who smiles back at her. "Just do the collect, babe, and we'll see..." The faux nurse/probably nurse's eyes widen. "Oh, I have some blood we collected off someone else, maybe we can --" She doesn't continue, glancing aside to Novel and his leering face. She steps away from all that tension. "That is really the answer we've gotten from everyone. No one wants to talk about it, unless they are whispering about it at booths in restaurants."
Novel doesn't look to be in good shape - there's other needle holes there, though likely for putting things in rather than taking them out. It's a normal bright crimson. There's nothing wrong about it. He doesn't resist it, his gaze wandering - he seems amused more than anything else, now, but his blood sugar is low or something. He's already slumping down in the chair, further, his voice starting to come woozy as that big syringe fills up. "It's the only answer - most of us have. You want more... answers. Go talk to Fayad. He's the wizard who knows all this... shit." He says, more measured, slowly, rolling his eyes some. "I tried giving you the answers you actually wanted. That you actually fucking... needed. But you didn't want to hear it. Great News Community Center. Can't miss it."
It is a rather large collect, to be sure. Not your typical blood draw syringe, and Mildred has taken a lot. It is at least one way to get some submission from the otherwise obstinate and angry man. "But we came to -- there ae plenty of people here who have fine breeding, who aren't the proverbial you..." She caps up the syringe and hands it over the to large man. "Everyone wants to call it a big secret, but the whole reason we even know is because of whispers at bars." She takes the man's hand. "Lets go. He needs sleep anyway. "We'll look for this Community Center. And this Fayad." Maybe they will. Maybe they won't. They look rather depleted? Defeated? And then, they are gone."
Novel unseen to the two who quickly leave his foul presence, the wound rapidly shuts on it's own. And the man wishes them well. After all, who else to cause some mayhem and suffering but two people merely 'looking for the truth'? There's a dragon who might find them useful. Though he really needs to check the patient roster again: Fayad's locked up here with him. He grunts, and shifts to doze in the chair.