Encounterlogs
Novels Odd Encounter Sr Tabitha 240909
In the quaint setting of his meticulously designed kitchen, Novel encounters a direct interruption to his anger-fueled bread-making session—a frantic, bloodied woman begging for refuge at his door, claiming to be in desperate need. With a mixture of curiosity and his peculiar blend of cynicism, Novel grants her entry, only to be swept into a whirlwind of supernatural chaos. The woman, wielding a pistol and a mysterious, blood-dripping artifact, pleads for his assistance, hinting at a dire situation far beyond a mere home invasion. Novel, amidst his bewilderment and skepticism, tries to deduce the woman's true intentions, only to realize the artifact's genuine, ominous power as it begins to draw blood from him, feeding itself and foreshadowing a confrontation he was not prepared for.
As Novel grapples with the artifact's violent response to his meddling, the situation escalates with the arrival of The Disruptors and a cloaked figure from The Destined Host, all entwined in the artifact's malevolent influence. The artifact, acting as a beacon, summons demonic shadows that seemed momentarily loyal to the woman's bidding, only to turn uncontrollable, filling the room with a stifling darkness. Despite Novel’s efforts to neutralize the chaos with flames, the cloaked man seizes control, revealing deeper connections and histories with the woman—highlighting the dangerous nuances of power, control, and the thin line between protector and possessor within Haven's supernatural hierarchy. Novel, reluctantly stepping back from the immediate fray, is left to tend to his and The Disruptors' wounds, recognizing the intricate web of allegiances and threats that continue to shape the perilous landscape of Haven's supernatural underbelly.
(Novel's odd encounter(SRTabitha):SRTabitha)
[Sun Sep 8 2024]
In the Small Kitchenette
In this kitchen, the glossy tiles in a herringbone pattern contrasted with the matte greige counters the cabinets are painted soothing light blue color with the island extension serving as an extra dining area. Marrying both, the floor tiles are a custom mosaic pattern reminiscent of an old-school Parisian bistro. A floral arrangement enhances the kitchen aesthetic.
It is noon, about 67F(19C) degrees, and there are a few thin white clouds in the sky.
(Your target and their allies are tasked with tracking down a rogue member of The Destined Host, who has stolen a powerful artifact from the faction. The artifact is rumored to have the ability to open a portal to the demon realm. The rogue member plans to use the artifact to usurp the leadership of The Destined Host and gain control over the demons. The characters must retrieve the artifact before it is used, a task that will require them to navigate the dangerous underbelly of Haven's supernatural society, confront the rogue member, and potentially face off against a demon or two.)
Novel is in his kitchen. Again. An early rise that he had no choice over because his body was feeling jittery, get out, get sweaty, and then back home. He's just finished washing up and is now in his house in pretty much nothing as his own clothes are shoved into the laundry. Not that it bothers him overmuch to be just in his boxers, flour up to his arms as he makes bread, that strange, cursed glow from the hole in his chest giving eerie light over the counters - he barely notices it anymore.
Novel is working out his frustration about his bike being totaled last night while driving way too fast in the dark mists on a dirt road by punching - I mean kneading - the dough before him.
While Novel takes his anger and angst out on an unsuspecting and innocent pile of dough, there is a commotion outside of his door. Shouting. Banging. Some may sound suspiciously like gunshots. But, surely not? Not in Haven, not in these apartments. The banging sounds like it is getting closer. On the walls, on the doors.
Novel is intimately familiar to the sounds of violence and mayhem, something he deals with on a personal basis. And he -knows- gun-wielding lunatics that live in the complex. He makes an exasperated noise as he drops the the big round disc of dough onto the floured counter, his form somewhat grubby as he marches right over to the kitchen door and rips it open. The demon half is hoping for the delightful echo of blood and violence, the wicked glee of devastation.
Though Novel whips the kitchen door open, there is nothing at all in his living room. All is left as it was. A disappointment no doubt for the half-demonblooded man. But the shouting and banging does continue, until. BANG BANG BANG! Right on Novel's front door. A woman's voice sounds hollow through the thin door to reach his ears: Help! It is frantic, pleading. BANG! "Please. Let me in!"
Novel walks past the used flatscreen that's still blaring with commercials. It's 99/ commercials, he doesn't even pay attention to it most of the time. It's just background noise. He issues a weary sigh, going past the couch and poorly taxidermy wyvern that he's affectionally named Greg that's positioned as if 'watching' the TV - don't ask - and then rips open the completely unlocked door because it's still broken. "What." He probably looks like a monstrous lunatic, which is not assisted by the bowie knife strapped to his hip and the general baleful malice in his eyes and his total lack of dress.
It is just as Novel is ripping the door open that the knob of the door also twists by an unseen hand. Testing it, and when it starts to budge, and open, there is a glimpse of a woman there, looking frantic and bloodied. She follows in the rest of the way as her arm is yanked with the way Novel finally opens the door the rest of the way. "Quick, close it!" The woman seeks to get the door closed and she rests her frail body against it.
Novel doesn't question overmuch, his expression puzzled but delighted at the bloodied woman as he slams it violently closed as soon as the she comes in, leaning his back against the doorway and then taking in a more careful appraisal of the other person. And then, he eventually asks, "So, abusive fucking boyfriend? Or what?" He asks, bluntly.
The woman swallows and tries to catch her breath, hand holding a small pistol in one hand, and some strange looking artifact in the other. From that arm, blood flows, likely a gunshot wound somewhere on her upper arm. It drips over that artifact, and onto Novel's floor from her fingertips. She answers, "Yes..." But something might give off the vibes she's lying. In some way it is probably true. "You have to help me.." She turns to try to lock the door, but of course, it is broken and it does not. "I'll die if you don't.." Novel owes this woman nothing, knows nothing of her, except that she has been attacked, and is scared. "We have to protect this place!" She holds up the artifact as if she is ready to call out to powers beyond her.
Novel wagers it's probably about 50-50 the woman is ACTUALLY wielding a magical artifact, or, she's high on drugs and the artifact is something she stole from a thrift store.
He'd make it 99-1 but this town has changed him, man.
Anyway, first order of business is to get the weapon away from the crazy person. Er, that is, get the gun away from the crazy person that isn't HIM. He wanders over to the couch with the... definitely stuffed animal... yes. It's not a real creature that someone dragged back home and threw at him... and then grasps the edge of that large sectional to pull it in front of the door to help act as a barrier, disturbing the white birch table and causing a horrendous scrape against concrete as he does. He mentions, sort of offhand, "You've got a fucking bullet in you. And you'll probably fucking bleed out. You wanna put that shit down so's I can tie that off while you explain?"
The woman shakes her head at Novel though the little pocket pistol does get put away so she can focus fully on sanctifying the area in which she and the demonborn blooded man are. Her hands, trembling, clasp onto the relic. The blood seems to bring it to life, glowing dimly at first, like the wound in Novel's chest. In fact, he may realize soon that it is not just some thrift store object, but real. Very real. His woud glows into hot red ember, and his blood -- it begins to draw to the surface. Not only this, but it starts to pull from his skin in little droplets, as if magnetized to the artifact. "I will live..." At least from a gunshot in her arm. From anything else? Questionable at best.
Novel draws in a deep breath, a discomforted agitation drawing to the forefront of his features as the droplets draw forth - rapidly losing their glow and seeming to the world as no more than normal blood. A certain worming doubt probes in his mind. There was no questions from her as to why he was the way he was. A certain itching, agitation, the coiling of heat, as he watches the blood start to seep up in the woman's wound as well. And then his hand reaches out, clasping, to clamp over the artifact in an attempt to yank it away. "How about fucking no? I've got enough bullshit with my boss taking my blood sometimes for whatever the fuck it is he wants to do."
"Don't fucking touch it!" the woman says, seething in her words to Novel, and tries to yank it back toward her. Frail looking and gangly here doesn't mean much when it comes to strength, afterall. But her strength is no match, not just against Novel, but the artifact she's holding, with the blood seeping deep into the wood. No. The artifact fights back, too, sending an electrical shock through Novel at his touch, a voltage that is wildly strong to send him off his feet. Unlike normal cursed objects, this packs a punch, like he'd truly been struck by nature's lightening, his feet blackening where the bolt of power escaped his body. As for not asking? This is Haven. Is seeing someone with a crack in their chest where blood and whatever else glows truly that outrageous? Especially in life or death matters?
The artifact glows like Novel's chest, etchings along its wood, revealing there a symbol of a crimson hand holding a blackened, thorned crown.
Novel feels his body go partially numb along the limb, down the leg, staggering backwards. Unbidden, his arm convulses, tightening in cracking, painful grip. Or it would be painful if he could FEEL anything. "FUCK," he swears in response to the woman as the smell of crisping fat and meat that's scented remarkably like pork fills with air as he flung against the terracotta brick. If the artifact is still glued to his hand and shocking the shit out of him, he's forced to use his free hand and fist to try punching it out of his hand that refuses to respond to him in the throes of electroshock therapy. Otherwise he's just dropping it right onto the floor. "Fuck you! You're the one using a weird - bullshit artifact like Fayad-" Oh. Right.
He should probably call his boss. He grabs at the medallion around his neck, muttering to it, "Hey I got some WEIRD BULLSHIT at my apartment. Send some people over to fucking help." Honestly... he should have done that from the beginning, reaching out to his fellow Disruptors.
And as he's finding out, there's way too much strangeness that people accept at face value here.
The woman pries the artifact from Novel's hand. "I was trying to cloak us, you dolt." She might have tried to club the man if she weren't suddenly quite aware that the dark magic induced lightening has stirred up the noise outside again as men's voices are heard, whispering, chanting, and rapping on nearby doors. "They're going to be here any minute now thanks to you." She once more tries to hold onto the artifact and closes her eyes to begin anew. Darkness begins to swell in every corner, and seeps from those corners along the floor, up the walls. They make shapes like demons, hulking, small, wide, and tall. "Be quiet..." Is she telling Novel or whatever she's drawn out from the literal woodwork?
Novel has, and always will be, firmly of the belief he should be the only demonic entity in the room. "No, bullshit, I KNOW someone who does cloaking shit and rituals. We'll ask -him- for help and get us the fuck outta here instead of doing whatever crap you're doing with THAT." Now he sounds fully aggravated. But... he's also excited. His features of flushed, some, the fighting, the dance, the promise of violence, the scent of blood. It's a strange juxtaposition that he's just adapted to over the years.
And so he curls his hand up into a fist, and swings, angling right for the woman's jaw to cause the brain to bounce off the inside of the head and cause an instant knockout. A swift, violent act.
That would happen on someone who does not have an artifact that is calling upon demons who are under her control -- or were? Those shadows start to creep toward Novel and curl around his body, his arms, and fist. Not to say that it doesn't make contact. It does. She is sent reeling against the door with a solid thud. Only to alert whatever else is outside of the door, too. "You ignorant fool!" she says, sliding down to the floor to her rear, the artifact still held in her hand. "There are powers out there that you have no clue about. And what they want to do with this." This. The object? Possibly. "I was trying to protect us, but I've lost the link. They won't listen now." And so it seems, too, as the shadows are still growing in size, shape, and volume.
Novel yanks an arm up, as if trying to pull off the shadow, the flashing, agitated glow of his chest flaring in both excitement and annoyance. "Yeah yeah, if that was the first goddamn time I been called that," He remarks, somewhat dismissively, a glower on his features at the woman as he slowly shifts, glancing here or there - ah. The fireplace. It hasn't been lit, though. Summer, and all.
"I got a freezer you can shove that piece of crap into. Maybe it'll get it to cool off." And hopefully the rest of the Disruptors will show up SOMETIME as his un-darkened hand, wincing as crispy feet brush against the cold concrete floor as he aims to light things right on up. "Maybe NEXT TIME, don't use the fucking CREEPY ASS VAMPIRE ARTIFACT that DRINKS FUCKING BLOOD," He snarls out, his temper gradually fraying, the shades and things starting to get to him.
Convening now at Novel's door are a mix of Host and mercenaries from the Disruptors, before any spell of protection or shadowing could have taken affect in order for the woman to explain. The room has grown exceptionally dark with the demonic shadows that have been summoned, but it is NOT for protection. Perhaps it is the woman who was the ignorant fool? Summoning demons without the proper knowledge and skill to actually control them and accepting that the relic would ensure her, and Novel's, safety. "He is going to come ... and I can't stop him. I wanted to usurp.." The woman says only this, this admittance, and with it, some fear. Would she say more? Maybe...
The door bursts open by a foot to it, knocking the woman out of its path as mercs step through. Behind the two enters a singlular man, doning the cloak of the Host. Crimson, symbolized with a claw holding a blacked thorny crown. The man looks at Novel, and those shadows that do not relent, parts the two men with a flick of his fingers, and heads directly to the woman.
Novel shoves the snagged aim-and-flame directly into the fireplace, hunching before it. There's a bwoosh as scrap newspaper and wood shavings ignite. He's more concerned about that shadow that's slowly overtaking his form and body, and doing his best to get rid of it. The scrape of the heavy couch follows the booted feet, something that gets in the way and makes everything awkward. Oh, boy. Cover. He grimaces, and, plunges his hand in to grasp at one of those now-burning logs. He vaguely hopes this works. He casts his gaze back over his shoulder, hunched over like some sort of gremlin to the three people, remarking, "Yeah, I'll be with you in just a fucking second." He sort of waves vaguely at his left arm, a disgusted rolling of his eyes.
Great. More home invaders.
Though many of the shadows recoil and disperse from the light that erupts thanks to Novel's quick thinking. However, not all do, and they still seek to fill him. Find those cracks to seep into, to include that upon his chest. The Disruptors head directly to Novel, while the tall, lean and forboding figure in a cloak walks right up to the woman. The Disruptors, well, as the name suggets, disrupt Novel from whatever he'd planned to do -- ignite his home on fire? The begin to ask how he is, one even grabbing his arm to pull his hand from the flame.
Novel snaps at the two men as his hand, "Not ME you fucking idiots. I'M fine. Grab the fucking heart! And don't let them run off with it! Call more people if you have to!" He shifts from grasping flame directly - leaving more blisters and sizzling. God, the apartment reeks now of if as he sweeps around with a burning log in each hand, taking in a deep breath as his glow is slowly getting smothered. "Get it in a box and grab those two!" And they're not the only one, as he suddenly strides forwards, directly towards the host-cloaked man... and shoves one of those flames right at that cloak.
The woman, she cowers from the cloaked man, the artifact held out in front of her as it if were to somehow start protecting her again. The ritual spills from her lips and some blood begins moving the opposite way, to be sucked into the relic, but it is again dispelled as the cloaked figure reaches for her arm and pulls her right up into the air, onto her tiptoes. "You thought you could steal from me? You thought you could /take/ what is mine?" The man's hand goes to the woman's throat. "You are /mine/ or have you forgotten that." The woman's eyes go wide, as she struggles to breath. Sanctuary is a finicky thing. Fear can cause one's protection to drop. Sex. And relationships. Novel's keen eye might notice the bands on each figures fingers. He says, "I should kill you right here and now..." But he doesn't. He goes to snag the artifact, and with a single wave of it, the two Disruptors are sent flying backward. The relic is swirled into a circle until there is a portal created, and the two step through. "Power does not belong in everyone's hands," can be heard, as probably chastisement to the woman who sought it. Then, the portal starts to close. The beastly shadows drawn toward it, inside of it. Do any of them dare to step through? Or do they regroup and take action at a later date?
Novel finds his arm stopped, the licking flames immobilized in the Sanctuary spell as he finds his arm drifting towards the right instead of committing a violent form of arson. His hand flexes against the burning wood, his expression drawing into a taut grimace and the flashing of teeth. He really needs to stop forgetting about the magic, especially as it runs directly counter to some of his more unsavory acts and desires. A hissing breath. Feet singed. Hands singed. He drums his fingers - and then, tosses the burning hunks of wood back into the fireplace. Not now, not today. But...
With a certain amount of aggravation, to the other collapsed men who came to his aid, "We'll deal with this fucking later." As he turns, to check on them, and help them to their feet. Tending his own as opposed to chasing off to goodness-knows where. He'll let the arcanists figure it out. He's just the muscle.
The portal closes, not with a sound, but with a flash of light that darkens the room again for those who looked right into it.
As Novel grapples with the artifact's violent response to his meddling, the situation escalates with the arrival of The Disruptors and a cloaked figure from The Destined Host, all entwined in the artifact's malevolent influence. The artifact, acting as a beacon, summons demonic shadows that seemed momentarily loyal to the woman's bidding, only to turn uncontrollable, filling the room with a stifling darkness. Despite Novel’s efforts to neutralize the chaos with flames, the cloaked man seizes control, revealing deeper connections and histories with the woman—highlighting the dangerous nuances of power, control, and the thin line between protector and possessor within Haven's supernatural hierarchy. Novel, reluctantly stepping back from the immediate fray, is left to tend to his and The Disruptors' wounds, recognizing the intricate web of allegiances and threats that continue to shape the perilous landscape of Haven's supernatural underbelly.
(Novel's odd encounter(SRTabitha):SRTabitha)
[Sun Sep 8 2024]
In the Small Kitchenette
In this kitchen, the glossy tiles in a herringbone pattern contrasted with the matte greige counters the cabinets are painted soothing light blue color with the island extension serving as an extra dining area. Marrying both, the floor tiles are a custom mosaic pattern reminiscent of an old-school Parisian bistro. A floral arrangement enhances the kitchen aesthetic.
It is noon, about 67F(19C) degrees, and there are a few thin white clouds in the sky.
(Your target and their allies are tasked with tracking down a rogue member of The Destined Host, who has stolen a powerful artifact from the faction. The artifact is rumored to have the ability to open a portal to the demon realm. The rogue member plans to use the artifact to usurp the leadership of The Destined Host and gain control over the demons. The characters must retrieve the artifact before it is used, a task that will require them to navigate the dangerous underbelly of Haven's supernatural society, confront the rogue member, and potentially face off against a demon or two.)
Novel is in his kitchen. Again. An early rise that he had no choice over because his body was feeling jittery, get out, get sweaty, and then back home. He's just finished washing up and is now in his house in pretty much nothing as his own clothes are shoved into the laundry. Not that it bothers him overmuch to be just in his boxers, flour up to his arms as he makes bread, that strange, cursed glow from the hole in his chest giving eerie light over the counters - he barely notices it anymore.
Novel is working out his frustration about his bike being totaled last night while driving way too fast in the dark mists on a dirt road by punching - I mean kneading - the dough before him.
While Novel takes his anger and angst out on an unsuspecting and innocent pile of dough, there is a commotion outside of his door. Shouting. Banging. Some may sound suspiciously like gunshots. But, surely not? Not in Haven, not in these apartments. The banging sounds like it is getting closer. On the walls, on the doors.
Novel is intimately familiar to the sounds of violence and mayhem, something he deals with on a personal basis. And he -knows- gun-wielding lunatics that live in the complex. He makes an exasperated noise as he drops the the big round disc of dough onto the floured counter, his form somewhat grubby as he marches right over to the kitchen door and rips it open. The demon half is hoping for the delightful echo of blood and violence, the wicked glee of devastation.
Though Novel whips the kitchen door open, there is nothing at all in his living room. All is left as it was. A disappointment no doubt for the half-demonblooded man. But the shouting and banging does continue, until. BANG BANG BANG! Right on Novel's front door. A woman's voice sounds hollow through the thin door to reach his ears: Help! It is frantic, pleading. BANG! "Please. Let me in!"
Novel walks past the used flatscreen that's still blaring with commercials. It's 99/ commercials, he doesn't even pay attention to it most of the time. It's just background noise. He issues a weary sigh, going past the couch and poorly taxidermy wyvern that he's affectionally named Greg that's positioned as if 'watching' the TV - don't ask - and then rips open the completely unlocked door because it's still broken. "What." He probably looks like a monstrous lunatic, which is not assisted by the bowie knife strapped to his hip and the general baleful malice in his eyes and his total lack of dress.
It is just as Novel is ripping the door open that the knob of the door also twists by an unseen hand. Testing it, and when it starts to budge, and open, there is a glimpse of a woman there, looking frantic and bloodied. She follows in the rest of the way as her arm is yanked with the way Novel finally opens the door the rest of the way. "Quick, close it!" The woman seeks to get the door closed and she rests her frail body against it.
Novel doesn't question overmuch, his expression puzzled but delighted at the bloodied woman as he slams it violently closed as soon as the she comes in, leaning his back against the doorway and then taking in a more careful appraisal of the other person. And then, he eventually asks, "So, abusive fucking boyfriend? Or what?" He asks, bluntly.
The woman swallows and tries to catch her breath, hand holding a small pistol in one hand, and some strange looking artifact in the other. From that arm, blood flows, likely a gunshot wound somewhere on her upper arm. It drips over that artifact, and onto Novel's floor from her fingertips. She answers, "Yes..." But something might give off the vibes she's lying. In some way it is probably true. "You have to help me.." She turns to try to lock the door, but of course, it is broken and it does not. "I'll die if you don't.." Novel owes this woman nothing, knows nothing of her, except that she has been attacked, and is scared. "We have to protect this place!" She holds up the artifact as if she is ready to call out to powers beyond her.
Novel wagers it's probably about 50-50 the woman is ACTUALLY wielding a magical artifact, or, she's high on drugs and the artifact is something she stole from a thrift store.
He'd make it 99-1 but this town has changed him, man.
Anyway, first order of business is to get the weapon away from the crazy person. Er, that is, get the gun away from the crazy person that isn't HIM. He wanders over to the couch with the... definitely stuffed animal... yes. It's not a real creature that someone dragged back home and threw at him... and then grasps the edge of that large sectional to pull it in front of the door to help act as a barrier, disturbing the white birch table and causing a horrendous scrape against concrete as he does. He mentions, sort of offhand, "You've got a fucking bullet in you. And you'll probably fucking bleed out. You wanna put that shit down so's I can tie that off while you explain?"
The woman shakes her head at Novel though the little pocket pistol does get put away so she can focus fully on sanctifying the area in which she and the demonborn blooded man are. Her hands, trembling, clasp onto the relic. The blood seems to bring it to life, glowing dimly at first, like the wound in Novel's chest. In fact, he may realize soon that it is not just some thrift store object, but real. Very real. His woud glows into hot red ember, and his blood -- it begins to draw to the surface. Not only this, but it starts to pull from his skin in little droplets, as if magnetized to the artifact. "I will live..." At least from a gunshot in her arm. From anything else? Questionable at best.
Novel draws in a deep breath, a discomforted agitation drawing to the forefront of his features as the droplets draw forth - rapidly losing their glow and seeming to the world as no more than normal blood. A certain worming doubt probes in his mind. There was no questions from her as to why he was the way he was. A certain itching, agitation, the coiling of heat, as he watches the blood start to seep up in the woman's wound as well. And then his hand reaches out, clasping, to clamp over the artifact in an attempt to yank it away. "How about fucking no? I've got enough bullshit with my boss taking my blood sometimes for whatever the fuck it is he wants to do."
"Don't fucking touch it!" the woman says, seething in her words to Novel, and tries to yank it back toward her. Frail looking and gangly here doesn't mean much when it comes to strength, afterall. But her strength is no match, not just against Novel, but the artifact she's holding, with the blood seeping deep into the wood. No. The artifact fights back, too, sending an electrical shock through Novel at his touch, a voltage that is wildly strong to send him off his feet. Unlike normal cursed objects, this packs a punch, like he'd truly been struck by nature's lightening, his feet blackening where the bolt of power escaped his body. As for not asking? This is Haven. Is seeing someone with a crack in their chest where blood and whatever else glows truly that outrageous? Especially in life or death matters?
The artifact glows like Novel's chest, etchings along its wood, revealing there a symbol of a crimson hand holding a blackened, thorned crown.
Novel feels his body go partially numb along the limb, down the leg, staggering backwards. Unbidden, his arm convulses, tightening in cracking, painful grip. Or it would be painful if he could FEEL anything. "FUCK," he swears in response to the woman as the smell of crisping fat and meat that's scented remarkably like pork fills with air as he flung against the terracotta brick. If the artifact is still glued to his hand and shocking the shit out of him, he's forced to use his free hand and fist to try punching it out of his hand that refuses to respond to him in the throes of electroshock therapy. Otherwise he's just dropping it right onto the floor. "Fuck you! You're the one using a weird - bullshit artifact like Fayad-" Oh. Right.
He should probably call his boss. He grabs at the medallion around his neck, muttering to it, "Hey I got some WEIRD BULLSHIT at my apartment. Send some people over to fucking help." Honestly... he should have done that from the beginning, reaching out to his fellow Disruptors.
And as he's finding out, there's way too much strangeness that people accept at face value here.
The woman pries the artifact from Novel's hand. "I was trying to cloak us, you dolt." She might have tried to club the man if she weren't suddenly quite aware that the dark magic induced lightening has stirred up the noise outside again as men's voices are heard, whispering, chanting, and rapping on nearby doors. "They're going to be here any minute now thanks to you." She once more tries to hold onto the artifact and closes her eyes to begin anew. Darkness begins to swell in every corner, and seeps from those corners along the floor, up the walls. They make shapes like demons, hulking, small, wide, and tall. "Be quiet..." Is she telling Novel or whatever she's drawn out from the literal woodwork?
Novel has, and always will be, firmly of the belief he should be the only demonic entity in the room. "No, bullshit, I KNOW someone who does cloaking shit and rituals. We'll ask -him- for help and get us the fuck outta here instead of doing whatever crap you're doing with THAT." Now he sounds fully aggravated. But... he's also excited. His features of flushed, some, the fighting, the dance, the promise of violence, the scent of blood. It's a strange juxtaposition that he's just adapted to over the years.
And so he curls his hand up into a fist, and swings, angling right for the woman's jaw to cause the brain to bounce off the inside of the head and cause an instant knockout. A swift, violent act.
That would happen on someone who does not have an artifact that is calling upon demons who are under her control -- or were? Those shadows start to creep toward Novel and curl around his body, his arms, and fist. Not to say that it doesn't make contact. It does. She is sent reeling against the door with a solid thud. Only to alert whatever else is outside of the door, too. "You ignorant fool!" she says, sliding down to the floor to her rear, the artifact still held in her hand. "There are powers out there that you have no clue about. And what they want to do with this." This. The object? Possibly. "I was trying to protect us, but I've lost the link. They won't listen now." And so it seems, too, as the shadows are still growing in size, shape, and volume.
Novel yanks an arm up, as if trying to pull off the shadow, the flashing, agitated glow of his chest flaring in both excitement and annoyance. "Yeah yeah, if that was the first goddamn time I been called that," He remarks, somewhat dismissively, a glower on his features at the woman as he slowly shifts, glancing here or there - ah. The fireplace. It hasn't been lit, though. Summer, and all.
"I got a freezer you can shove that piece of crap into. Maybe it'll get it to cool off." And hopefully the rest of the Disruptors will show up SOMETIME as his un-darkened hand, wincing as crispy feet brush against the cold concrete floor as he aims to light things right on up. "Maybe NEXT TIME, don't use the fucking CREEPY ASS VAMPIRE ARTIFACT that DRINKS FUCKING BLOOD," He snarls out, his temper gradually fraying, the shades and things starting to get to him.
Convening now at Novel's door are a mix of Host and mercenaries from the Disruptors, before any spell of protection or shadowing could have taken affect in order for the woman to explain. The room has grown exceptionally dark with the demonic shadows that have been summoned, but it is NOT for protection. Perhaps it is the woman who was the ignorant fool? Summoning demons without the proper knowledge and skill to actually control them and accepting that the relic would ensure her, and Novel's, safety. "He is going to come ... and I can't stop him. I wanted to usurp.." The woman says only this, this admittance, and with it, some fear. Would she say more? Maybe...
The door bursts open by a foot to it, knocking the woman out of its path as mercs step through. Behind the two enters a singlular man, doning the cloak of the Host. Crimson, symbolized with a claw holding a blacked thorny crown. The man looks at Novel, and those shadows that do not relent, parts the two men with a flick of his fingers, and heads directly to the woman.
Novel shoves the snagged aim-and-flame directly into the fireplace, hunching before it. There's a bwoosh as scrap newspaper and wood shavings ignite. He's more concerned about that shadow that's slowly overtaking his form and body, and doing his best to get rid of it. The scrape of the heavy couch follows the booted feet, something that gets in the way and makes everything awkward. Oh, boy. Cover. He grimaces, and, plunges his hand in to grasp at one of those now-burning logs. He vaguely hopes this works. He casts his gaze back over his shoulder, hunched over like some sort of gremlin to the three people, remarking, "Yeah, I'll be with you in just a fucking second." He sort of waves vaguely at his left arm, a disgusted rolling of his eyes.
Great. More home invaders.
Though many of the shadows recoil and disperse from the light that erupts thanks to Novel's quick thinking. However, not all do, and they still seek to fill him. Find those cracks to seep into, to include that upon his chest. The Disruptors head directly to Novel, while the tall, lean and forboding figure in a cloak walks right up to the woman. The Disruptors, well, as the name suggets, disrupt Novel from whatever he'd planned to do -- ignite his home on fire? The begin to ask how he is, one even grabbing his arm to pull his hand from the flame.
Novel snaps at the two men as his hand, "Not ME you fucking idiots. I'M fine. Grab the fucking heart! And don't let them run off with it! Call more people if you have to!" He shifts from grasping flame directly - leaving more blisters and sizzling. God, the apartment reeks now of if as he sweeps around with a burning log in each hand, taking in a deep breath as his glow is slowly getting smothered. "Get it in a box and grab those two!" And they're not the only one, as he suddenly strides forwards, directly towards the host-cloaked man... and shoves one of those flames right at that cloak.
The woman, she cowers from the cloaked man, the artifact held out in front of her as it if were to somehow start protecting her again. The ritual spills from her lips and some blood begins moving the opposite way, to be sucked into the relic, but it is again dispelled as the cloaked figure reaches for her arm and pulls her right up into the air, onto her tiptoes. "You thought you could steal from me? You thought you could /take/ what is mine?" The man's hand goes to the woman's throat. "You are /mine/ or have you forgotten that." The woman's eyes go wide, as she struggles to breath. Sanctuary is a finicky thing. Fear can cause one's protection to drop. Sex. And relationships. Novel's keen eye might notice the bands on each figures fingers. He says, "I should kill you right here and now..." But he doesn't. He goes to snag the artifact, and with a single wave of it, the two Disruptors are sent flying backward. The relic is swirled into a circle until there is a portal created, and the two step through. "Power does not belong in everyone's hands," can be heard, as probably chastisement to the woman who sought it. Then, the portal starts to close. The beastly shadows drawn toward it, inside of it. Do any of them dare to step through? Or do they regroup and take action at a later date?
Novel finds his arm stopped, the licking flames immobilized in the Sanctuary spell as he finds his arm drifting towards the right instead of committing a violent form of arson. His hand flexes against the burning wood, his expression drawing into a taut grimace and the flashing of teeth. He really needs to stop forgetting about the magic, especially as it runs directly counter to some of his more unsavory acts and desires. A hissing breath. Feet singed. Hands singed. He drums his fingers - and then, tosses the burning hunks of wood back into the fireplace. Not now, not today. But...
With a certain amount of aggravation, to the other collapsed men who came to his aid, "We'll deal with this fucking later." As he turns, to check on them, and help them to their feet. Tending his own as opposed to chasing off to goodness-knows where. He'll let the arcanists figure it out. He's just the muscle.
The portal closes, not with a sound, but with a flash of light that darkens the room again for those who looked right into it.