Encounterlogs
Novels Odd Encounter Sr Valerie 241109
In the gritty, hope-laden atmosphere of the Great News Community Center, Novel encounters a situation that veers sharply from his usual languid oversight of the foyer. A woman, cloaked in the anonymity of black attire and mirrored shades, approaches with a tension that cuts through the ambient disquiet of the center. She presents Novel with a task wrapped in the secrecy of a thick manilla envelope, filled with cash and a dossier on Dr. Adrian Lockwood, a physicist with apocalyptic aspirations entwined with the Sundial experiment, threatening to unleash a calamitous simulation of the sun's energy. The woman's demeanor, both inscrutable and pointed, demands Novel's engagement in a mission far removed from his ordinary interactions within the dimly lit bounds of the community center. Her introduction sets the stage for Novel's reluctant acceptance of a task that spirals into the depths of conspiracy and the shadowy interplay of anarchistic endeavors against a backdrop of impending catastrophe.
Engulfed by a mix of exasperation and intrigue, Novel sifts through the details of his assignment, his response a blend of sarcasm and a begrudging recognition of the gravity of the situation. The exchange underscores a labyrinth of motivations, where the lines between anarchistic solidarity and individual moral compass blur. Novel's journey from the static comfort of the community center's desk to the anticipation of confronting Lockwood’s madness propels him into a realm of surreal determination. The woman's parting words linger as an eerie prelude to the uncertain path Novel treads, armed with a reluctant purpose and the cynical companionship of distant allies. As he steps into the uncertain, shifting scenery towards Lockwood's dark horizon, Novel's narrative transforms from one of idle oversight to a charged pursuit of salvation from an apocalypse seeded in the fertile ground of fanaticism and rebellion. The story concludes with Novel's departure into the sinister embrace of his mission, leaving an echo of uneasy alliance in the air of the Great News Community Center.
(Novel's odd encounter(SRValerie):SRValerie)
[Fri Nov 8 2024]
In the busy foyer of Great News Community Center
The community center's foyer has a gritty, lived-in feel. Harried volunteers weave through a mix of individuals, some bearing the weight of hard-lived stories on their way to addiction counseling. The aroma from the soup kitchen mingles with a sense of desperation and hope, while a small chapel to the north offers a quiet corner of solace, its doors open to all. Nearby, the religious bookstore stands as a beacon of faith amidst the tangible air of struggle.
Mounted prominently on the wall opposite the entrance is a large cross, along with a slogan: Jesus didn't just give good news, he gave GREAT NEWS!
Aside from it, on the wall next to the entrance to the chapel, a large painting of Saint George engaged in a heavenly battle with a ferocious, massive red dragon dominates the wall, a poignant symbol of the ever-present battle against addiction.
Signs give directions to parts of the community center:
(North) Chapel
(East) Soup Kitchen & Multi-Purpose Room
(South) Bookstore & Gifts
The southeastern wall bears a decorative mural of Jacob observing the ladder to Heaven.
It is night, about 54F(12C) degrees, and the sky is covered by wispy white clouds. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target and their allies have been tasked with stealing a vital piece of intelligence from a subject by delving into their mind with dream invading to try to tease out the secret.
)
Novel is doing his job, for once. He's behind the desk - usually he just lazes there and browses his phone, or gives the occasional homeless person a baleful glare to keep them from snatching their unfair share of Naxara or food or other supplies. But today, the unhoused population are in a good mood - money is coming their way! So there's fewer showing up, allowing him to just...
Relax.
The Great News Community Center's foyer buzzes with movement, but the scene around Novel feels oddly still, his feet propped up as he lounges behind the front desk. Today, the familiar shuffle and quiet murmurs feel distant, a background hum to his own languid reverie. He's comfortable, practically idssolved into his chair, only his occasional side-eye keeping order as he 'works'.
Then, slicing through the calm, comes a slender brunette woman dressed in all black, her presence as deliberate as her pace, cutting against the flow of the center's occupants. She moves with an unapologetic air, mirrored shades reflecting her cold survey of the room, dark hair trailing from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. Each step toward the desk is heavy with intent, and as she reaches it, draping herself across the side of the desk.
"Novel, right? Novel Norman?" she asks, her voice low, like smoke through velvet, with a tinge of a French accent. She doesn't wait for a response before reaching into her jacket, producing a thick manilla envelope. Her hand slides it across the desk, the crackle of the paper sharp in the quiet. "I have an assignment for you from one of your superiors. Here is the information and payment inside."
It's stuffed, almost bulging, with cash and few slips of paper inside containing a dossier on a scientist: Dr. Adrian Lockwood, a physicist turned apocolapytic visionary, now hell-bent on reviving the Sundial experiment. A lot of the information is blacked out, but it's easy to udnerstand that it's a dirty bomb that he's attempting to simulate the sun's energy on a massive scale. Clippings placed together suggest he believes it offers a way to force humanity into salvation by fire from the impending apocalypse from twelve years out.
Novel gives the brunette a slow, speculative, terrible look. There's nothing kind about that look, the gaze of a hunting dog and a certain amount of interest as he smirks over to her. He picks up the note. "Just Novel, lady. Superiors, huh?" He remarks casually. "Don't really get how this whole fucking thing works, do you?" A group of anarchists. The Disruptors operate more like terrorist cells then a codified group, much of the time, as a heavy finger slips into the flap of the envelope and simply tears it open, upending it onto the desk.
He pockets the cash almost immediately.
It's his, right? Sick. He sort of spreads all the papers out, scanning through it. He makes a face. "Why the fuck do you go through all the effort of printing all this garbage and then soaking it all in MORE goddamn ink? Couldn't you have just sent a fucking email?" He says in exasperation towards the papers as he rummages through it. And... given the nature of the Disruptors...
Some of them might even be aiming to help the asshole. He just sort of sighs. "More remnants from the fucking Scions working with Sapphire castoffs, huh?" He says sort of conversationally to the woman. "I mean, most of us fucking bounced from Gonth to here, but whatever. So what. You want me to pay a house visit?"
The woman's red-painted lips curl into a slight smirk as she watches Novel's reaction, clearly undeterred by his complaints. "Consider this a courtesy, Norman," she replies smoothly, low and indifferent to his tone. "Some of your lot aren't entirely on board with stopping Dr. Lockwood, so it's delicate. He's working on this, but his plans are half-mad and more than a little dangerous. What we need to know is how he intends to go about this and the location of the facilities where it's being housed."
She shifts her weight, folding her arms as her gaze sharpens. "His address is included inside. Just a short trip, if you can prepare a path to bridge the distance," she says. "Ideally, make sure he can't pick up where he left off. If you can make it clean, and fast, then I will pay extra."
Novel makes a 'hum' noise under his breath at the woman's words, sneering at her. "You know I don't actually care who you actually fucking work for, right? If you said this dude was gonna blow up the world with enough fucking evidence I would have gone anyway. I don't want the world to be destroyed. All my shit is here. If you want an expert though, with computers and shit, I'll have to make a few goddamn phone calls. Maybe reach out to fucking... Frenchie or some shit. I don't know." His booted feet slide off the desk. Thump, thump. "I'll make a few calls. Money should come in hand. Seeya." The paper with his address is snagged. And out he goes, to make a few calls, to throw the money to other anarchists and get them to start working. Putting the tech-heads on call.
Between then there's a quick pickup. Kevlar vest, of course. He doesn't need to bring the sword. Probably won't help. And then, armor gathered, a few phone messages left to his friends who are busy with their own stuff -
He begins to walk. And walk, humming under his breath, as the world around him changes and slowly fades, a walk from a normal forest into one that is increasingly surreal and dark as he stays focused on the path. The hunt. Part of him is looking forwards to this.
The woman merely offers a thin smile in response to Novel's indifference, her mirrored sunglasses glinting as she turns away, blending effortlessly into the bustling center, a hand flicked up in backward acknowledgement to his words. "There is no rush on the completion. We have through the month to get the assignment completed while he is on sabbatical. Be well until then."
Novel nods at the woman - and makes his way away. He has phone calls to make.
Engulfed by a mix of exasperation and intrigue, Novel sifts through the details of his assignment, his response a blend of sarcasm and a begrudging recognition of the gravity of the situation. The exchange underscores a labyrinth of motivations, where the lines between anarchistic solidarity and individual moral compass blur. Novel's journey from the static comfort of the community center's desk to the anticipation of confronting Lockwood’s madness propels him into a realm of surreal determination. The woman's parting words linger as an eerie prelude to the uncertain path Novel treads, armed with a reluctant purpose and the cynical companionship of distant allies. As he steps into the uncertain, shifting scenery towards Lockwood's dark horizon, Novel's narrative transforms from one of idle oversight to a charged pursuit of salvation from an apocalypse seeded in the fertile ground of fanaticism and rebellion. The story concludes with Novel's departure into the sinister embrace of his mission, leaving an echo of uneasy alliance in the air of the Great News Community Center.
(Novel's odd encounter(SRValerie):SRValerie)
[Fri Nov 8 2024]
In the busy foyer of Great News Community Center
The community center's foyer has a gritty, lived-in feel. Harried volunteers weave through a mix of individuals, some bearing the weight of hard-lived stories on their way to addiction counseling. The aroma from the soup kitchen mingles with a sense of desperation and hope, while a small chapel to the north offers a quiet corner of solace, its doors open to all. Nearby, the religious bookstore stands as a beacon of faith amidst the tangible air of struggle.
Mounted prominently on the wall opposite the entrance is a large cross, along with a slogan: Jesus didn't just give good news, he gave GREAT NEWS!
Aside from it, on the wall next to the entrance to the chapel, a large painting of Saint George engaged in a heavenly battle with a ferocious, massive red dragon dominates the wall, a poignant symbol of the ever-present battle against addiction.
Signs give directions to parts of the community center:
(North) Chapel
(East) Soup Kitchen & Multi-Purpose Room
(South) Bookstore & Gifts
The southeastern wall bears a decorative mural of Jacob observing the ladder to Heaven.
It is night, about 54F(12C) degrees, and the sky is covered by wispy white clouds. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target and their allies have been tasked with stealing a vital piece of intelligence from a subject by delving into their mind with dream invading to try to tease out the secret.
)
Novel is doing his job, for once. He's behind the desk - usually he just lazes there and browses his phone, or gives the occasional homeless person a baleful glare to keep them from snatching their unfair share of Naxara or food or other supplies. But today, the unhoused population are in a good mood - money is coming their way! So there's fewer showing up, allowing him to just...
Relax.
The Great News Community Center's foyer buzzes with movement, but the scene around Novel feels oddly still, his feet propped up as he lounges behind the front desk. Today, the familiar shuffle and quiet murmurs feel distant, a background hum to his own languid reverie. He's comfortable, practically idssolved into his chair, only his occasional side-eye keeping order as he 'works'.
Then, slicing through the calm, comes a slender brunette woman dressed in all black, her presence as deliberate as her pace, cutting against the flow of the center's occupants. She moves with an unapologetic air, mirrored shades reflecting her cold survey of the room, dark hair trailing from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. Each step toward the desk is heavy with intent, and as she reaches it, draping herself across the side of the desk.
"Novel, right? Novel Norman?" she asks, her voice low, like smoke through velvet, with a tinge of a French accent. She doesn't wait for a response before reaching into her jacket, producing a thick manilla envelope. Her hand slides it across the desk, the crackle of the paper sharp in the quiet. "I have an assignment for you from one of your superiors. Here is the information and payment inside."
It's stuffed, almost bulging, with cash and few slips of paper inside containing a dossier on a scientist: Dr. Adrian Lockwood, a physicist turned apocolapytic visionary, now hell-bent on reviving the Sundial experiment. A lot of the information is blacked out, but it's easy to udnerstand that it's a dirty bomb that he's attempting to simulate the sun's energy on a massive scale. Clippings placed together suggest he believes it offers a way to force humanity into salvation by fire from the impending apocalypse from twelve years out.
Novel gives the brunette a slow, speculative, terrible look. There's nothing kind about that look, the gaze of a hunting dog and a certain amount of interest as he smirks over to her. He picks up the note. "Just Novel, lady. Superiors, huh?" He remarks casually. "Don't really get how this whole fucking thing works, do you?" A group of anarchists. The Disruptors operate more like terrorist cells then a codified group, much of the time, as a heavy finger slips into the flap of the envelope and simply tears it open, upending it onto the desk.
He pockets the cash almost immediately.
It's his, right? Sick. He sort of spreads all the papers out, scanning through it. He makes a face. "Why the fuck do you go through all the effort of printing all this garbage and then soaking it all in MORE goddamn ink? Couldn't you have just sent a fucking email?" He says in exasperation towards the papers as he rummages through it. And... given the nature of the Disruptors...
Some of them might even be aiming to help the asshole. He just sort of sighs. "More remnants from the fucking Scions working with Sapphire castoffs, huh?" He says sort of conversationally to the woman. "I mean, most of us fucking bounced from Gonth to here, but whatever. So what. You want me to pay a house visit?"
The woman's red-painted lips curl into a slight smirk as she watches Novel's reaction, clearly undeterred by his complaints. "Consider this a courtesy, Norman," she replies smoothly, low and indifferent to his tone. "Some of your lot aren't entirely on board with stopping Dr. Lockwood, so it's delicate. He's working on this, but his plans are half-mad and more than a little dangerous. What we need to know is how he intends to go about this and the location of the facilities where it's being housed."
She shifts her weight, folding her arms as her gaze sharpens. "His address is included inside. Just a short trip, if you can prepare a path to bridge the distance," she says. "Ideally, make sure he can't pick up where he left off. If you can make it clean, and fast, then I will pay extra."
Novel makes a 'hum' noise under his breath at the woman's words, sneering at her. "You know I don't actually care who you actually fucking work for, right? If you said this dude was gonna blow up the world with enough fucking evidence I would have gone anyway. I don't want the world to be destroyed. All my shit is here. If you want an expert though, with computers and shit, I'll have to make a few goddamn phone calls. Maybe reach out to fucking... Frenchie or some shit. I don't know." His booted feet slide off the desk. Thump, thump. "I'll make a few calls. Money should come in hand. Seeya." The paper with his address is snagged. And out he goes, to make a few calls, to throw the money to other anarchists and get them to start working. Putting the tech-heads on call.
Between then there's a quick pickup. Kevlar vest, of course. He doesn't need to bring the sword. Probably won't help. And then, armor gathered, a few phone messages left to his friends who are busy with their own stuff -
He begins to walk. And walk, humming under his breath, as the world around him changes and slowly fades, a walk from a normal forest into one that is increasingly surreal and dark as he stays focused on the path. The hunt. Part of him is looking forwards to this.
The woman merely offers a thin smile in response to Novel's indifference, her mirrored sunglasses glinting as she turns away, blending effortlessly into the bustling center, a hand flicked up in backward acknowledgement to his words. "There is no rush on the completion. We have through the month to get the assignment completed while he is on sabbatical. Be well until then."
Novel nods at the woman - and makes his way away. He has phone calls to make.