Encounterlogs
Percys Odd Encounter Sr Tyler 241013
On a quiet evening in the eclectic store of Savage Styles, Percy Bakr, a man with a peculiar past involving a century-long entrapment in a cat's mummified body and now a servant to the goddess Bastet, finds himself in a conversation that would unravel threads of destiny he hadn't anticipated weaving. As he navigates the modern complexities of shoe shopping, his lament on the high prices attracts the attention of Walter Finneas, an old man with a limp and a heart heavy with secrets. The exchange begins lightly, discussing the evolution of shoe technology, but swiftly dives into depths that Percy, despite his extensive and unusual past, had not foreseen exploring that day. Walter, with his kind eyes and somber guise, introduces himself, inadvertently steering the discourse towards the darker corridors of current events and philosophical ruminations on the world's looming end.
The chat meanders into the realms of the existential, with Walter revealing his affiliation with the Sapphire Martyrs, an apocalyptic cult pursuing the isolation of Earth to prevent what they perceive as an inevitable doom from spreading to other realms. This revelation jolts Percy, stirring within him a mix of skepticism, curiosity, and an unexpected alignment of interests. As Walter speaks of the Martyrs' cause with a fervor tinged with resignation, he presents Percy with an unspoken choice: to engage further with the murky waters of their creed, or to retreat into the safer, albeit mundane, concerns of everyday life. Despite the gravity of the subject and the veiled invitation to delve deeper, Percy opts for discretion, suggesting a potential future correspondence should curiosity and circumstance favor such an intersection of paths again. With a parting gift of Sketchers and a murmured "Godspeed," Percy exits, leaving behind the serendipitous encounter but taking with him the heavy mantle of knowledge and the whisper of a choice that could beckon from the shadows at any moment.
(Percy's odd encounter(SRTyler):SRTyler)
[Sat Oct 12 2024]
In the shoes section of Savage Style
Built into the east wall from gray-planked flooring to ceiling are a set of cleverly-built cubbies, each one holding a nestled pair of shoes available for sale. It appears that each individual cubby can be slid out from its place like a drawer, giving the shopper easy access to pluck them out to try on. Cushioned benches have been situated underneath the windows on the south side of the room, several throw pillows in shades of blues and creams tossed there as if in sympathy for the bored or tired customers who may have been drug along by a significant other who is taking far too long. Neatly-folded socks have been situated on a display in the middle of the room and several wood-framed mirrors are spaced out along the walls in order to allow customers to admire themselves. The northwest walls bears a striking mural of a siren, sunning herself on a rock as she contemplates a ship in the distance of the sea with a hungry look.
Dangling from the ceiling from braided wiring are small signs directing customer traffic to other areas of the store. One points to the west declaring 'Accessories and Exit', while the other points to the northwest, and reads 'Purchase Counter'.
It is dusk, about 60F(15C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside.
(Your target investigates an old, dilapidated mansion on the outskirts of Haven. The mansion, once a lively and bustling family home, is now a desolate place, shrouded in shadows and whispers of the past. As your target ventures deeper, they come across a hidden basement where they encounter a member of the Sapphire Martyrs who has been left behind as a guard. The Martyr, an old man, seems to be caught in a constant state of sorrow and regret. He shares the Sapphire Martyrs' heartbreaking philosophy and their plan to sever the connection between Earth and the other worlds. He believes that, by telling the target, the Martyr is passing on his duty and thus fulfilling his purpose. The target must then decide what to do with this information - to prevent the Sapphire Martyrs from achieving their goal, to join them, or to find another way to save both Earth and the other worlds. This encounter is meant to reveal the intentions of the Sapphire Martyrs, and to challenge the target's own beliefs and decisions regarding the fate of their world.)
Percy shops for clothes at Harper's, looking for something more than his one outfit. The would-be archaeologist is a man out of time; born in the 19th century, his spirit was imprisoned in a cat and then the cat was mummified a century ago, only for him to be recently released back into consciousness and human form. Even still, he is bound reluctantly to the goddess Bastet, who has demanded service from him in exchange for allowing him to keep his life.
Browsing through the racks, he frowns. "I say," he says. Born in Cairo, educated in Britain, he straddled two worlds. "All of this is rather expensive for what it is."
The sun sets on the exterior of Haven, and even here, deep within the interior of Savage Styles, the stained rays of sunset bleed through the store's front windows and glaze it with an orange hue that sharply contrasts with the cheap fluorescent lights keeping the shoe section alight. The sundries and wares on offer are a stark contrast from what Percy is likely used to, both in terms of cost and style: Air Jordans, Adidas track shoes, and other articles that likely seem just plucked out of time as Percy is. The store is moderately populated with random residents, likely to be expected on a Saturday, but the closest to Percy is that of an old man. Suffering from a noticeable gait in his step, he seems to be struggling to bend himself to get a proper look at some of the examples of shoes on display, and he is close enough to overhear Percy's comment. It prompts a noticeable bout of laughter from the elderly man, a sort of subdued guffawing that any would expect from a man long in years. "They don't make them like they used to, no," the old man comments idly, a bit raspy but audible enough for comment to at least carry towards Percy. "At least they have these orthopedic soles now. Didn't used to have those, y'know."
Looking up, Percy smiles at the man. "No, I daresay they don't," he says. He sticks out a hand. "Percy Bakr, old boy. A pleasure."
Seemingly flabbergasted by the Percy's sudden introduction, let alone the exchange of names, the old man's surprise melts away rather swiftly and is replaced by an earnest smile of his own. "Ah," the old man murmurs, extending a relatively shaky hand towards Percy that seems to be testing the elder's balance. "Walter. Walter Finneas." There is a moment where the old man's eyes drift away from the hand proffered by Percy, and up towards the worn ID tag, but it is a fleeting glance. Threatened with a lack of being able to keep himself upright, the old man attempts to withdraw his hand as he engages with Percy in conversation. "Likewise, young man. There aren't many places in town to get a good pair of shoes nowadays, and I'm not good enough with those computers to order them online as my grandchildren would." The last part of that statement ends in a somewhat muted tone, as if the elder man wished to catch himself before he said it, or was reluctant to mention it at all. "The Sketchers, however... Good price, good on the feet."
"Good on the feet," Percy muses to the man. "Well, I appreciate that, Finneas," he says, before he turns back to his shopping. It's a moment, and then curiosity catches the cat: "I'm sure you've seen a lot," he asks him. "What's the change like, been in the world while you've been walking in it?"
The question, like the sudden introduction, seems to catch Walter off guard. "Well, uh... Hmm..." It's a question that seemingly forces him to think, but before long he presents an answer as he places a wrinkled hand upon the lip of the shoe display to help keep himself upright. "Sad, to be honest with you, Mister Baker," Walter confesses, seemingly oblivious at having screwed up in his pronunciation of Percy's name. "Nowadays I feel like a man not only seeing my end, but the end of everything. With what is on the news between wars in Ukraine, a tempestuous President election, and all the greed and death -- it feels like the worlds are predisposed towards destruction."
Current events pass blankly over Percy's face. "What changes," he prompts the man, "Since you were young?" It's curiosity. "Perhaps I shouldn't intrude," he says. "I should let you get back to your shopping."
"Oh, no, no," Walter insists, managing a kindly smile towards Percy as he attempts to maintain the conversation. "It's no trouble at all, Mister Baker. In fact, it's the first real conversation I've had in quite awhile." Stepping away from the shoe display, he struggles to seat himself onto a nearby bench likely used to trying on that which is on display. "The worlds just seem darker nowadays. Like we're living at the precipice of the end, mmm? It can... it can sometimes make you wonder if it's best to simply usher it along towards that purpose." The next words come very careful, and the old man's blue eyes seem to be studying Percy as the first real hint of life in the man makes itself apparent in his next sentence: "Some might think it's an act of mercy, wouldn't they, follower of Alabaster?"
Percy turns to look at Walter with a low look, now. "I'm not that, old boy." The hackles are up, though -- metaphorically. "It's been smashing talking to you," he says. "But I'm afraid it's time for me to get my purchases and check out. The hour dwells late, after all."
Another bout of laughter erupts from the old man, this time more lively and spirited than before, even prompting an odd look or two from passersby. "No?" Walter asks, studying both Percy in the ID tag worn by Percy. "Odd, and here I thought our people knew yours rather well, or at least we tend to for all of those who play their little games in this town." Despite the rather ominous delivery from Walter, the man maintains his sad, old smile and his posture seems rather relaxed all things considered. "I suppose the topic of what is to come wouldn't be of interest to some. As an old man, I have the distinct advantage of being written off a senile old coot -- but I suspect you're smart enough to know that isn't the case, mm? You sure you don't want to try on the Sketchers?" Walter then asks, lifting a crooked finger towards one of the cubbies beneath a display and the box of Sketchers within it. "They are rather comfortable. More comfortable than discussing the 'end of all' and what an old man might possibly know about it."
Percy tells Walter, his voice low. "I think I'm going to pay for my purchases." He's getting increasingly uneasy, upset, and the wariness with which he steps away from the man seems calculated to create distance. "But I hope you stay dry out there," he says.
"Pity," Walter concludes, watching Percy's trepidation with no small amount of disappointment. The elderly man does not give chase, or perhaps he cannot, but he continues with the line of conversation all the same. "You're smarter than most. Plucked into an era that seems otherwise alien, but so full of life and wonder. Though, all of that hides the cancer hiding beneath, you know." The subject of cancer makes the old man place his hands in his lap, his left hand rubbing at the surface of the right. "I had hoped that a smart man like you, Mister Baker, might be able to understand what we do, and why we do it..." There's a faint craning of the head, "or perhaps you don't know who we are?"
Some brief, hesitating pause. "I don't know who you are," Percy tells someone. "I've been gone a long time." He prevaricates. "Who do you work for?" he asks, looking for some tool, some way out he lacks.
Some brief, hesitating pause. "I don't know who you are," Percy tells Walter. "I've been gone a long time." He prevaricates. "Who do you work for?" he asks, looking for some tool, some way out he lacks.
Another bout of laughter from the old man, albeit softer yet tinged with the same sort of sadness that is writ plain upon both his features and in the tone of his voice. "We introduced ourselves already, Mister Baker, or at least you did straight away. I am Walter Finneas..." The next words match the same low delivery as Percy's previous own. "Member of the Sapphire Martyrs." As soon as the last two words leave his lips, the elderly man shows his own bit of paranoia, checking around himself and casting gazes at each patron. Only one seems to have an interest in the exchange between Percy and Walter, but it is short-lived as they are joined by another shopper and happily try on shoes and other garments. "You have heard of us, have you not?"
There's a shake of Percy's head, looking around before he looks back at Walter. He's still edging his way out of the shoes section, but -- well. Curiosity and cats. "No," he says, his voice all upper-class British posh. "What are the Sapphire Martyrs?" he inquires of the old man.
Scooting to the edge of the bench and reaching out to grab at a box of shoes from a cubby, Walter begins to inspect the shoes within the box as he nonchalantly explains the concept of what is effectively an apocalypse cult to Percy. "We're a group of men and woman," Walter explains, before quickly adding, "global organization, mind you... Dedicated to cutting this world off from the others, like one would remove a cancer before it has a chance to spread elsewhere along the body, Mister Baker." Looking up from his lap and the box sitting upon it, he rests his kindly attentions back upon Percy again. "You are like a man out of time, but this world is literally out of time, Mister Baker. We simply want to save the others before they suffer the same. You can understand this, no?"
Percy looks at Walter with some curiosity. "And if they do?" he asks the man. "What happens, for instance, to the world of gods if we cut ourselves off from it?" Is that a glimmer of hope in his eyes?
Percy's question sparks a glimmer of something in the old man's tone and body language, as if he were finally prompted with some measure of hope, ironic as it is given the subject matter. "Isolated, but alive. Our planet will die, but the others and those who dwell upon it will live on... also isolated." Walter brings his hands up to rest upon the surface of the shoes sitting in the box upon his lap, once again rubbing at one of his hands. "There's no hope for any of us here, Mister Baker. We merely live on borrowed time. My associates are simply doing all that we can to save what can be saved. Yet, we're labeled as extremists, attacked, vilified... Many of us have lost everything, Mister Baker. We don't want everything that is to have to experience the same. Hence the name, 'martyrs'."
Percy looks over at the door again. "I do need to go," he says. "But -- if you've some way I can contact you," he says. "I can write or call, perhaps."
Sighing, the man looks down into the box of the shoes, flipping the lid upon it and closing it shut with a press of his fingers. "No, Mister Baker. My time is... rather limited." Struggling to rise to his feet, Walter carries the box over towards Percy and presses the box of Sketchers close to Percy's chest with a small amount of emphasis, or at least as much as the old man can muster. "I ask only that you remember the name of our organization, ask around for what we stand for. If your curiosity is genuine, and your desire is earnest, we will find you. My associates are everywhere." Once again, an ominous choice of words, yet it is belied by the old man's gentle tone and disposition. "I do not have long before I am moved into hospice care, you see. I'm enjoying the last few days of freedom before I'm relegated from one prison to an eternal one. I merely gave my caretaker the slip, you see..." One last bit of guffawing, but it is short lived as the man seeks to impress one last thing upon Percy "All I ask is that you remember us and seek us out. You don't need to remember me. I'm just an old man who committed the last of his years trying to save what I can, even if I could not save my own family."
It is a long, long moment where Percy looks at man, and then he nods. "Godspeed," he says. "It's time for me to -- well. I have a sympathy for those imprisoned," he tells Walter. "Try to keep them from finding you, eh?" A smile. "Good luck." Then he's gone, out the door.
The chat meanders into the realms of the existential, with Walter revealing his affiliation with the Sapphire Martyrs, an apocalyptic cult pursuing the isolation of Earth to prevent what they perceive as an inevitable doom from spreading to other realms. This revelation jolts Percy, stirring within him a mix of skepticism, curiosity, and an unexpected alignment of interests. As Walter speaks of the Martyrs' cause with a fervor tinged with resignation, he presents Percy with an unspoken choice: to engage further with the murky waters of their creed, or to retreat into the safer, albeit mundane, concerns of everyday life. Despite the gravity of the subject and the veiled invitation to delve deeper, Percy opts for discretion, suggesting a potential future correspondence should curiosity and circumstance favor such an intersection of paths again. With a parting gift of Sketchers and a murmured "Godspeed," Percy exits, leaving behind the serendipitous encounter but taking with him the heavy mantle of knowledge and the whisper of a choice that could beckon from the shadows at any moment.
(Percy's odd encounter(SRTyler):SRTyler)
[Sat Oct 12 2024]
In the shoes section of Savage Style
Built into the east wall from gray-planked flooring to ceiling are a set of cleverly-built cubbies, each one holding a nestled pair of shoes available for sale. It appears that each individual cubby can be slid out from its place like a drawer, giving the shopper easy access to pluck them out to try on. Cushioned benches have been situated underneath the windows on the south side of the room, several throw pillows in shades of blues and creams tossed there as if in sympathy for the bored or tired customers who may have been drug along by a significant other who is taking far too long. Neatly-folded socks have been situated on a display in the middle of the room and several wood-framed mirrors are spaced out along the walls in order to allow customers to admire themselves. The northwest walls bears a striking mural of a siren, sunning herself on a rock as she contemplates a ship in the distance of the sea with a hungry look.
Dangling from the ceiling from braided wiring are small signs directing customer traffic to other areas of the store. One points to the west declaring 'Accessories and Exit', while the other points to the northwest, and reads 'Purchase Counter'.
It is dusk, about 60F(15C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside.
(Your target investigates an old, dilapidated mansion on the outskirts of Haven. The mansion, once a lively and bustling family home, is now a desolate place, shrouded in shadows and whispers of the past. As your target ventures deeper, they come across a hidden basement where they encounter a member of the Sapphire Martyrs who has been left behind as a guard. The Martyr, an old man, seems to be caught in a constant state of sorrow and regret. He shares the Sapphire Martyrs' heartbreaking philosophy and their plan to sever the connection between Earth and the other worlds. He believes that, by telling the target, the Martyr is passing on his duty and thus fulfilling his purpose. The target must then decide what to do with this information - to prevent the Sapphire Martyrs from achieving their goal, to join them, or to find another way to save both Earth and the other worlds. This encounter is meant to reveal the intentions of the Sapphire Martyrs, and to challenge the target's own beliefs and decisions regarding the fate of their world.)
Percy shops for clothes at Harper's, looking for something more than his one outfit. The would-be archaeologist is a man out of time; born in the 19th century, his spirit was imprisoned in a cat and then the cat was mummified a century ago, only for him to be recently released back into consciousness and human form. Even still, he is bound reluctantly to the goddess Bastet, who has demanded service from him in exchange for allowing him to keep his life.
Browsing through the racks, he frowns. "I say," he says. Born in Cairo, educated in Britain, he straddled two worlds. "All of this is rather expensive for what it is."
The sun sets on the exterior of Haven, and even here, deep within the interior of Savage Styles, the stained rays of sunset bleed through the store's front windows and glaze it with an orange hue that sharply contrasts with the cheap fluorescent lights keeping the shoe section alight. The sundries and wares on offer are a stark contrast from what Percy is likely used to, both in terms of cost and style: Air Jordans, Adidas track shoes, and other articles that likely seem just plucked out of time as Percy is. The store is moderately populated with random residents, likely to be expected on a Saturday, but the closest to Percy is that of an old man. Suffering from a noticeable gait in his step, he seems to be struggling to bend himself to get a proper look at some of the examples of shoes on display, and he is close enough to overhear Percy's comment. It prompts a noticeable bout of laughter from the elderly man, a sort of subdued guffawing that any would expect from a man long in years. "They don't make them like they used to, no," the old man comments idly, a bit raspy but audible enough for comment to at least carry towards Percy. "At least they have these orthopedic soles now. Didn't used to have those, y'know."
Looking up, Percy smiles at the man. "No, I daresay they don't," he says. He sticks out a hand. "Percy Bakr, old boy. A pleasure."
Seemingly flabbergasted by the Percy's sudden introduction, let alone the exchange of names, the old man's surprise melts away rather swiftly and is replaced by an earnest smile of his own. "Ah," the old man murmurs, extending a relatively shaky hand towards Percy that seems to be testing the elder's balance. "Walter. Walter Finneas." There is a moment where the old man's eyes drift away from the hand proffered by Percy, and up towards the worn ID tag, but it is a fleeting glance. Threatened with a lack of being able to keep himself upright, the old man attempts to withdraw his hand as he engages with Percy in conversation. "Likewise, young man. There aren't many places in town to get a good pair of shoes nowadays, and I'm not good enough with those computers to order them online as my grandchildren would." The last part of that statement ends in a somewhat muted tone, as if the elder man wished to catch himself before he said it, or was reluctant to mention it at all. "The Sketchers, however... Good price, good on the feet."
"Good on the feet," Percy muses to the man. "Well, I appreciate that, Finneas," he says, before he turns back to his shopping. It's a moment, and then curiosity catches the cat: "I'm sure you've seen a lot," he asks him. "What's the change like, been in the world while you've been walking in it?"
The question, like the sudden introduction, seems to catch Walter off guard. "Well, uh... Hmm..." It's a question that seemingly forces him to think, but before long he presents an answer as he places a wrinkled hand upon the lip of the shoe display to help keep himself upright. "Sad, to be honest with you, Mister Baker," Walter confesses, seemingly oblivious at having screwed up in his pronunciation of Percy's name. "Nowadays I feel like a man not only seeing my end, but the end of everything. With what is on the news between wars in Ukraine, a tempestuous President election, and all the greed and death -- it feels like the worlds are predisposed towards destruction."
Current events pass blankly over Percy's face. "What changes," he prompts the man, "Since you were young?" It's curiosity. "Perhaps I shouldn't intrude," he says. "I should let you get back to your shopping."
"Oh, no, no," Walter insists, managing a kindly smile towards Percy as he attempts to maintain the conversation. "It's no trouble at all, Mister Baker. In fact, it's the first real conversation I've had in quite awhile." Stepping away from the shoe display, he struggles to seat himself onto a nearby bench likely used to trying on that which is on display. "The worlds just seem darker nowadays. Like we're living at the precipice of the end, mmm? It can... it can sometimes make you wonder if it's best to simply usher it along towards that purpose." The next words come very careful, and the old man's blue eyes seem to be studying Percy as the first real hint of life in the man makes itself apparent in his next sentence: "Some might think it's an act of mercy, wouldn't they, follower of Alabaster?"
Percy turns to look at Walter with a low look, now. "I'm not that, old boy." The hackles are up, though -- metaphorically. "It's been smashing talking to you," he says. "But I'm afraid it's time for me to get my purchases and check out. The hour dwells late, after all."
Another bout of laughter erupts from the old man, this time more lively and spirited than before, even prompting an odd look or two from passersby. "No?" Walter asks, studying both Percy in the ID tag worn by Percy. "Odd, and here I thought our people knew yours rather well, or at least we tend to for all of those who play their little games in this town." Despite the rather ominous delivery from Walter, the man maintains his sad, old smile and his posture seems rather relaxed all things considered. "I suppose the topic of what is to come wouldn't be of interest to some. As an old man, I have the distinct advantage of being written off a senile old coot -- but I suspect you're smart enough to know that isn't the case, mm? You sure you don't want to try on the Sketchers?" Walter then asks, lifting a crooked finger towards one of the cubbies beneath a display and the box of Sketchers within it. "They are rather comfortable. More comfortable than discussing the 'end of all' and what an old man might possibly know about it."
Percy tells Walter, his voice low. "I think I'm going to pay for my purchases." He's getting increasingly uneasy, upset, and the wariness with which he steps away from the man seems calculated to create distance. "But I hope you stay dry out there," he says.
"Pity," Walter concludes, watching Percy's trepidation with no small amount of disappointment. The elderly man does not give chase, or perhaps he cannot, but he continues with the line of conversation all the same. "You're smarter than most. Plucked into an era that seems otherwise alien, but so full of life and wonder. Though, all of that hides the cancer hiding beneath, you know." The subject of cancer makes the old man place his hands in his lap, his left hand rubbing at the surface of the right. "I had hoped that a smart man like you, Mister Baker, might be able to understand what we do, and why we do it..." There's a faint craning of the head, "or perhaps you don't know who we are?"
Some brief, hesitating pause. "I don't know who you are," Percy tells someone. "I've been gone a long time." He prevaricates. "Who do you work for?" he asks, looking for some tool, some way out he lacks.
Some brief, hesitating pause. "I don't know who you are," Percy tells Walter. "I've been gone a long time." He prevaricates. "Who do you work for?" he asks, looking for some tool, some way out he lacks.
Another bout of laughter from the old man, albeit softer yet tinged with the same sort of sadness that is writ plain upon both his features and in the tone of his voice. "We introduced ourselves already, Mister Baker, or at least you did straight away. I am Walter Finneas..." The next words match the same low delivery as Percy's previous own. "Member of the Sapphire Martyrs." As soon as the last two words leave his lips, the elderly man shows his own bit of paranoia, checking around himself and casting gazes at each patron. Only one seems to have an interest in the exchange between Percy and Walter, but it is short-lived as they are joined by another shopper and happily try on shoes and other garments. "You have heard of us, have you not?"
There's a shake of Percy's head, looking around before he looks back at Walter. He's still edging his way out of the shoes section, but -- well. Curiosity and cats. "No," he says, his voice all upper-class British posh. "What are the Sapphire Martyrs?" he inquires of the old man.
Scooting to the edge of the bench and reaching out to grab at a box of shoes from a cubby, Walter begins to inspect the shoes within the box as he nonchalantly explains the concept of what is effectively an apocalypse cult to Percy. "We're a group of men and woman," Walter explains, before quickly adding, "global organization, mind you... Dedicated to cutting this world off from the others, like one would remove a cancer before it has a chance to spread elsewhere along the body, Mister Baker." Looking up from his lap and the box sitting upon it, he rests his kindly attentions back upon Percy again. "You are like a man out of time, but this world is literally out of time, Mister Baker. We simply want to save the others before they suffer the same. You can understand this, no?"
Percy looks at Walter with some curiosity. "And if they do?" he asks the man. "What happens, for instance, to the world of gods if we cut ourselves off from it?" Is that a glimmer of hope in his eyes?
Percy's question sparks a glimmer of something in the old man's tone and body language, as if he were finally prompted with some measure of hope, ironic as it is given the subject matter. "Isolated, but alive. Our planet will die, but the others and those who dwell upon it will live on... also isolated." Walter brings his hands up to rest upon the surface of the shoes sitting in the box upon his lap, once again rubbing at one of his hands. "There's no hope for any of us here, Mister Baker. We merely live on borrowed time. My associates are simply doing all that we can to save what can be saved. Yet, we're labeled as extremists, attacked, vilified... Many of us have lost everything, Mister Baker. We don't want everything that is to have to experience the same. Hence the name, 'martyrs'."
Percy looks over at the door again. "I do need to go," he says. "But -- if you've some way I can contact you," he says. "I can write or call, perhaps."
Sighing, the man looks down into the box of the shoes, flipping the lid upon it and closing it shut with a press of his fingers. "No, Mister Baker. My time is... rather limited." Struggling to rise to his feet, Walter carries the box over towards Percy and presses the box of Sketchers close to Percy's chest with a small amount of emphasis, or at least as much as the old man can muster. "I ask only that you remember the name of our organization, ask around for what we stand for. If your curiosity is genuine, and your desire is earnest, we will find you. My associates are everywhere." Once again, an ominous choice of words, yet it is belied by the old man's gentle tone and disposition. "I do not have long before I am moved into hospice care, you see. I'm enjoying the last few days of freedom before I'm relegated from one prison to an eternal one. I merely gave my caretaker the slip, you see..." One last bit of guffawing, but it is short lived as the man seeks to impress one last thing upon Percy "All I ask is that you remember us and seek us out. You don't need to remember me. I'm just an old man who committed the last of his years trying to save what I can, even if I could not save my own family."
It is a long, long moment where Percy looks at man, and then he nods. "Godspeed," he says. "It's time for me to -- well. I have a sympathy for those imprisoned," he tells Walter. "Try to keep them from finding you, eh?" A smile. "Good luck." Then he's gone, out the door.