Encounterlogs
Rachels Odd Encounter Sr Owen
Rachel, fuming with anger, threatens to "kill that girl," referring to someone she believes has behaved egregiously since a recent party. With her voice almost gone from the intensity of her emotions, Rachel is persuaded by her friend Yasmin to leave and potentially indulge in chocolates to calm down. Yasmin attempts to reason with Rachel, suggesting that they should speak to the girl, Casey, when Rachel is in a better state of mind. However, in their cold and early morning confrontation, a simple elevator ride takes a concerning turn. The flickering lights go out entirely, leaving the two friends in the darkness of the elevator, with the atmosphere around them growing more unsettling by the second.
As the tension between Rachel and Yasmin escalates, with Rachel insisting on Casey's recklessness and Yasmin dismissing it, they are distracted by the failing elevator. Doors of neighboring apartments crack open, revealing curious but annoyed residents disturbed by the commotion. Despite the tension and Rachel's high emotions, the two find themselves stuck in the darkness, their problems escalating far beyond a personal conflict. The whispering sound that permeates the air indicates that the malfunctioning elevator may be the least of their worries, potentially signaling the influence of the mysterious artifact on their environment. With no easy escape and a sense of foreboding, calling for help seems futile, as danger looms and their focus shifts from interpersonal strife to survival.
(Rachel's odd encounter(SROwen):SROwen)
[Sat Dec 23 2023]
In the second floor
It is before dawn, about 21F(-6C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(The appearance of a mysterious and powerful artifact in town has caused a stir among the supernatural community. Your party needs to secure this artifact and keep it out of the wrong hands before it causes havoc.)
Rachel's been screaming up a storm. When she speaks next, it's with the hoarseness of someone who's THIS close to losing their voice. "I'm going to kill that girl," she tells Yasmin. They've been lingering outside an Elm Street apartment unit, presumably belonging to 'that girl' - whomever she is.
"You are not," Yasmin tells Rachel immediately, frowning down at her phone still, though she sounds half-confused and much less likely to jump to hysterics than Rachel is. "She says you need fancy chocolates to calm down. We can talk to her later, when you are calm." Because telling people to calm down has always worked, historically. "Come on, I think I have something back home."
It's eeeearly morning -- but there's no sun just yet. It's cold. Really, really cold. Worse, even indoors as it is, the temperature cuts down to the bone. Sometimes that's an omen, but ... really, 'tis the season, and that's hardly pleasant. Maybe the locals have already left for work -- or, contrarily, maybe they're fed up to a fair-thee-well with Rachel's caterwauling, but no sign presents just yet. A change of location couldn't be for the worse! For now, these two are the only disturbances of note.
"*I* need to calm down?" Rachel says, approaching a screech again. "ME?" You want a disturbance? She'll give you a disturbance. "Ever since Arkwright's party, she's been absolutely out of order." Apparently, when Rachel's mad, she does a bang-on impression of a Hogwarts professor - when has a twenty-some year old ever described a peer's behavior that way? But yes, she starts stomping her way out of this hallway. She's doing it because she wants to. Not because Yasmin asks.
Yasmin winces at the volume of Rachel's voice - it's six in the morning and all the neighbours are going to wake up from the noise and see Yasmin with the furious Chinese girl and hate her forever and that will be the end of her peaceful apartment life. Alas. She does have the audacity to 'shhhhhhhhhh' her at the noise as though Rachel's going to listen to that, and exhales another loud, loud sigh, giving the door they were in front of one last glance before following her down the hallway and into the elevator. "Just talk to her normally," she suggests. "Casey is /fine/. We were together two days ago, and she was normal."
Oh, 'sh' her, hm? Yasmin's going to 'sh' her? Why Rachel oughta. She throws Yasmin a glare instead of hands, at least. "Don't enable that crap. You're always mad about stuff *I* do. She's ten times worse. Where's your whole..." Rachel waves broadly at her friend, like she's trying to scramble the air in front of her. "You know, when it comes to actually dangerous behaviour?"
"Drinking and driving is an indictable offense." Here comes the grade school PSA. Next up, 'just say no,' next to a photo of damaged lungs. "It'll hurt her, and it'll hurt other people. You're not going to say 'she's fine' when she's SPLAT." Rachel claps her hands together in demonstration. "...Roadkill."
One by one, doors start opening, however briefly. Some have chains on them, others only get annoyed eyes through peepholes -- but there's something distinctly unsettling about the entire aura of the air. Holiday stress, perhaps? The big day's so close, after all. As soon as they're both in the elevator, the doors close as usual. However unusually, though -- the light starts to flicker. Not so long after, it cuts off in entirity, leaving the pair in complete darkness. Maybe they have bigger problems than the DUI of a cohort. After all... they live *here* - don't they? Maybe all these worries, all these issues, are a symptom of that same core problem. Haven.
"You don't know she was actually doing it; she thinks /you/ are crazy," Yasmin curls her hand into the crook of Rachel's elbow to pull her close - or maybe to just hide behind the taller girl while they're walking down the hallway, it's not Rachel who actually lives here after all. The button for the first floor gets a thorough jabbing as soon as they're in the elevator, Yasmin impatient to get out of judging public eye, and she waits for the doors to close behind her, with plenty more jabbing of buttons, before continuing, "I only get mad because stuff you do is dangerous and stupid and gets you hurt," All unlike drunk driving, of course. "We will talk to her properly, and you can say-..." And that's where the light starts to flicker, and so does Yasmin's voice, trailing off worriedly. "... oh." Her hand squeezes tight around Rachel's arm, nails digging in. "That is bad." No shit.
Rachel's not scared of eyes. She's got two of them, too, and isn't afraid to use them. One particularly suspicious neighbour gets the bulk of her disapproval. She looks at him like she's saying 'What? I dare you. Call the police. See what happens.' Once they're in the elevator, she breathes a long breath, leans against the wall, and kneads at her eyelids with thumb and forefinger. "I can't believe you're taking her side. I KNOW she was drunk. She told me. I have photo evidence. What more do you need? You're supposed to be my friend."
She yanks her elbow away from Yasmin's hold. And by then, when she's not massaging her face anymore and has those peepers open again, whelp, they aren't particularly useful anymore. It's pitch black. "SERIOUSLY?" When it rains.
Welp. It's about time to push up the ceiling, find a bean can, and light a fire, apparently -- because this thing doesn't seem like it's going aaaaanywhere. That's not to say that Yasmin's jamming of that button doesn't still lead them somewhere, inevitably. Not to where she wants, but -- about three feet down, after the fourth or fifth time she *click*s the intended plastic bubble.
Hey, does anybody else hear that whispering noise? Oh, lovely. Just perfect. What now? Call emergency services? HERE?
What a joke.
Paramedics? Fire department....?
As the tension between Rachel and Yasmin escalates, with Rachel insisting on Casey's recklessness and Yasmin dismissing it, they are distracted by the failing elevator. Doors of neighboring apartments crack open, revealing curious but annoyed residents disturbed by the commotion. Despite the tension and Rachel's high emotions, the two find themselves stuck in the darkness, their problems escalating far beyond a personal conflict. The whispering sound that permeates the air indicates that the malfunctioning elevator may be the least of their worries, potentially signaling the influence of the mysterious artifact on their environment. With no easy escape and a sense of foreboding, calling for help seems futile, as danger looms and their focus shifts from interpersonal strife to survival.
(Rachel's odd encounter(SROwen):SROwen)
[Sat Dec 23 2023]
In the second floor
It is before dawn, about 21F(-6C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(The appearance of a mysterious and powerful artifact in town has caused a stir among the supernatural community. Your party needs to secure this artifact and keep it out of the wrong hands before it causes havoc.)
Rachel's been screaming up a storm. When she speaks next, it's with the hoarseness of someone who's THIS close to losing their voice. "I'm going to kill that girl," she tells Yasmin. They've been lingering outside an Elm Street apartment unit, presumably belonging to 'that girl' - whomever she is.
"You are not," Yasmin tells Rachel immediately, frowning down at her phone still, though she sounds half-confused and much less likely to jump to hysterics than Rachel is. "She says you need fancy chocolates to calm down. We can talk to her later, when you are calm." Because telling people to calm down has always worked, historically. "Come on, I think I have something back home."
It's eeeearly morning -- but there's no sun just yet. It's cold. Really, really cold. Worse, even indoors as it is, the temperature cuts down to the bone. Sometimes that's an omen, but ... really, 'tis the season, and that's hardly pleasant. Maybe the locals have already left for work -- or, contrarily, maybe they're fed up to a fair-thee-well with Rachel's caterwauling, but no sign presents just yet. A change of location couldn't be for the worse! For now, these two are the only disturbances of note.
"*I* need to calm down?" Rachel says, approaching a screech again. "ME?" You want a disturbance? She'll give you a disturbance. "Ever since Arkwright's party, she's been absolutely out of order." Apparently, when Rachel's mad, she does a bang-on impression of a Hogwarts professor - when has a twenty-some year old ever described a peer's behavior that way? But yes, she starts stomping her way out of this hallway. She's doing it because she wants to. Not because Yasmin asks.
Yasmin winces at the volume of Rachel's voice - it's six in the morning and all the neighbours are going to wake up from the noise and see Yasmin with the furious Chinese girl and hate her forever and that will be the end of her peaceful apartment life. Alas. She does have the audacity to 'shhhhhhhhhh' her at the noise as though Rachel's going to listen to that, and exhales another loud, loud sigh, giving the door they were in front of one last glance before following her down the hallway and into the elevator. "Just talk to her normally," she suggests. "Casey is /fine/. We were together two days ago, and she was normal."
Oh, 'sh' her, hm? Yasmin's going to 'sh' her? Why Rachel oughta. She throws Yasmin a glare instead of hands, at least. "Don't enable that crap. You're always mad about stuff *I* do. She's ten times worse. Where's your whole..." Rachel waves broadly at her friend, like she's trying to scramble the air in front of her. "You know, when it comes to actually dangerous behaviour?"
"Drinking and driving is an indictable offense." Here comes the grade school PSA. Next up, 'just say no,' next to a photo of damaged lungs. "It'll hurt her, and it'll hurt other people. You're not going to say 'she's fine' when she's SPLAT." Rachel claps her hands together in demonstration. "...Roadkill."
One by one, doors start opening, however briefly. Some have chains on them, others only get annoyed eyes through peepholes -- but there's something distinctly unsettling about the entire aura of the air. Holiday stress, perhaps? The big day's so close, after all. As soon as they're both in the elevator, the doors close as usual. However unusually, though -- the light starts to flicker. Not so long after, it cuts off in entirity, leaving the pair in complete darkness. Maybe they have bigger problems than the DUI of a cohort. After all... they live *here* - don't they? Maybe all these worries, all these issues, are a symptom of that same core problem. Haven.
"You don't know she was actually doing it; she thinks /you/ are crazy," Yasmin curls her hand into the crook of Rachel's elbow to pull her close - or maybe to just hide behind the taller girl while they're walking down the hallway, it's not Rachel who actually lives here after all. The button for the first floor gets a thorough jabbing as soon as they're in the elevator, Yasmin impatient to get out of judging public eye, and she waits for the doors to close behind her, with plenty more jabbing of buttons, before continuing, "I only get mad because stuff you do is dangerous and stupid and gets you hurt," All unlike drunk driving, of course. "We will talk to her properly, and you can say-..." And that's where the light starts to flicker, and so does Yasmin's voice, trailing off worriedly. "... oh." Her hand squeezes tight around Rachel's arm, nails digging in. "That is bad." No shit.
Rachel's not scared of eyes. She's got two of them, too, and isn't afraid to use them. One particularly suspicious neighbour gets the bulk of her disapproval. She looks at him like she's saying 'What? I dare you. Call the police. See what happens.' Once they're in the elevator, she breathes a long breath, leans against the wall, and kneads at her eyelids with thumb and forefinger. "I can't believe you're taking her side. I KNOW she was drunk. She told me. I have photo evidence. What more do you need? You're supposed to be my friend."
She yanks her elbow away from Yasmin's hold. And by then, when she's not massaging her face anymore and has those peepers open again, whelp, they aren't particularly useful anymore. It's pitch black. "SERIOUSLY?" When it rains.
Welp. It's about time to push up the ceiling, find a bean can, and light a fire, apparently -- because this thing doesn't seem like it's going aaaaanywhere. That's not to say that Yasmin's jamming of that button doesn't still lead them somewhere, inevitably. Not to where she wants, but -- about three feet down, after the fourth or fifth time she *click*s the intended plastic bubble.
Hey, does anybody else hear that whispering noise? Oh, lovely. Just perfect. What now? Call emergency services? HERE?
What a joke.
Paramedics? Fire department....?