Encounterlogs
Ritsukas Odd Encounter Sr Iris 241203
In the chilling and mysterious ambiance of Haven, Epigram finds herself caught in a surreal and haunting experience that bridges the gap between past and present. Walking down the once familiar Lynch Avenue, she is suddenly enveloped in a mist that transports her into an eerily different world. Dressed in period clothing, amidst a backdrop straight out of the early 1900s, she becomes an involuntary spectator to a grim confrontation between Stephen Wilson, a dapper gentleman, and Lucien Moore, a rugged adversary accompanied by his menacing cronies. Despite her attempts to dismiss the unfolding drama as part of a fever dream or an elaborate performance, the visceral fear and panic that grips her are undeniable. The violent encounter culminates in a devastating gunshot which Epigram feels as her own, blurring the line between observer and participant in this ghostly replay of a founding family tragedy.
As the illusion dissipates, leaving Epigram on the streets of modern-day Haven, she is overwhelmed by a sense of profound loss and confusion. The tangible emotions and the seemingly real gunshot wound challenge her skepticism, suggesting that what she witnessed was more than a mere figment of her imagination. The revelation that she has unwittingly relived the tragic death of Tabitha Brown, a casualty of family politics in 1912, leaves her questioning the nature of reality itself. The experience forces Epigram to confront the possibility that the spectral remnants of Haven's tumultuous history can breach the boundaries of time to impart their grievances upon the living. As she attempts to collect herself, the boundaries between skeptic and believer, past and present, become hauntingly blurred, encapsulating the essence of Haven where the extraordinary intertwines seamlessly with the mundane.
(Ritsuka's odd encounter(SRIris):SRIris)
[Mon Dec 2 2024]
In Biolabs Pharmaceuticals - OTC & Supplements
Even the blind would be able to tell that they've just entered a pharmacy. The scent of isopropyl alcohol is the first to greet the senses. The tile flooring makes spills and accidents a breeze to clean, and even a speck of dust would stand out against all that pristine white. All the aisles are labeled with letters large enough for myopic townies, and the fluorescent lights wash everything in their true hues.
A pair of chimes that feature frosted glass tubes and shimmering silver accents, resembling icicles hanging from a snowy tree branch, are hung up by the door.
It is morning, about 32F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Ritsuka is coming back into the front area of the pharmacy from the prescription one. She is looking down to her phone and does not notice William enter into the pharmacy. The noise of the door opening and then closing is heard, but not minded in this specific moment.
William closes the door behind him as he enters, taking a moment to look around, only to find Ritsuka coming back into the front area, and, upon noticing he's so far undected, despite being a visible person in the middle of a pharmacy, he just approaches ever so slowly and silently towards the counter, trying to sneak his way there before saying "Hey Ritsuka!" Almost making it a little louder to try and startle her
Looking down to her phone, Ritsuka types on a text message, and it is a less familiar voice. It does not scare her, it is most definitely not the only time someone demands for her attention suddenly, people do. Staff, and then among her own affiliates... Though little remains known about them. She does look up, a little cautious at the least, "Ohayo Will-san." She glances about. "Ah, I didn't hear you enter. You could scare a lot of people like that." Oh, that does draw a little smile and a sparkle that are both mischievous to her eyes, evidently... she likes that. "How do you do today?"
The pharmacy's doors swung wide open, a figure passing into the store soon after William walked in. The figure was a rather portly man wearing muddy workboots, a pair of urban camo pants, an open fishing vest brimming with all sorts of knicknacks and trinkets. Underneath this vest was a red shirt with I BELIEVE written in yellow-orange colors. A large messenger bag hangs on the side of their body while their neck is burdened by about four cameras and several lenses.
His hand darts up to scratch at the unkempt mess that was his beard and then adjust his green sunglasses, a boonie hat resting atop his head with all sorts of tackles as if it were that of a fisherman. "Oh-ho, yeah, this is gonna bust the lid right off, man, just saying. But first things first." He blustered out to himself, approaching the counter someone
"I need some painkillers and some foot cream." His hands seem to be jittery, eyes looking at one of the cameras with a giant grin on his face.
The pharmacy's doors swung wide open, a figure passing into the store. The figure was a rather portly man wearing muddy workboots, a pair of urban camo pants, an open fishing vest brimming with all sorts of knicknacks and trinkets. Underneath this vest was a red shirt with I BELIEVE written in yellow-orange colors. A large messenger bag hangs on the side of their body while their neck is burdened by about four cameras and several lenses.
His hand darts up to scratch at the unkempt mess that was his beard and then adjust his green sunglasses, a boonie hat resting atop his head with all sorts of tackles as if it were that of a fisherman. "Oh-ho, yeah, this is gonna bust the lid right off, man, just saying. But first things first." He blustered out to himself, approaching the counter someone
"I need some painkillers and some foot cream." His hands seem to be jittery, eyes looking at one of the cameras with a giant grin on his face.
The pharmacy's doors swung wide open, a figure passing into the store. The figure was a rather portly man wearing muddy workboots, a pair of urban camo pants, an open fishing vest brimming with all sorts of knicknacks and trinkets. Underneath this vest was a red shirt with I BELIEVE written in yellow-orange colors. A large messenger bag hangs on the side of their body while their neck is burdened by about four cameras and several lenses.
His hand darts up to scratch at the unkempt mess that was his beard and then adjust his green sunglasses, a boonie hat resting atop his head with all sorts of tackles as if it were that of a fisherman. "Oh-ho, yeah, this is gonna bust the lid right off, man, just saying. But first things first." He blustered out to himself, approaching the counter
"I need some painkillers and some foot cream." His hands seem to be jittery, eyes looking at one of the cameras with a giant grin on his face.
William looks just mildly bummed to not get a bigger reaction from Ritsuka, pointing a finger at her "That was the idea... But I'm doing good, was a bit down earlier, but better now" He says with a little nod before continuing "I was just with Yana, well, she was at my place and..." His voice trails off slightly as he turns his head towards the incoming costumer, tilting his head slightly, maybe mildly intrigued by whatever is going on, but he gives the man a smile, not trying to look too creepy by staring too much "Having a good day, sir?"
Oh no, it is one of those guys. She had heard about that black dude that was harassing people in Japan. Streamers and their kind, foreigner demons in human shape, separate from the supernatural. She definitely will not be the one to say anything, and one from among her own staff is the one that walks up at the counter to provide any of the requested items. Ritsuka for her own remains near William, but keeps her mouth shut to him. The only words she says here is to William, her demeanor falling into something more demure, small, trying to not draw attention. "I'm used to people jumping at me, Will-san. How is Yana doing? I didn't see her in a few days."
With a giant grin plastered on his face and nearly hidden behind his bushy facial hair, the man answers William with a quick "Good day? Man, this is everything-there-is kind of day, so you could say that." His hand held up one of the cameras that hanged off his neck, giving it a good jiggle, a finger jabbing at the side of the expensive piece as he blustered out "This right here, brother, proves everything, everything!" That everything was said with the fervor of a man finding the Holy Grail.
It was left alone to dangle around his throat after as he decides to interrogate with "Tell me, buddy, you believe in little green men? What about ghosts? Government ran queer vampires?"@line
His hand drops a few crumpled up dollar bills on the counter, stashing the items neatly into one of his pockets and patting it afterwards. "No, no credit card or anything like that, 'they' want to know where I am, they might as well hunt me down. That right there is good, cold hard carsh." he answered the staff before they could even say anything.
William is about to answer to Ritsuka, before turning his face to the replying mysterious man, blinking a couple times as he listens to the whole thing, but keeping up his smile, maybe more to seem calm and friendly than really expressing his thoughts, for now, trying to be amicable "No way... I would have guessed the green men would have been tall... Are they particularly good at games?" He asks, maybe with a bit of irony, maybe without, definitely approachable right now, eyes wandering down to the hanging camera "So you have proof of those things right there? This is not some sort of film project or something, is it?"
Goodness, the truth if the matter is that at least half of Ritsuka's staff knows and is aware. It is not commonplace knowledge, something carefully and secretly kept to not cause them to be targeted specifically because they are aware. And so it is, that at least one of those staffers gives Ritsuka one of those kind of looks, which in turn causes for her to look the man over properly now. William however is deciding to ask questions, it is a good opportunity. She could handle this in a number of ways. Heading into the nightmare and trying to pull him, reaching out to her affiliates... Hmm, but that just seems like a problem too easily fixed. Why would she do that? No, of course not, this has to turn into a small and slow game, and so, she does precisely what furthers it: Letting William play with the man's knowledge, at least for a little while.
With arms opened, the man flared out his vest and scoffed, shaking his head "Do I look like a film student to you, my friend? No, no, this is hard, irrefutable proof of the paranormal world, the stuff the government doesn't want you to know about." being spoken out with a small shower of spit from the unkempt man. He was verbose in both volume and motion, his hands gesturing so much one might think he's trying to direct an opera.
Hands darted to the side of his head, pointing at it "Telekinetic dino-mite! Psychic warfare is real, they know what you're thinking brother, x-ray vision." His hand then lifts up one of the other cameras, jiggling it around "I got it all on camera, when my dousing rods brought me here, I thought they were just finding some dead revolutionary's ghost, you know, Boston and all that, but this? What I found? It'll blow the lid on everything, everything I tell ya'."
Managing to calm down, he then looks down at the counter "With every day that passes, things keep getting stranger, but it doesn't bother me because I love the danger, all to bring the truth to light."
Without losing his smile, William retreats a little bit, making some room so that the man can approach, almost trying to get him into a little group chat where he before was simply talking with Ritsuka, beckoning him closer with one hand, before pointing at the woman "This is my friend Ritsuka, she works here... Would you mind showing us some of it?"
"Not meaning to pry, but you know, if it's irrefutable... Like, man, we need to know- Even if it's just a little bit" His shoulders lifting and then slacking a little bit, trying to remain casual, keeping the tone of his voice to on a friendly note, revealing his strong english accent "We need to know what we can find out there you know? And well, is this really paranormal? Is it the united states government? Is it some secret circle? Are we even safe?"
William is, without a doubt, playing with the man, going along with his narrative in order to get some entretainment out of something that would otherwise be quite the simple task, just a look, just a movement, and it'd be all over, but instead, playing it is "Come on, show us some..." There is something in his voice there, when he addresses this mysterious man, something that is tugging at her curiosity, at his generosity, something that clings to them and to some sort of peer pressure, to try and convince him to follow along, to try and persuade him
Ritsuka looks very white. For one her age, it is only really quite achievable with flshforming, she is no albino. Her eyes are not pink and do not bear a hue of the colors associated with albinism, no, they are ice upon which moonlight shows, and for those that care to look very close, they carry the most subtle of a glow. It is in her blood, her legacy, after all. She makes a lighter and sweeter smile when William tries to double on the request, directed to the man. A hand runs through some locks of her own hair and she slips her phone away into a pocket. "I always would have liked to know." She says, layering onto the softness of her voice, to sound as one might interpret a very demure innocence.
His hands reached over towards one of the cameras only to then stop mid-way, his grubby fingers clutching on to the side of the cameras while the gaze behind those green sunglasses shifting between Ritsuka and William as if caught in some of kind of Mexican standoff. Lips quiver for a few moments before an indignant voice calls out "You're being too forward, you two. Lemme guess, you think I'm a nut?"
His entire demeanor gave away just how hard and unapproachable this man would be, and while his face may look like a railroad map of sunspots and wrinkles his mind seemed to be even more resilient, filled with all sorts of nonsense.
A jarsized nose is blown into some poor, over-used tissue from his pocket. "How do I know you two aren't just a couple of government queer plants? What's the shape of this planet?"
"Me? I am no queer really, only into wom- Wait, that's not what it means, is it?" William asks almost playfully to Ritsuka, before tilting his head back to the man, putting on a fake very serious face, pretending to cut the friendly act and speak more closely "Well, if you ask me, it's a cube... And I know what you'll say, it's either some sort of circular or it's flat, but no... You see, everything that works for flat, also works for a cube, with the exception that it won't just- You know, flip entirely at some point"
Maybe William is taking the teasing a bit too far with this, but it's not like he doesn't have a solution planned if this all goes south, he was only allowing himself to enjoy a little toying around because the situation was somewhat controlled "As for my friend here... She's japanese... Do you think the government of the united states... Would do anything with the japanese?"
"Because I am Japanese in America on a work visa, I don't care about American politics of red blue and everything between." Ritsuka says, tilting her head a slight little bit. She raises her hands to shrug, too. "And this planet is clearly donut shaped and rolls outwards around the sun. Someone once told me it would be like a puzzle piece or even a ball, but balls are for throwing, it would fall down eventually and puzzle pieces means there would be more puzzle pieces." She says, just talking, just saying anything. And she makes several nods to William. "Americans are very vulgar. I just go outside for a walk and those red freaks with too much Trump support talk about how I'm Chinese and that the world is round and goes around."
Were it not for the sunglasses he was wearing, one could easily tell he's squinting right now at the two. What started as a scowl of distrust curled up into a trusting smirk, his hand gripping the camera to tap at it a few times. Large buttons were clicked, tiny switches were flicked and little dials were slicked, all to turn the camera's display to life. "It ain't a cube, but that's good, it's a donut." He answered, confirming that Ritsuka got the right answer.
"Japanese? As if the government wouldn't stoop that low as to use fake oriental individuals. It's to trick ya', what, you think every suit is a buzzcut blonde hair guy with sunglasses? It's the Indians, the Laotians and the Hungarians you have to watch out for!" Whatever this rant was about was hard to tell, but it was clear that this man had some severe trust issues with the government. "This one's one that I got them little green men on." He claimed.
Little green men was not the right word for it though as he held the camera forth, revealing the truth: A tiny, green kobold holding a rock was apparently photographed through the woods, apparently trying to run away from the chasing camera. "This little guy apparently ran into some gunfire or something."
Riley takes her first few steps into the pharmacy, going stiff as a board as her eyes dart between the two and a half figures. "Oh... heeeeeey Bill." she says, a strained voice trying to play it cool. Her eyes peer over to Ritsuka frantic pleading in them, trying to establish some silent understanding as her lips draw to a thin line.
Leaning closer to look at the display, William lets out a little huh upon seeing the kobold on the screen, pursing his lips and humming softly as he thinks, maybe simply trying to keep up with the series of nonsense that is being spat out right now "And you say these are tiny green men?"
With a little shake to his head he adds "No way, man... This is too small to be a man, this is clearly a drone- Well, not a drone because it doesn't fly, but one of those robot machines- One of those animatronics that are so popular amongs kinds lately..." Voice trying for dear life to keep the laugh in, maybe Riley's greeting actually helps him not break character right now, turning around to say "Hey there"
Then he turns back around, watching the image some more before letting out a little "Just look at it, I bet his eyes aren't even real, two big camera lenses, you know?"
Ritsuka makes a curious Ohh, and then watches as well, her frozen eyes draw to the displayed camera feed and she lightly claps her hands together. "Amazing graphics." She says and comments. And then, on a more 'useful' side, adds "I been wondering why I often hear shootings outside my home. Someone told me it is aliens-" She looks to William "Do you think these are alien drones? The alien method of drones? Someone told me they have ufos standing around at different places around Haven-city, but that it is very dangerous to go close because they will try and turn you into a half alien, too." Slight little fragments of truth, naturally, and then she glances around and sees at Riley, following William's greeting. "Ohayo Riley-san. This nice man is showing us about aliens!" She makes a light wink to Riley, it is quite flirtatious, and looks back to the man and then to William. "I think the government just wants all the power because they are aliens, too. And want to use us humans like cattledogs and cowcats."
Drone? Really? The man's face contorted for a few moments as he yanked the camera away to take a closer look again at it, flicking between the photos of the kobold he took. "And how do you know what a government surveillance drone looks like, huh? Sounds exactly like what a glowie would say, but this ain't all I got, duh." Was the rebuttal, with the man lowering that camera instead fishing out some polaroids from one of his vest's pockets.
These showcased a myriad of folks, some that the group might actually recognize, at the local cemetery likely mid-banishing. "Look at this! Witch-craft, which is likely done using alien artifacts and masonic blood rituals, all while fighting soldier ghosts! This is the kind of cabalistic, satanic, masonic, monolistic, arto-defacistic queer magic they're using to entrance and enthrall the population. Why do you think the same two parties win all the time?"
Riley clearly not having understood the situation, relaxes a bit, a small smirk on her face as she furrows her brow. "Wait what? Hold up, lemme take a look. We talkin' Xenomorphs? Greys? Maybe the Flatwoods monster? Nordic aliens?" she asks to no one in particular within' the group, sauntering on over to peer at the photo, genuine curiosity on her face... mixed with an obvious tinge of sarcasm in her voice. The ranting of the man giving her pause as she stares at him, "No offense my man, but you sound like you visit a certain message board or three too much... You're like a stones throw away from becoming a lolcow..." going red as she spouts internet jargin in person, covering her face as she realizes what she said.
"I'm just saying, if you wanted to make a drone go unnoticed, how would you do it? Make it look like it isn't a machine, in this case, a tiny green man... It'd almost look like a fairy if it, well, was more pleasant to look at... And had wings... And was smaller... It really doesn't look like a fairy really" William almost trails off on his own, clearly losing a bit the point of his previous attempts at camouflaged mockery, now just entering the realm of throwing nonsense out there without coherence.
His eyes scan the new pictures briefly, but, still thinking what his next crazy comment is going to be, he busies himself with continuing the previous point, at least for a little longer, head turning towards Ritsuka as he comments "You are the expert here, Ritsuka... What do you say, is that a drone or a tiny green man? And more importantly even, do fairies really exist? Is it true that they really take your teeth? And if so, what do they really want to do with that many teeth?"
"Oh no! Masonic blood rituals, I heard all about them!" Ritsuka gasps, feigning at a fear. "They need to hang a virgin upside down for her virgin blood to do them! It reverses their innocence into something tainted the aliens can use for witchcraft." She looks to Riley and again, raises her hands along to shrug before she looks to William. "Oh, that is super common knowledge. Fairies need human teeth because they build donut bridges with them. They place them around a tiny spark of satanistic queer cheese and then create more donut planets that they can hide in! And sometimes they kidnap innocent babies to grow them in their worlds." Her eyes fall to Riley and then to the man. "It's neither! It's a mutated alien capybara. Look at it. It must have gone free and wanted to tell humans about it so they had their minions hunt it down!"
She places a hand along her chin. "And it has to be two parties winning all the time so they can fix their Chinese fengshui because if it is only one party, the alies would lose their balance, and if it is too many, they would become too chaotic and have more alien capybara and alien tits."
Chewing on something indistinct, the man nods along to what Ritsuka said, eying Riley up and calling out "Message boads? Lolcows? Is that some interwebs jargon? Listen here, I wouldn't be caught dead near one of those computers, that's how they get you. And look at that, she's right, it could be an alien capybara mutant. But on these guys, look, look here." His fat finger set to tapping against the camera's screen that clearly showcased some town locals performing the usual ghost banishing. "Look at this freak, oh, wait, that's just a guy. Anyway, look, they're throwing fireballs and fighting off ghosts. I was there, I saw it with my own two eyes."
The next few photos clicked through clearly depict that scene, something most supernaturally aware folks would identify as a banishment, one that apparently involved some blue ghosts. "These are demons, people, no two ways about it, and just you wait until my buddy at the print gets these photos, it'll blow the lid right off this whole thing."
William considers for a moment while watching the new pictures, leaning to a side to rest one arm over the counter, getting a bit closer to Ritsuka to whisper something into her ear, taking his time with it. But after he's done whispering around, he notices it might be something weird to do in the middle of the conversation, as if he was secretly either mocking the whole thing or shutting it down, and he has to think of something quick to justify it, not to Riley really, mainly to the mysterious man that might stare or take the lower voice as an offense "Nothing too important- Making sure some plans after work are still up... Don't know if she wants to go out with demons roaming around the streets, you know?"
Riley keeps looking at Ritsuka, eyebrows raised before turning to the man, "What kind of camera do you use... digital, film, micro film maybe?" she lists off a few types of cameras to cover the pair as they pull away, moving closer as she looks at the device itself, brushing shoulders with him to give him something more than just words in her little slight of hand move she's trying to pull.
Rattling one of the cameras, the man answers with "Several kinds, these freaks and government planted glowies can hide from one or the other, but not from all of them, you know?" His attention then shifts over towards Ritsuka and William once more, with him saying "Name's Rusty, by the way, Rusty Shackleford, and I can tell I've given you two something to think about. I should be going now, need to get these sent out as soon as possible. Anything else you two got on your mind before I head off to the post office?"
"Hai," Ritsuka answers to William, in a very easy and quite casual way. She breathes in through her nose, and her hand goes over her own body and stops somewhere- there is a subtle press of a button. There is no sound for it, there is no click, it is hidden on her, and it could really be anywhere, against her skin. And then, there is the sudden but simple enough movement, a smack against the back of the mysterious man's head. His information is... wrong. In that way. It does not look like irrefutable proof, but secrecy makes its demand, Venice demands secrecy, and all Yokai must abide by it, whether they want to or not. With a likelihood, it is a very simple and quick knockout. She is strong. Far, far more than any woman her sizing and fragile looking statue deserves to have.
Already heading off to the exit, the man is then smacked on the back of the head and knocked out, James Bond style. A spurt of blood and spit bursts out from his mouth as it turns out that such a super-human hit would nearly cause a concussion even when a punch was pulled. The portly individual falls to the side and smacks his head on the side of the counter, leaving a trail of blood across the front of the counter as he falls down and goes unconscious on the floor. Crushed under his weight were his cameras, creating an echoing series of cracks and snaps, all turning into ruins.
As if on queue, his pockets and bag spill out, releasing a series of polaroids that depicted werewolves, gorgons and pig-headed creatures from the forest alongside what looked like some small, white dragonling, all splayed across the floor now. Among there were different cargo-pants-person belongings such as mints, lighters, cigarettes and general clutter.
William simply watches Ritsuka knockout the man with quite ease, pouting a little bit and commenting "Oh, I was going to make him see..." There he trails off, uncertain of whether he's debating what exactly or if he's rethinking if he should even mention it or not. And the idea dies right there, with a shrug.
"Well..." He points his finger downwards, towards the man "We can burn all of that- Clothes included... And then deliver him to- Oh, well, no, we might want him awake to do the whole... You know?"
Ritsuka does not look too happy about having done that, her chin is tight and her eyes look a note too tender, and there is pity, but also compassion for the man in her eyes. "I'll have him recovered and talk to him later, see if I can... not find a way to ask him to let it go." It doesn't align so much with the required demand for secrecy, no not quite, but one could argue it is very tolerable. "But he won't be experimented on or have his mind washed away without a single thought." She sighs. It is indeed true, he may yet be fortunate that it is her that handles this, and not the Institute that is typically called in for it. Her eyes do glance on out through the glass window. "Welcome to haven-city, Riley."
And just like that, within some minutes what sounded like a van pulled up in front of the pharmacy, the kind of black van one would expect from a government ran goon squad. Out came several men garbed in black and grey modern armor with their faces covered. What looked like the dark version of a Monster Inc cleanup crew swept in and began taking care of the 'scene', grabbing a good hold of the man's body, dragging him away. The photos were swept up as well, eventually there being nothing left as they loaded him into the van and drove off. Another day in Haven, everyone.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
With her hands shoved in her pockets, just leaving the library, Epigram was walking down the street, head ducked, breath steamy in the chill.
In the south side of haven, lynch avenue carves its way through the town propper. It's cold; Winter is coming, and it causes those traversing the walkways of Haven to shiver, their breath misting before them. In this, Epigram is no different: As she walks from the library, the temperature differential is great. Where the interior is warm, the heating preserving the books and patrons respectively, outside is not so clement, with hostile weather that only reminds one of the haunting cold which pervades bones and chills the soul. In one way, it could be said to be literary. There is no snow yet, though it would not be incorrect to equate the weather to that from such seasonal classics as a Christmas Carol, or from the more contemperary works of George RR Martin. And indeed, in this town, not far from the relitive safety of boston, such creatures as the brothers Marley or the White Walkers are not impossible thoughts. For after all, this close to the gates, the strange impossible things become reality: Monsters stalk the night and the things of nightmare lurk around every corner. That which is. That which was, and all that is yet to be is a lingering shadow, with prophetic doom lingering like the sword of Damocles over every head. And of course, such things are made all the more obvious when one is so close to the twisted trees of the Moore wood, or the delapidation of the Arkwright cemetery. Quite so, for those phantom spectres whisper their displeasure through the stone monuments and ancient memorials. They rise and fall with the tides-- They pulsate with the heartbeat of the supernatural world, and sometimes... Just sometimes... They stalk just as easily as the living. -- These restless dead mostly remain where they found their repose, though some... A small few, elect to rend themselves from their foundations, and they seek to find resolution in the vaunted arms of the living, where they can consolidate their anger-- Their pain in living flesh. And this is where Epigram finds herself now, for in Haven, when the mist drifts in, the strange unreality becomes mundanity, and the curious becomes the obvious... So as Epigram looks up, she finds herself not where she was, but in a dated Lynch avenue, in early winter, where the snow falls and the buildings are capped with the frost born contentment of white winter. People mill around, though garbed in archaic garments as they are, it is likely that not all is as it would seem. Epigram sees gentlemen with canes and tophats, and ladies garbed in flowing dresses and long coats. Carts trundle down the street, and the destitute litter the freshly layed walkways like the littered detritus of Devilwood Drive.
One thing worth knowing about Epigram is that she is a skeptic through and through. Though not immune to the effects of creepy, which is definable as things that are not in the ordinary and seem weird, she isn't one to jump to conclusions. Rather, she's more likely to try to explain away the odd, the unexpected. Nightmare creatures? would have to be seen to be believed. Epigram hasn't seen them , or if she had she's made herself believe she hasn't and right now might be no exception. A shiver, cold breath, is she creeped out by the fog? Definately, but she tells herself it's just fog. The buildings look odd, but at first she doesn't notice. It's just *crunch crunch crunch* goes the snow. When she does look up and starts to clue in, it's less, did I travel in time? and more Did I take a wrong turn. She turns, looks back the way she came, looks ahead, blows on her cold hands. The people are weird, must be some sort of holiday thing, like a convetion or .. She doesn't think more on it, more concerned with finding the right street to be on. She checks her phone, but of course, never any reception when you need it. She mutters darkly under her breath as if complainng will help.
Even as Epigram looks on, something untowards is about to take place. Though the scene unfolds slowly: The quintessential period piece all the more abstract for its utter normality, there is something in the air. It's palpable if not directly observable; The dawning pregnancy before the inevitable. It is the shadow in the night. It is the knife in the hand of the mugger, and the deeds of the Ripper in the ancient streets of London. Epigram knows that something isn't right here, but as she looks down, she too is garbed akin to these people, and they interact with her easily, navigating as though she were a part of this narrative. So what then is taking place? It must be explained away. So in Haven, there really are a number of things: The founding families are upto a lot, and if it's not curiously illicite activity from the Inigos and Moores, it's the Salte's doing something by the docks, or the Arkwrights being weird in the upper crusts. All Epigram knows though is that something is not right. So she must have eaten something, or there must be a gas leak. And still, that sensation; The chill on the back of her neck. Epigram is not certain, and there is nothing overly suspicious here. At least, not yet. The people around greet Epigram with the odd "Good day." or "Merry Christmas." The poor beg, huddled in door ways and in ragged, tattered clothing as they slowly suffer the inclement weather, simply hoping that even with their frost-bitten extremities and blue lips, that they will see one more day. Their cups rattle. passing pedestrians drop the odd antiquated coin into the tin cups of the men who huddle. But still... The sensation... And that's when Epigram notes the dapper young man in his crisp suit as he stravagues the Haven streets, his boots crunching in the snow. Somehow, without knowing, Epigram knows him to be a member of the elustrious Wilson family- Stephen Wilson- Epigram must have seen his picture, or read something about him on a poster or memorial plaque at some point. Though most curious: Stephen Wilson lived long ago-- he lived in the early nineteen tens. How mysterious... Epigram must be suffering a fever dream. A hallucination... And then, Epigram sees another figure from Haven's past: She sees Lucien Moore and his thugs. These men couldn't be any different to Stephen Wilson. Where he is debonair and swave, Lucien Moore is dressed as though he just walked from a factory, his hair shaggy, his beard unkempt. And somehow, Epigram notes that the Moore and his flanking cronies are making their way towards the unaware Wilson man.
At first, Epigram doesn't realize she's in this thing too, but when she notices the clothes, she starts to panic a little. She tries the clothes, pulls on her, trying to decide if this is real. Apparently it is real. Is it a dream? It is probably a dream, though lucid as hell. She looks at the phone she was trying and only now suddenly realizing it's not a phone at all but some old timey mirror? Becaues of course, she wouldn't have a cell phone here. She at first doesn't even notice the people around her, so deep in her own head is she. Then she starts to come more aware to her surroundings, squints at the people. If only she wasn't in these clothes she knew she didn't put on she'd think she walked into a theatre perfromance. But no, she has GOT to be dreaming. Still how to act in a dream. She starts doing the only thing she can think of. Pinching herself. She's seen nightmare on elm street. Part three. Almost all the way three. She decides the pinching isn't working though and starts stomping on her feet or pulling at her hair, making herself look right looney. Probably she's getting fewer good day miss and merry christmanses.
Epigram pinches and stomps, but nothing seems to change; She's a part of what ever this is if she likes it or not, and nothing she does changes that fact. Epigram does all she can, but this dream is vivid to the point os stupidity. It's too real-- Yet, not real enough. It is very much like something out of a show or a book, and Epigram is just a background character in the narrative. Curious though. The people around her don't notice the lunatic dancing around. They all still, and Epigram gets the sensation that she should be watching what is taking place. It's the afternoon. It's broad daylight, and still, Lucien Moore marches right up to Stephen Wilson and grabs him by the shirt. The men struggle: They tustle-- This is an old emnity between the families, and all Epigram can do is to watch. The citizens ignore it. They are moving, after all, though they seem to be dwindling; Grey things that flake and drift as though made of smoke. Lucien Moore and Stephen Wilson though, they appear more real. Their mouths move, but it is as though Epigram is frozen to the spot. She knows what is about to happen-- Oh god she knows-- And it's tragic and painful all the same. The Moore's companions each draw aged pistols, and they advance. Stephen and Lucien struggle with each other. They are speaking-- It's heated, and Lucien is already red-faced, though Stephen isn't far from the mark himself. Epigram continues to watch on though; There are no words. There is no sound, but this is building, and Epigram feels fear. It's not the fear of a reasoning thinking being. It's the unthinking animal terror of someone who knows that they are going to die-- Epigram feels herself step back. She does so once-- Twice-- Thrice, but she gets no further. Epigram hears the sound of crying. She feels the wetness on her cheeks. She feels the pounding of her heart and she understands now: Epigram is witnessing her own death-- No, it's a dream. It's not her death, but someone elses death. Then a shot fires: It rings out. The sound resounds, and Epigram stumbles. The shots ring out again and again, though Epigram is still helpless. The Wilson drops, but then she feels something. She feels blood-- The sting, and she looks down to her chest, where a burst of crimson bursts across her coat-- It soaks from her dress. It blossoms like a flower, and Epigram feels agony. There was a missfire. Epigram somehow knows that. Epigram hears the tears. She feels them on her cheeks, and she stumbles. Epigram drops to her knees. Epigram cant breathe. She reaches, dream like to her own chest and probes her wound. Then, she gasps-- Cant... breath... and then... All that's past is prologue. Epigram stands alone again in the streets of Haven. The snow is gone. Epigram is back where she should be on Lynch Avenue. And Epigram knows that something has changed. The mist lowers, Epigram's head clears, and she somehow knows that she has witnessed Tabitha Brown's death. The founding family politics took her life back in nineteen twelve. She was buried, but she did not move on. Epigram somehow knows this is fact-- But Epigram is a sceptic. It must have all been a dream. It was likely caused by the sudden change in air pressure, and Epigram is where she should be. So did anything happen? Was it all a dream? These questions and more are things that Epigram will have to decide for herself. For in Haven, the strange and the mundane intertwine seemlessly. What is past is prologue, but so too is the narrative continuing to be written, and with each chapter-- Each new mystery, there are also endings. Those slow, silent endings of those lost side characters who no one cared enough to remember...
(repost 1) Epigram pinches and stomps, but nothing seems to change; She's a part of what ever this is if she likes it or not, and nothing she does changes that fact. Epigram does all she can, but this dream is vivid to the point os stupidity. It's too real-- Yet, not real enough. It is very much like something out of a show or a book, and Epigram is just a background character in the narrative. Curious though. The people around her don't notice the lunatic dancing around. They all still, and Epigram gets the sensation that she should be watching what is taking place. It's the afternoon. It's broad daylight, and still, Lucien Moore marches right up to Stephen Wilson and grabs him by the shirt. The men struggle: They tustle-- This is an old emnity between the families, and all Epigram can do is to watch. The citizens ignore it. They are moving, after all, though they seem to be dwindling; Grey things that flake and drift as though made of smoke. Lucien Moore and Stephen Wilson though, they appear more real. Their mouths move, but it is as though Epigram is frozen to the spot. She knows what is about to happen-- Oh god she knows-- And it's tragic and painful all the same. The Moore's companions each draw aged pistols, and they advance. Stephen and Lucien struggle with each other. They are speaking-- It's heated, and Lucien is already red-faced, though Stephen isn't far from the mark himself. Epigram continues to watch on though; There are no words. There is no sound, but this is building, and Epigram feels fear. It's not the fear of a reasoning thinking being. It's the unthinking animal terror of someone who knows that they are going to die--
(repost 2) Epigram feels herself step back. She does so once-- Twice-- Thrice, but she gets no further. Epigram hears the sound of crying. She feels the wetness on her cheeks. She feels the pounding of her heart and she understands now: Epigram is witnessing her own death-- No, it's a dream. It's not her death, but someone elses death. Then a shot fires: It rings out. The sound resounds, and Epigram stumbles. The shots ring out again and again, though Epigram is still helpless. The Wilson drops, but then she feels something. She feels blood-- The sting, and she looks down to her chest, where a burst of crimson bursts across her coat-- It soaks from her dress. It blossoms like a flower, and Epigram feels agony. There was a missfire. Epigram somehow knows that. Epigram hears the tears. She feels them on her cheeks, and she stumbles. Epigram drops to her knees. Epigram cant breathe.
(repost 3) She reaches, dream like to her own chest and probes her wound. Then, she gasps-- Cant... breath... and then... All that's past is prologue. Epigram stands alone again in the streets of Haven. The snow is gone. Epigram is back where she should be on Lynch Avenue. And Epigram knows that something has changed. The mist lowers, Epigram's head clears, and she somehow knows that she has witnessed Tabitha Brown's death. The founding family politics took her life back in nineteen twelve. She was buried, but she did not move on. Epigram somehow knows this is fact-- But Epigram is a sceptic. It must have all been a dream. It was likely caused by the sudden change in air pressure, and Epigram is where she should be. So did anything happen? Was it all a dream? These questions and more are things that Epigram will have to decide for herself. For in Haven, the strange and the mundane intertwine seemlessly. What is past is prologue, but so too is the narrative continuing to be written, and with each chapter-- Each new mystery, there are also endings. Those slow, silent endings of those lost side characters who no one cared enough to remember...
Epigram shakes her head, trying to clear it, she feels tears on her cheeks, but that doesn't mean anything, right? She frowns, looking down again, gathering herself. A lot of weird stuff has been seen or felt, but there are always explanations. She can't right now. Even if it is fake, becaues of course it was fake, the experience, the feeling, the emotions, those were all real and she seems to be needing more than a moment to compose herself, maybe go find a corner and cry for a bit. She wipes her face and looks ready to start trying to press on about her day, or at least find someplace indoors.
As the illusion dissipates, leaving Epigram on the streets of modern-day Haven, she is overwhelmed by a sense of profound loss and confusion. The tangible emotions and the seemingly real gunshot wound challenge her skepticism, suggesting that what she witnessed was more than a mere figment of her imagination. The revelation that she has unwittingly relived the tragic death of Tabitha Brown, a casualty of family politics in 1912, leaves her questioning the nature of reality itself. The experience forces Epigram to confront the possibility that the spectral remnants of Haven's tumultuous history can breach the boundaries of time to impart their grievances upon the living. As she attempts to collect herself, the boundaries between skeptic and believer, past and present, become hauntingly blurred, encapsulating the essence of Haven where the extraordinary intertwines seamlessly with the mundane.
(Ritsuka's odd encounter(SRIris):SRIris)
[Mon Dec 2 2024]
In Biolabs Pharmaceuticals - OTC & Supplements
Even the blind would be able to tell that they've just entered a pharmacy. The scent of isopropyl alcohol is the first to greet the senses. The tile flooring makes spills and accidents a breeze to clean, and even a speck of dust would stand out against all that pristine white. All the aisles are labeled with letters large enough for myopic townies, and the fluorescent lights wash everything in their true hues.
A pair of chimes that feature frosted glass tubes and shimmering silver accents, resembling icicles hanging from a snowy tree branch, are hung up by the door.
It is morning, about 32F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(An amateur paranormal investigator has stumbled onto the truth of the supernatural world and has evidence. Your target and their allies are tasked with containing the situation.
)
Ritsuka is coming back into the front area of the pharmacy from the prescription one. She is looking down to her phone and does not notice William enter into the pharmacy. The noise of the door opening and then closing is heard, but not minded in this specific moment.
William closes the door behind him as he enters, taking a moment to look around, only to find Ritsuka coming back into the front area, and, upon noticing he's so far undected, despite being a visible person in the middle of a pharmacy, he just approaches ever so slowly and silently towards the counter, trying to sneak his way there before saying "Hey Ritsuka!" Almost making it a little louder to try and startle her
Looking down to her phone, Ritsuka types on a text message, and it is a less familiar voice. It does not scare her, it is most definitely not the only time someone demands for her attention suddenly, people do. Staff, and then among her own affiliates... Though little remains known about them. She does look up, a little cautious at the least, "Ohayo Will-san." She glances about. "Ah, I didn't hear you enter. You could scare a lot of people like that." Oh, that does draw a little smile and a sparkle that are both mischievous to her eyes, evidently... she likes that. "How do you do today?"
The pharmacy's doors swung wide open, a figure passing into the store soon after William walked in. The figure was a rather portly man wearing muddy workboots, a pair of urban camo pants, an open fishing vest brimming with all sorts of knicknacks and trinkets. Underneath this vest was a red shirt with I BELIEVE written in yellow-orange colors. A large messenger bag hangs on the side of their body while their neck is burdened by about four cameras and several lenses.
His hand darts up to scratch at the unkempt mess that was his beard and then adjust his green sunglasses, a boonie hat resting atop his head with all sorts of tackles as if it were that of a fisherman. "Oh-ho, yeah, this is gonna bust the lid right off, man, just saying. But first things first." He blustered out to himself, approaching the counter someone
"I need some painkillers and some foot cream." His hands seem to be jittery, eyes looking at one of the cameras with a giant grin on his face.
The pharmacy's doors swung wide open, a figure passing into the store. The figure was a rather portly man wearing muddy workboots, a pair of urban camo pants, an open fishing vest brimming with all sorts of knicknacks and trinkets. Underneath this vest was a red shirt with I BELIEVE written in yellow-orange colors. A large messenger bag hangs on the side of their body while their neck is burdened by about four cameras and several lenses.
His hand darts up to scratch at the unkempt mess that was his beard and then adjust his green sunglasses, a boonie hat resting atop his head with all sorts of tackles as if it were that of a fisherman. "Oh-ho, yeah, this is gonna bust the lid right off, man, just saying. But first things first." He blustered out to himself, approaching the counter someone
"I need some painkillers and some foot cream." His hands seem to be jittery, eyes looking at one of the cameras with a giant grin on his face.
The pharmacy's doors swung wide open, a figure passing into the store. The figure was a rather portly man wearing muddy workboots, a pair of urban camo pants, an open fishing vest brimming with all sorts of knicknacks and trinkets. Underneath this vest was a red shirt with I BELIEVE written in yellow-orange colors. A large messenger bag hangs on the side of their body while their neck is burdened by about four cameras and several lenses.
His hand darts up to scratch at the unkempt mess that was his beard and then adjust his green sunglasses, a boonie hat resting atop his head with all sorts of tackles as if it were that of a fisherman. "Oh-ho, yeah, this is gonna bust the lid right off, man, just saying. But first things first." He blustered out to himself, approaching the counter
"I need some painkillers and some foot cream." His hands seem to be jittery, eyes looking at one of the cameras with a giant grin on his face.
William looks just mildly bummed to not get a bigger reaction from Ritsuka, pointing a finger at her "That was the idea... But I'm doing good, was a bit down earlier, but better now" He says with a little nod before continuing "I was just with Yana, well, she was at my place and..." His voice trails off slightly as he turns his head towards the incoming costumer, tilting his head slightly, maybe mildly intrigued by whatever is going on, but he gives the man a smile, not trying to look too creepy by staring too much "Having a good day, sir?"
Oh no, it is one of those guys. She had heard about that black dude that was harassing people in Japan. Streamers and their kind, foreigner demons in human shape, separate from the supernatural. She definitely will not be the one to say anything, and one from among her own staff is the one that walks up at the counter to provide any of the requested items. Ritsuka for her own remains near William, but keeps her mouth shut to him. The only words she says here is to William, her demeanor falling into something more demure, small, trying to not draw attention. "I'm used to people jumping at me, Will-san. How is Yana doing? I didn't see her in a few days."
With a giant grin plastered on his face and nearly hidden behind his bushy facial hair, the man answers William with a quick "Good day? Man, this is everything-there-is kind of day, so you could say that." His hand held up one of the cameras that hanged off his neck, giving it a good jiggle, a finger jabbing at the side of the expensive piece as he blustered out "This right here, brother, proves everything, everything!" That everything was said with the fervor of a man finding the Holy Grail.
It was left alone to dangle around his throat after as he decides to interrogate with "Tell me, buddy, you believe in little green men? What about ghosts? Government ran queer vampires?"@line
His hand drops a few crumpled up dollar bills on the counter, stashing the items neatly into one of his pockets and patting it afterwards. "No, no credit card or anything like that, 'they' want to know where I am, they might as well hunt me down. That right there is good, cold hard carsh." he answered the staff before they could even say anything.
William is about to answer to Ritsuka, before turning his face to the replying mysterious man, blinking a couple times as he listens to the whole thing, but keeping up his smile, maybe more to seem calm and friendly than really expressing his thoughts, for now, trying to be amicable "No way... I would have guessed the green men would have been tall... Are they particularly good at games?" He asks, maybe with a bit of irony, maybe without, definitely approachable right now, eyes wandering down to the hanging camera "So you have proof of those things right there? This is not some sort of film project or something, is it?"
Goodness, the truth if the matter is that at least half of Ritsuka's staff knows and is aware. It is not commonplace knowledge, something carefully and secretly kept to not cause them to be targeted specifically because they are aware. And so it is, that at least one of those staffers gives Ritsuka one of those kind of looks, which in turn causes for her to look the man over properly now. William however is deciding to ask questions, it is a good opportunity. She could handle this in a number of ways. Heading into the nightmare and trying to pull him, reaching out to her affiliates... Hmm, but that just seems like a problem too easily fixed. Why would she do that? No, of course not, this has to turn into a small and slow game, and so, she does precisely what furthers it: Letting William play with the man's knowledge, at least for a little while.
With arms opened, the man flared out his vest and scoffed, shaking his head "Do I look like a film student to you, my friend? No, no, this is hard, irrefutable proof of the paranormal world, the stuff the government doesn't want you to know about." being spoken out with a small shower of spit from the unkempt man. He was verbose in both volume and motion, his hands gesturing so much one might think he's trying to direct an opera.
Hands darted to the side of his head, pointing at it "Telekinetic dino-mite! Psychic warfare is real, they know what you're thinking brother, x-ray vision." His hand then lifts up one of the other cameras, jiggling it around "I got it all on camera, when my dousing rods brought me here, I thought they were just finding some dead revolutionary's ghost, you know, Boston and all that, but this? What I found? It'll blow the lid on everything, everything I tell ya'."
Managing to calm down, he then looks down at the counter "With every day that passes, things keep getting stranger, but it doesn't bother me because I love the danger, all to bring the truth to light."
Without losing his smile, William retreats a little bit, making some room so that the man can approach, almost trying to get him into a little group chat where he before was simply talking with Ritsuka, beckoning him closer with one hand, before pointing at the woman "This is my friend Ritsuka, she works here... Would you mind showing us some of it?"
"Not meaning to pry, but you know, if it's irrefutable... Like, man, we need to know- Even if it's just a little bit" His shoulders lifting and then slacking a little bit, trying to remain casual, keeping the tone of his voice to on a friendly note, revealing his strong english accent "We need to know what we can find out there you know? And well, is this really paranormal? Is it the united states government? Is it some secret circle? Are we even safe?"
William is, without a doubt, playing with the man, going along with his narrative in order to get some entretainment out of something that would otherwise be quite the simple task, just a look, just a movement, and it'd be all over, but instead, playing it is "Come on, show us some..." There is something in his voice there, when he addresses this mysterious man, something that is tugging at her curiosity, at his generosity, something that clings to them and to some sort of peer pressure, to try and convince him to follow along, to try and persuade him
Ritsuka looks very white. For one her age, it is only really quite achievable with flshforming, she is no albino. Her eyes are not pink and do not bear a hue of the colors associated with albinism, no, they are ice upon which moonlight shows, and for those that care to look very close, they carry the most subtle of a glow. It is in her blood, her legacy, after all. She makes a lighter and sweeter smile when William tries to double on the request, directed to the man. A hand runs through some locks of her own hair and she slips her phone away into a pocket. "I always would have liked to know." She says, layering onto the softness of her voice, to sound as one might interpret a very demure innocence.
His hands reached over towards one of the cameras only to then stop mid-way, his grubby fingers clutching on to the side of the cameras while the gaze behind those green sunglasses shifting between Ritsuka and William as if caught in some of kind of Mexican standoff. Lips quiver for a few moments before an indignant voice calls out "You're being too forward, you two. Lemme guess, you think I'm a nut?"
His entire demeanor gave away just how hard and unapproachable this man would be, and while his face may look like a railroad map of sunspots and wrinkles his mind seemed to be even more resilient, filled with all sorts of nonsense.
A jarsized nose is blown into some poor, over-used tissue from his pocket. "How do I know you two aren't just a couple of government queer plants? What's the shape of this planet?"
"Me? I am no queer really, only into wom- Wait, that's not what it means, is it?" William asks almost playfully to Ritsuka, before tilting his head back to the man, putting on a fake very serious face, pretending to cut the friendly act and speak more closely "Well, if you ask me, it's a cube... And I know what you'll say, it's either some sort of circular or it's flat, but no... You see, everything that works for flat, also works for a cube, with the exception that it won't just- You know, flip entirely at some point"
Maybe William is taking the teasing a bit too far with this, but it's not like he doesn't have a solution planned if this all goes south, he was only allowing himself to enjoy a little toying around because the situation was somewhat controlled "As for my friend here... She's japanese... Do you think the government of the united states... Would do anything with the japanese?"
"Because I am Japanese in America on a work visa, I don't care about American politics of red blue and everything between." Ritsuka says, tilting her head a slight little bit. She raises her hands to shrug, too. "And this planet is clearly donut shaped and rolls outwards around the sun. Someone once told me it would be like a puzzle piece or even a ball, but balls are for throwing, it would fall down eventually and puzzle pieces means there would be more puzzle pieces." She says, just talking, just saying anything. And she makes several nods to William. "Americans are very vulgar. I just go outside for a walk and those red freaks with too much Trump support talk about how I'm Chinese and that the world is round and goes around."
Were it not for the sunglasses he was wearing, one could easily tell he's squinting right now at the two. What started as a scowl of distrust curled up into a trusting smirk, his hand gripping the camera to tap at it a few times. Large buttons were clicked, tiny switches were flicked and little dials were slicked, all to turn the camera's display to life. "It ain't a cube, but that's good, it's a donut." He answered, confirming that Ritsuka got the right answer.
"Japanese? As if the government wouldn't stoop that low as to use fake oriental individuals. It's to trick ya', what, you think every suit is a buzzcut blonde hair guy with sunglasses? It's the Indians, the Laotians and the Hungarians you have to watch out for!" Whatever this rant was about was hard to tell, but it was clear that this man had some severe trust issues with the government. "This one's one that I got them little green men on." He claimed.
Little green men was not the right word for it though as he held the camera forth, revealing the truth: A tiny, green kobold holding a rock was apparently photographed through the woods, apparently trying to run away from the chasing camera. "This little guy apparently ran into some gunfire or something."
Riley takes her first few steps into the pharmacy, going stiff as a board as her eyes dart between the two and a half figures. "Oh... heeeeeey Bill." she says, a strained voice trying to play it cool. Her eyes peer over to Ritsuka frantic pleading in them, trying to establish some silent understanding as her lips draw to a thin line.
Leaning closer to look at the display, William lets out a little huh upon seeing the kobold on the screen, pursing his lips and humming softly as he thinks, maybe simply trying to keep up with the series of nonsense that is being spat out right now "And you say these are tiny green men?"
With a little shake to his head he adds "No way, man... This is too small to be a man, this is clearly a drone- Well, not a drone because it doesn't fly, but one of those robot machines- One of those animatronics that are so popular amongs kinds lately..." Voice trying for dear life to keep the laugh in, maybe Riley's greeting actually helps him not break character right now, turning around to say "Hey there"
Then he turns back around, watching the image some more before letting out a little "Just look at it, I bet his eyes aren't even real, two big camera lenses, you know?"
Ritsuka makes a curious Ohh, and then watches as well, her frozen eyes draw to the displayed camera feed and she lightly claps her hands together. "Amazing graphics." She says and comments. And then, on a more 'useful' side, adds "I been wondering why I often hear shootings outside my home. Someone told me it is aliens-" She looks to William "Do you think these are alien drones? The alien method of drones? Someone told me they have ufos standing around at different places around Haven-city, but that it is very dangerous to go close because they will try and turn you into a half alien, too." Slight little fragments of truth, naturally, and then she glances around and sees at Riley, following William's greeting. "Ohayo Riley-san. This nice man is showing us about aliens!" She makes a light wink to Riley, it is quite flirtatious, and looks back to the man and then to William. "I think the government just wants all the power because they are aliens, too. And want to use us humans like cattledogs and cowcats."
Drone? Really? The man's face contorted for a few moments as he yanked the camera away to take a closer look again at it, flicking between the photos of the kobold he took. "And how do you know what a government surveillance drone looks like, huh? Sounds exactly like what a glowie would say, but this ain't all I got, duh." Was the rebuttal, with the man lowering that camera instead fishing out some polaroids from one of his vest's pockets.
These showcased a myriad of folks, some that the group might actually recognize, at the local cemetery likely mid-banishing. "Look at this! Witch-craft, which is likely done using alien artifacts and masonic blood rituals, all while fighting soldier ghosts! This is the kind of cabalistic, satanic, masonic, monolistic, arto-defacistic queer magic they're using to entrance and enthrall the population. Why do you think the same two parties win all the time?"
Riley clearly not having understood the situation, relaxes a bit, a small smirk on her face as she furrows her brow. "Wait what? Hold up, lemme take a look. We talkin' Xenomorphs? Greys? Maybe the Flatwoods monster? Nordic aliens?" she asks to no one in particular within' the group, sauntering on over to peer at the photo, genuine curiosity on her face... mixed with an obvious tinge of sarcasm in her voice. The ranting of the man giving her pause as she stares at him, "No offense my man, but you sound like you visit a certain message board or three too much... You're like a stones throw away from becoming a lolcow..." going red as she spouts internet jargin in person, covering her face as she realizes what she said.
"I'm just saying, if you wanted to make a drone go unnoticed, how would you do it? Make it look like it isn't a machine, in this case, a tiny green man... It'd almost look like a fairy if it, well, was more pleasant to look at... And had wings... And was smaller... It really doesn't look like a fairy really" William almost trails off on his own, clearly losing a bit the point of his previous attempts at camouflaged mockery, now just entering the realm of throwing nonsense out there without coherence.
His eyes scan the new pictures briefly, but, still thinking what his next crazy comment is going to be, he busies himself with continuing the previous point, at least for a little longer, head turning towards Ritsuka as he comments "You are the expert here, Ritsuka... What do you say, is that a drone or a tiny green man? And more importantly even, do fairies really exist? Is it true that they really take your teeth? And if so, what do they really want to do with that many teeth?"
"Oh no! Masonic blood rituals, I heard all about them!" Ritsuka gasps, feigning at a fear. "They need to hang a virgin upside down for her virgin blood to do them! It reverses their innocence into something tainted the aliens can use for witchcraft." She looks to Riley and again, raises her hands along to shrug before she looks to William. "Oh, that is super common knowledge. Fairies need human teeth because they build donut bridges with them. They place them around a tiny spark of satanistic queer cheese and then create more donut planets that they can hide in! And sometimes they kidnap innocent babies to grow them in their worlds." Her eyes fall to Riley and then to the man. "It's neither! It's a mutated alien capybara. Look at it. It must have gone free and wanted to tell humans about it so they had their minions hunt it down!"
She places a hand along her chin. "And it has to be two parties winning all the time so they can fix their Chinese fengshui because if it is only one party, the alies would lose their balance, and if it is too many, they would become too chaotic and have more alien capybara and alien tits."
Chewing on something indistinct, the man nods along to what Ritsuka said, eying Riley up and calling out "Message boads? Lolcows? Is that some interwebs jargon? Listen here, I wouldn't be caught dead near one of those computers, that's how they get you. And look at that, she's right, it could be an alien capybara mutant. But on these guys, look, look here." His fat finger set to tapping against the camera's screen that clearly showcased some town locals performing the usual ghost banishing. "Look at this freak, oh, wait, that's just a guy. Anyway, look, they're throwing fireballs and fighting off ghosts. I was there, I saw it with my own two eyes."
The next few photos clicked through clearly depict that scene, something most supernaturally aware folks would identify as a banishment, one that apparently involved some blue ghosts. "These are demons, people, no two ways about it, and just you wait until my buddy at the print gets these photos, it'll blow the lid right off this whole thing."
William considers for a moment while watching the new pictures, leaning to a side to rest one arm over the counter, getting a bit closer to Ritsuka to whisper something into her ear, taking his time with it. But after he's done whispering around, he notices it might be something weird to do in the middle of the conversation, as if he was secretly either mocking the whole thing or shutting it down, and he has to think of something quick to justify it, not to Riley really, mainly to the mysterious man that might stare or take the lower voice as an offense "Nothing too important- Making sure some plans after work are still up... Don't know if she wants to go out with demons roaming around the streets, you know?"
Riley keeps looking at Ritsuka, eyebrows raised before turning to the man, "What kind of camera do you use... digital, film, micro film maybe?" she lists off a few types of cameras to cover the pair as they pull away, moving closer as she looks at the device itself, brushing shoulders with him to give him something more than just words in her little slight of hand move she's trying to pull.
Rattling one of the cameras, the man answers with "Several kinds, these freaks and government planted glowies can hide from one or the other, but not from all of them, you know?" His attention then shifts over towards Ritsuka and William once more, with him saying "Name's Rusty, by the way, Rusty Shackleford, and I can tell I've given you two something to think about. I should be going now, need to get these sent out as soon as possible. Anything else you two got on your mind before I head off to the post office?"
"Hai," Ritsuka answers to William, in a very easy and quite casual way. She breathes in through her nose, and her hand goes over her own body and stops somewhere- there is a subtle press of a button. There is no sound for it, there is no click, it is hidden on her, and it could really be anywhere, against her skin. And then, there is the sudden but simple enough movement, a smack against the back of the mysterious man's head. His information is... wrong. In that way. It does not look like irrefutable proof, but secrecy makes its demand, Venice demands secrecy, and all Yokai must abide by it, whether they want to or not. With a likelihood, it is a very simple and quick knockout. She is strong. Far, far more than any woman her sizing and fragile looking statue deserves to have.
Already heading off to the exit, the man is then smacked on the back of the head and knocked out, James Bond style. A spurt of blood and spit bursts out from his mouth as it turns out that such a super-human hit would nearly cause a concussion even when a punch was pulled. The portly individual falls to the side and smacks his head on the side of the counter, leaving a trail of blood across the front of the counter as he falls down and goes unconscious on the floor. Crushed under his weight were his cameras, creating an echoing series of cracks and snaps, all turning into ruins.
As if on queue, his pockets and bag spill out, releasing a series of polaroids that depicted werewolves, gorgons and pig-headed creatures from the forest alongside what looked like some small, white dragonling, all splayed across the floor now. Among there were different cargo-pants-person belongings such as mints, lighters, cigarettes and general clutter.
William simply watches Ritsuka knockout the man with quite ease, pouting a little bit and commenting "Oh, I was going to make him see..." There he trails off, uncertain of whether he's debating what exactly or if he's rethinking if he should even mention it or not. And the idea dies right there, with a shrug.
"Well..." He points his finger downwards, towards the man "We can burn all of that- Clothes included... And then deliver him to- Oh, well, no, we might want him awake to do the whole... You know?"
Ritsuka does not look too happy about having done that, her chin is tight and her eyes look a note too tender, and there is pity, but also compassion for the man in her eyes. "I'll have him recovered and talk to him later, see if I can... not find a way to ask him to let it go." It doesn't align so much with the required demand for secrecy, no not quite, but one could argue it is very tolerable. "But he won't be experimented on or have his mind washed away without a single thought." She sighs. It is indeed true, he may yet be fortunate that it is her that handles this, and not the Institute that is typically called in for it. Her eyes do glance on out through the glass window. "Welcome to haven-city, Riley."
And just like that, within some minutes what sounded like a van pulled up in front of the pharmacy, the kind of black van one would expect from a government ran goon squad. Out came several men garbed in black and grey modern armor with their faces covered. What looked like the dark version of a Monster Inc cleanup crew swept in and began taking care of the 'scene', grabbing a good hold of the man's body, dragging him away. The photos were swept up as well, eventually there being nothing left as they loaded him into the van and drove off. Another day in Haven, everyone.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
With her hands shoved in her pockets, just leaving the library, Epigram was walking down the street, head ducked, breath steamy in the chill.
In the south side of haven, lynch avenue carves its way through the town propper. It's cold; Winter is coming, and it causes those traversing the walkways of Haven to shiver, their breath misting before them. In this, Epigram is no different: As she walks from the library, the temperature differential is great. Where the interior is warm, the heating preserving the books and patrons respectively, outside is not so clement, with hostile weather that only reminds one of the haunting cold which pervades bones and chills the soul. In one way, it could be said to be literary. There is no snow yet, though it would not be incorrect to equate the weather to that from such seasonal classics as a Christmas Carol, or from the more contemperary works of George RR Martin. And indeed, in this town, not far from the relitive safety of boston, such creatures as the brothers Marley or the White Walkers are not impossible thoughts. For after all, this close to the gates, the strange impossible things become reality: Monsters stalk the night and the things of nightmare lurk around every corner. That which is. That which was, and all that is yet to be is a lingering shadow, with prophetic doom lingering like the sword of Damocles over every head. And of course, such things are made all the more obvious when one is so close to the twisted trees of the Moore wood, or the delapidation of the Arkwright cemetery. Quite so, for those phantom spectres whisper their displeasure through the stone monuments and ancient memorials. They rise and fall with the tides-- They pulsate with the heartbeat of the supernatural world, and sometimes... Just sometimes... They stalk just as easily as the living. -- These restless dead mostly remain where they found their repose, though some... A small few, elect to rend themselves from their foundations, and they seek to find resolution in the vaunted arms of the living, where they can consolidate their anger-- Their pain in living flesh. And this is where Epigram finds herself now, for in Haven, when the mist drifts in, the strange unreality becomes mundanity, and the curious becomes the obvious... So as Epigram looks up, she finds herself not where she was, but in a dated Lynch avenue, in early winter, where the snow falls and the buildings are capped with the frost born contentment of white winter. People mill around, though garbed in archaic garments as they are, it is likely that not all is as it would seem. Epigram sees gentlemen with canes and tophats, and ladies garbed in flowing dresses and long coats. Carts trundle down the street, and the destitute litter the freshly layed walkways like the littered detritus of Devilwood Drive.
One thing worth knowing about Epigram is that she is a skeptic through and through. Though not immune to the effects of creepy, which is definable as things that are not in the ordinary and seem weird, she isn't one to jump to conclusions. Rather, she's more likely to try to explain away the odd, the unexpected. Nightmare creatures? would have to be seen to be believed. Epigram hasn't seen them , or if she had she's made herself believe she hasn't and right now might be no exception. A shiver, cold breath, is she creeped out by the fog? Definately, but she tells herself it's just fog. The buildings look odd, but at first she doesn't notice. It's just *crunch crunch crunch* goes the snow. When she does look up and starts to clue in, it's less, did I travel in time? and more Did I take a wrong turn. She turns, looks back the way she came, looks ahead, blows on her cold hands. The people are weird, must be some sort of holiday thing, like a convetion or .. She doesn't think more on it, more concerned with finding the right street to be on. She checks her phone, but of course, never any reception when you need it. She mutters darkly under her breath as if complainng will help.
Even as Epigram looks on, something untowards is about to take place. Though the scene unfolds slowly: The quintessential period piece all the more abstract for its utter normality, there is something in the air. It's palpable if not directly observable; The dawning pregnancy before the inevitable. It is the shadow in the night. It is the knife in the hand of the mugger, and the deeds of the Ripper in the ancient streets of London. Epigram knows that something isn't right here, but as she looks down, she too is garbed akin to these people, and they interact with her easily, navigating as though she were a part of this narrative. So what then is taking place? It must be explained away. So in Haven, there really are a number of things: The founding families are upto a lot, and if it's not curiously illicite activity from the Inigos and Moores, it's the Salte's doing something by the docks, or the Arkwrights being weird in the upper crusts. All Epigram knows though is that something is not right. So she must have eaten something, or there must be a gas leak. And still, that sensation; The chill on the back of her neck. Epigram is not certain, and there is nothing overly suspicious here. At least, not yet. The people around greet Epigram with the odd "Good day." or "Merry Christmas." The poor beg, huddled in door ways and in ragged, tattered clothing as they slowly suffer the inclement weather, simply hoping that even with their frost-bitten extremities and blue lips, that they will see one more day. Their cups rattle. passing pedestrians drop the odd antiquated coin into the tin cups of the men who huddle. But still... The sensation... And that's when Epigram notes the dapper young man in his crisp suit as he stravagues the Haven streets, his boots crunching in the snow. Somehow, without knowing, Epigram knows him to be a member of the elustrious Wilson family- Stephen Wilson- Epigram must have seen his picture, or read something about him on a poster or memorial plaque at some point. Though most curious: Stephen Wilson lived long ago-- he lived in the early nineteen tens. How mysterious... Epigram must be suffering a fever dream. A hallucination... And then, Epigram sees another figure from Haven's past: She sees Lucien Moore and his thugs. These men couldn't be any different to Stephen Wilson. Where he is debonair and swave, Lucien Moore is dressed as though he just walked from a factory, his hair shaggy, his beard unkempt. And somehow, Epigram notes that the Moore and his flanking cronies are making their way towards the unaware Wilson man.
At first, Epigram doesn't realize she's in this thing too, but when she notices the clothes, she starts to panic a little. She tries the clothes, pulls on her, trying to decide if this is real. Apparently it is real. Is it a dream? It is probably a dream, though lucid as hell. She looks at the phone she was trying and only now suddenly realizing it's not a phone at all but some old timey mirror? Becaues of course, she wouldn't have a cell phone here. She at first doesn't even notice the people around her, so deep in her own head is she. Then she starts to come more aware to her surroundings, squints at the people. If only she wasn't in these clothes she knew she didn't put on she'd think she walked into a theatre perfromance. But no, she has GOT to be dreaming. Still how to act in a dream. She starts doing the only thing she can think of. Pinching herself. She's seen nightmare on elm street. Part three. Almost all the way three. She decides the pinching isn't working though and starts stomping on her feet or pulling at her hair, making herself look right looney. Probably she's getting fewer good day miss and merry christmanses.
Epigram pinches and stomps, but nothing seems to change; She's a part of what ever this is if she likes it or not, and nothing she does changes that fact. Epigram does all she can, but this dream is vivid to the point os stupidity. It's too real-- Yet, not real enough. It is very much like something out of a show or a book, and Epigram is just a background character in the narrative. Curious though. The people around her don't notice the lunatic dancing around. They all still, and Epigram gets the sensation that she should be watching what is taking place. It's the afternoon. It's broad daylight, and still, Lucien Moore marches right up to Stephen Wilson and grabs him by the shirt. The men struggle: They tustle-- This is an old emnity between the families, and all Epigram can do is to watch. The citizens ignore it. They are moving, after all, though they seem to be dwindling; Grey things that flake and drift as though made of smoke. Lucien Moore and Stephen Wilson though, they appear more real. Their mouths move, but it is as though Epigram is frozen to the spot. She knows what is about to happen-- Oh god she knows-- And it's tragic and painful all the same. The Moore's companions each draw aged pistols, and they advance. Stephen and Lucien struggle with each other. They are speaking-- It's heated, and Lucien is already red-faced, though Stephen isn't far from the mark himself. Epigram continues to watch on though; There are no words. There is no sound, but this is building, and Epigram feels fear. It's not the fear of a reasoning thinking being. It's the unthinking animal terror of someone who knows that they are going to die-- Epigram feels herself step back. She does so once-- Twice-- Thrice, but she gets no further. Epigram hears the sound of crying. She feels the wetness on her cheeks. She feels the pounding of her heart and she understands now: Epigram is witnessing her own death-- No, it's a dream. It's not her death, but someone elses death. Then a shot fires: It rings out. The sound resounds, and Epigram stumbles. The shots ring out again and again, though Epigram is still helpless. The Wilson drops, but then she feels something. She feels blood-- The sting, and she looks down to her chest, where a burst of crimson bursts across her coat-- It soaks from her dress. It blossoms like a flower, and Epigram feels agony. There was a missfire. Epigram somehow knows that. Epigram hears the tears. She feels them on her cheeks, and she stumbles. Epigram drops to her knees. Epigram cant breathe. She reaches, dream like to her own chest and probes her wound. Then, she gasps-- Cant... breath... and then... All that's past is prologue. Epigram stands alone again in the streets of Haven. The snow is gone. Epigram is back where she should be on Lynch Avenue. And Epigram knows that something has changed. The mist lowers, Epigram's head clears, and she somehow knows that she has witnessed Tabitha Brown's death. The founding family politics took her life back in nineteen twelve. She was buried, but she did not move on. Epigram somehow knows this is fact-- But Epigram is a sceptic. It must have all been a dream. It was likely caused by the sudden change in air pressure, and Epigram is where she should be. So did anything happen? Was it all a dream? These questions and more are things that Epigram will have to decide for herself. For in Haven, the strange and the mundane intertwine seemlessly. What is past is prologue, but so too is the narrative continuing to be written, and with each chapter-- Each new mystery, there are also endings. Those slow, silent endings of those lost side characters who no one cared enough to remember...
(repost 1) Epigram pinches and stomps, but nothing seems to change; She's a part of what ever this is if she likes it or not, and nothing she does changes that fact. Epigram does all she can, but this dream is vivid to the point os stupidity. It's too real-- Yet, not real enough. It is very much like something out of a show or a book, and Epigram is just a background character in the narrative. Curious though. The people around her don't notice the lunatic dancing around. They all still, and Epigram gets the sensation that she should be watching what is taking place. It's the afternoon. It's broad daylight, and still, Lucien Moore marches right up to Stephen Wilson and grabs him by the shirt. The men struggle: They tustle-- This is an old emnity between the families, and all Epigram can do is to watch. The citizens ignore it. They are moving, after all, though they seem to be dwindling; Grey things that flake and drift as though made of smoke. Lucien Moore and Stephen Wilson though, they appear more real. Their mouths move, but it is as though Epigram is frozen to the spot. She knows what is about to happen-- Oh god she knows-- And it's tragic and painful all the same. The Moore's companions each draw aged pistols, and they advance. Stephen and Lucien struggle with each other. They are speaking-- It's heated, and Lucien is already red-faced, though Stephen isn't far from the mark himself. Epigram continues to watch on though; There are no words. There is no sound, but this is building, and Epigram feels fear. It's not the fear of a reasoning thinking being. It's the unthinking animal terror of someone who knows that they are going to die--
(repost 2) Epigram feels herself step back. She does so once-- Twice-- Thrice, but she gets no further. Epigram hears the sound of crying. She feels the wetness on her cheeks. She feels the pounding of her heart and she understands now: Epigram is witnessing her own death-- No, it's a dream. It's not her death, but someone elses death. Then a shot fires: It rings out. The sound resounds, and Epigram stumbles. The shots ring out again and again, though Epigram is still helpless. The Wilson drops, but then she feels something. She feels blood-- The sting, and she looks down to her chest, where a burst of crimson bursts across her coat-- It soaks from her dress. It blossoms like a flower, and Epigram feels agony. There was a missfire. Epigram somehow knows that. Epigram hears the tears. She feels them on her cheeks, and she stumbles. Epigram drops to her knees. Epigram cant breathe.
(repost 3) She reaches, dream like to her own chest and probes her wound. Then, she gasps-- Cant... breath... and then... All that's past is prologue. Epigram stands alone again in the streets of Haven. The snow is gone. Epigram is back where she should be on Lynch Avenue. And Epigram knows that something has changed. The mist lowers, Epigram's head clears, and she somehow knows that she has witnessed Tabitha Brown's death. The founding family politics took her life back in nineteen twelve. She was buried, but she did not move on. Epigram somehow knows this is fact-- But Epigram is a sceptic. It must have all been a dream. It was likely caused by the sudden change in air pressure, and Epigram is where she should be. So did anything happen? Was it all a dream? These questions and more are things that Epigram will have to decide for herself. For in Haven, the strange and the mundane intertwine seemlessly. What is past is prologue, but so too is the narrative continuing to be written, and with each chapter-- Each new mystery, there are also endings. Those slow, silent endings of those lost side characters who no one cared enough to remember...
Epigram shakes her head, trying to clear it, she feels tears on her cheeks, but that doesn't mean anything, right? She frowns, looking down again, gathering herself. A lot of weird stuff has been seen or felt, but there are always explanations. She can't right now. Even if it is fake, becaues of course it was fake, the experience, the feeling, the emotions, those were all real and she seems to be needing more than a moment to compose herself, maybe go find a corner and cry for a bit. She wipes her face and looks ready to start trying to press on about her day, or at least find someplace indoors.