Encounterlogs
Sams Odd Encounter Sr Lenny 241214
In the mysterious ambiance of The Trove Barcade, amidst the clatter of arcade machines and the flicker of colorful screens, Sam, a bartender with a hidden agenda, encounters a man whose presence disrupts the calm. This man, devoid of smiles and symbols, thrusts Sam into a precarious situation by delivering a stern ultimatum encapsulated in a folder. This folder contains damaging information capable of upheaving the executives of 'The Hand', a notorious entity within their clandestine world. With a demand for a hefty sum of fifty thousand and no trace of interest in negotiation, the man departs, leaving Sam to grapple with the dilemma: to pursue and confront or find another means to neutralize the threat posed by the contents of the folder.
Opting for the former, Sam's pursuit leads him to a high-speed chase down treacherous roads, a daring move fueled by determination and the need to protect the sanctity of 'The Hand'. This chase culminates in the blackmailer's disastrous crash, rendering him vulnerable and defeated. Despite the situation's severity, Sam sees an opportunity; he offers the man a proposition to turn his skills to his advantage, thus transforming an adversary into an ally. Through quick thinking and a show of force, Sam not only neutralizes the threat to 'The Hand' but also expands his network with a newfound informant at his behest. This resolution mirrors the complexity of navigating the murky waters of their society, exemplified by Sam's ability to turn a precarious situation into a beneficial alliance.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRLenny):SRLenny)
[Fri Dec 13 2024]
At The Trove Barcade
This room is dominated by a sprawling, weathered bar. The bar's surface, polished to a high sheen, is inlaid with a mosaic of colorful sea glass, glinting in the dim, lantern-like lighting.
The walls, painted a deep, oceanic blue, are adorned with an eclectic assortment of nautical paraphernalia. Aged maps, and faded flags are interspersed with vintage arcade game marquees. The ceiling, draped with tattered sails and thick, knotted ropes, gives the impression of being below deck on a ship.
In the corners of the room, clusters of arcade games flicker and beep, their colorful screens casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the wooden floorboards. The air is filled with the clatter of pinball machines, the electronic melodies of video games, and the occasional thud of an axe hitting its target.
Behind the bar, a vast array of bottles is displayed, their contents ranging from craft beers to exotic rums. The bartenders, dressed in pirate garb, deftly mix cocktails, their movements punctuated by the clink of glass and the hiss of a freshly opened beer.
North/South: Restrooms
Northeast: Games
East: Axe Throwing
Southeast: Competitive Games
Down: Laser Tag
It is noon, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(Your target and their allies are charged with tracking down a supernatural criminal on the run from the factions, what they do with them then is up to the players to decide.
)
It's a quiet morning that is transitioning to noon in Haven. The chill outside should scare people indoors but they have not chosen to join Sam in the Trove Barcade today. There are the odd patron. Some regulars. People who just pass through. Thats why when someone opens the door and steps inside with heavy foot steps it sort of draws attention. A figure stands there, dressed darkly. At a second glance they present as a man with severe features. They scan the establishment before they spot Sam and approach the bar with a purpose
Standing behind the bar at his usual perch, Sam greets the man, one hand polishing a glass in the other hand with a dingy dishcloth. "Ey! Welcome to the Trove! What can I getcha to get the games started?" He smiles, his patented bar-tender smile right there as he looks over the man from behind his shades, eyes giving him the routine one-over for any symbols or sigils to show affiliation, and of course to check if he had a visitor's aura.
There is no smile in return or symbol present but its fairly obvious they are not some unaware tourist. They reach into their jacket inner pocket like a secret agent who might be pulling a gun out to pop Sam in the head a moment later, instead he pulls out a folder and hands it over to Sam telling him cooly, "You have one hour to transfer fifty thousand to the number in the file."
Leaving the folder on the bar top if Sam wont take it directly, the man turns to walk out the way he came. There is no hurry in his steps as he intends to leave.
Opening the file reveals to Sam a dense collection of ledgers, photos, data of all kind. Whats in the file would do serious harm to a handful of Hand executives. It's blackmail that would hurt Sam's organization, but likely not him directly unless someone found out he failed to do something about it.
Fifty thousand isn't exactly an easy ask to pay, but yes there is an account number in the file to transfer funds too. But there is no other contact information. The man who handed him this file has just left, the door only closed moments ago. Theres a chance he could be persued or there could be an other ways to deal with this damning file.
Letting out a sigh, Sam reaches under the bar, retrieving his glock from a backpack stashed there. He puts it on a discreet holster at his side, and heads after the leaving man, his free hand removing his shades, exposing his eyes.
Quick strides, and he's outside as well, trying to find the man, to see if he can't intercept him. That file is stashed in the pack, kept close.
Sam heads out into the street with his gun holstered. He's got nothing but his eyes to try and track the man who had left a moment ago. The man himself is no where to be seen, but there are numerous cars parked on the street side. The odd pedestrian walks the sidewalk but none can be mistake for the man himself. No car seems to have recently pulled out to drive away either. Unless the man bolted down the street at a full sprint the second he left the barcade, he couldn't have gotten out of sight he could be in one of the cars, or dipped into a different store or hiding in plain sight.
Letting out a sigh, Sam looks down, into the recently falling snow, to perhaps track the man that way. Seeing how he was quite gone, and could frankly be anywhere, the Jock just exhales, and briefly considers his options. He does briefly look over the file's names, considering if he knows how important the names mentioned are.
There wouldn't be an obvious connection between the names and pictures in the document and allies or enemies of Lucien. Nothing is likely going to hurt the Hand branch in Haven directly, but it would hurt the Hand as a whole and that may appeal to a sense of loyalty towards the greater hand, or it might not. It could be a gift in disguise, there is enough damning info on New York elites in the Hand that someone who wanted to cajole and blackmail there way further in the organization might benefit from this information..if the blackmailer who demanded money from Sam didn't just release it all first. Blackmail isn't valuable once its out.
A few cars down a black sedan's ignition can be heard as someone starts it up, Sam didn't see anyone get into it so they must've been in the car before he got outside. There is a chance..
Seeing a chance, the jock jumps on his bike, trying to discern if he can see the driver. Regardless, Sam prepares a text with the information about the blackmail, to be sent to the Whispers, should his current chase not be successful. He does kick his bike into gear, and gets ready to chase, should the car indeed contain the man he is looking for. One hand rests on his pistol, and he narrows his eyes, looking a tad shade annoyed at the slipperiness of this particular man.
When Sam gets on his bike just as the sedan is pulling out, the sedan seems to notice and suddenly tires squeal and it peels out of there forcing Sam to pursue. Its a guarantee that's his man since there is no reason for anyone else to run from Sam. This went from blackmail attempt to hot pursuit in moments and its up to Sam's reflexes on the road and the speed of his bike to keep up.
With a grin, Sam starts to drive, and lowers himself onto that bike. An old junker, but a sportsbike nonetheless, he kicks it into gear, waiting either for the sedan to stop, or for him to have a clear shot on the bike's tires.... somewhere where this will not attract too much attention. His annoyance changes to dogged determination, the jock perhaps enjoying the chase, regardless of use to the company. Though that is certainly on his mind.
In Haven there isn't many places to hide or run in town but to head out presents endless forest through trecherous roads and thats the path the sedan takes. It finds the nearest exit from Haven and begins driving down a rough dirt road to try and escape Sam. The guy drives like a mad man and more than once he nearly takes himself off the road. If Sam does start shooting he may be able to take the car out if he even fractionally diminishes the controllability of the car.
With a smirk, Sam decides a different path. Now that they are out of the city limits, and away from prying eyes, the arcanist glares at the man, pulling out a rather human-looking fingerbone on a silver chain from under his jacket. Then, the runes on the thing glow, and the blood-vessels in the man's eyes respond to the Haemologist's call, bursting open and bleeding into the man's eyes.
Using that momentum, Sam does open fire, aiming to disable the car, mostly, as of course directly killing the man would violate sanctuary.
The car violently serves when the man inside is blinded, it flies off the road and wraps its front around a tree. Totaling the sedan and stopping it dead in its tracks. Within the car the airbags have deployed and the man seems to be unconscious against his airbag. Perhaps barely alive after taking such a bad and sudden crash. There are signs of life though as after a few moments the man brings his head back against his headrest and groans.
Stopping his bike right near the car, Sam opens the door, punching in the window to unlock it if needed. He grabs the man by the collar, and smiles. "All right." He makes eye-contact, slapping the man's face a few times to ensure he is conscious enough to speak. "Hi. You're an idiot, aintcha?" He keeps that eye-contact, trying to draw the man into a trance, eyes gleaming just a little. "All right. So how about you tell me who else knows this information... just you? Do you work alone?" He pauses, then speaks, the words more of a command than a question. "Tell me the truth." He smiles, trying to drill that instruction into the man's psyche.
Beaten and injured there is no fight left in the man in the car. He spills all. He's a solo agent who has had success blackmailing and extorting many society members. He's quite skilled at finding dirt. He never has to follow through on the threats as everyone pays up. But with Sam he found the wrong mark. Further prying reveals from the man that there is a copy in one of the antlers rooms that Sam can easily deal with. There would be no threat of blackmail at that point, the only thing left to do is decide on how to deal with the man.
A pause, then, and Sam smiles. He looks to the man, and softly tuts. "All right." He smiles. "This case is all paid up, correct?" He extends a hand, helpfully helping the man out. Well, more dragging him out of the car. He is put down onto the ground, lifted up with super-human strength. "How about I make you a deal. You work for me now." A smile covers his face, as he puts those shades back. "If you do not check in with me every week, I will assume you ran, and I will kill you." A pleasant smile accompanies that statement. "If you work well, I will get you dirt, the likes of which you ain't seen before.
"Do we have a deal?" He extends that hand, seemingly not really caring for the man's battered and bloodied state. "
A pause, then, and Sam smiles. He looks to the man, and softly tuts. "All right." He smiles. "This case is all paid up, correct?" He extends a hand, helpfully helping the man out. Well, more dragging him out of the car. He is put down onto the ground, lifted up with super-human strength. "How about I make you a deal. You work for me now." A smile covers his face, as he puts those shades back. "If you do not check in with me every week, I will assume you ran, and I will kill you." A pleasant smile accompanies that statement. "If you work well, I will get you dirt, the likes of which you ain't seen before."
"Do we have a deal?" He extends that hand, seemingly not really caring for the man's battered and bloodied state. (fix)
For the man this is the best he could hope for. A job and some direction in what he's doing. The blackmail wasn't really working out for him anyways. There is hesitation before he shakes Sam's hand and thats that. A contact has been made. Sam can clean up, or have the guy clean himself up. There is no more threat anymore
(Your target has been flagged down by someone who wants their help getting their cat down from a tree.
)
Trevor's had a quiet morning, or evening depending on how one would view time. The man is just going about his day, leaving home relatively quickly in order to get a sandwich that he chomps on while driving around a little bit.
Trevor is forced to slow his drive, coming to a reluctant halt at a red light where the road stretches emptily ahead. That's when his path is suddenly blocked by a man clad in what can only be described as medieval cosplay-layers of cardboard painted to mimic armor, duct tape gleaming under the sunlight. The man strikes a heroic pose, hand on his hip and chin jutted forward, clearly committing to the bit, "Ho there, traveler!" He exclaims, his voice adopting a shaky, over-the-top imitation of Ye Olde English, "Thou art summoned! A quest most epic awaits thee!"
Trevor sighs, and slows down, but doesn't quite get out of his truck. He rolls the window down, and leans outside to call, "Oi," he begins, trying his best to do Ye Old English as well, "What wouldst thou hast me doth?" He might not be very good at, not well studied in the fine art of Ye Olde Englishism.
The man's exaggerated confidence falters as Trevor remains steadfast, unmoved by the ridiculous call to action. A flash of confusion crosses the would-be knight's face, and he rummages through a lumpy burlap sack slung over his shoulder. With a triumphant 'Aha!' he pulls out a large, crudely crafted exclamation point sign. It's bright yellow with blinking lights that sputter unevenly. He hoists the sign high above his head, standing as tall as his duct-taped greaves will allow, "You cannot ignore thy destiny!" He bellows, his voice cracking with desperation, aimed toward Trevor's truck like a rallying cry, "The gods themselves have decreed it! Thy fate beckons! Thy steel steed must be stilled, noble sir!" He declares, voice booming with exaggerated gravity, "Park it here, dismount, and prepare thyself! The fate of realms untold rests upon thy shoulders!"
Trevor exhales, and shockingly, just decides to pull his truck over to the side of the road, turning it off and hopping out of the vehicle with the thunk of the door closing. Casually, he strolls up to the man, and kinda prods him, perhaps just a little bit harder than necessary. "I'm trying to accept your quest," he says rather casually. The Ye Olde English is gone from his voice now. "What do I need to do?" He scans the area carefully, making sure there's not other people hiding or anything around.
With his destiny accepted, the knight leads Trevor a few steps off the road. And that's when Trevor's eyes land on the absurd sight of a cardboard sword jammed into a medium-sized boulder, the edges of the flimsy prop already frayed. The knight, oblivious or indifferent to Trevor's growing doubts, gestures grandly toward the 'sword', his voice grave, "Only the pure of heart may draw the sword from the stone. To prove thyself worthy of this noble quest, thou must pull it free." The knight stands tall, unyielding in his seriousness, "The sword will not yield to the unworthy. Prove thy heart's purity, or leave in disgrace."
"Only the worthy?" Trevor asks, a clarifying question, though most rhetorical and just strolls up to the cardboard props. He positions himself above the boulder, and then grabs the hilt of the sword with two hands - and 'pulls'. He doesn't actually pull, only fakes it. Gotta really sell the quest, of course.
PULL. PULL. Both still fake.
Trevor lets go, frowning at the sword a moment, and then decides to unbutton his jacket, remove it, and roll up his sleeves. Now, this time, Trevor actually pulls on sword.
The sword doesn't budge. Instead, the boulder shifts with a low, grinding scrape, rising off the ground as if it weighs nothing, the rock dangling midair, seemingly suspended by the sheer defiance of physics.
Watching Trevor's attempts at pulling the sword with stoic patience, the knight folds his 'armored' arms over his chest. When it's clear that brute strength will not prevail, he clears his throat meaningfully, "I did caution thee," the knight begins, his voice carrying a patient yet pointed tone. "The sword doth not yield to might alone. There is but one quality which it honors above all others." He lifts a gauntleted hand, pointing skyward. If Trevor were to follow the gesture, his gaze would land on a scruffy cat clinging to a high branch of a nearby tree. It's fur is windswept, and it's small cries of distress are faint but insistent.
The knight lowers his hand with a solemn nod, "There," He says gravely. "The selfless act of aiding another, with no thought of reward nor gain, this alone proves a heart pure enough to draw the blade. Rescue yonder feline, and perhaps thou shalt earn thy worthiness." He steps back, allowing the words to settle, and folds his hands behind his back, clearly ready to watch Trevor's reaction.
Trevor follows that gauntleted hand upwards, letting out a little grunt at the cat. And without really needed any prodding at all, Trevor just begins to climb the tree, in order to rescue the cat.
Trevor's gaze flickers back and forth between the cat perched precariously in the tree and the ground far below. The creature's tail flicks anxiously, it's eyes wide and alert. It was clear the cat needed help. As he nears the top, he finally reaches the branch where the cat clung, it's little paws splayed wide against the wood. But just as Trevor's fingers brush the cat's fur something strange happened. The fur rippled, as if a wave of energy passed through the cat's body, it's form distorting before his very eyes, as the small creature began to expand and shift, muscles and bones realigning with a sickening, unnatural twist. The cat's body grew, reshaping itself into something else entirely. The creature now was no longer a cat, but a young woman, naked, blue-haired, and completely unbothered by her transformation. She stretches, her arms arching above her head as she adjusts to her new form, her smile a mixture of playful mischief and gratitude. "Well, well," she purrs, her voice light and teasing as her eyes glimmered up at Trevor, "My hero. I do love a brave man with a cardboard sword." She fluttered her eyelashes, the humor in her voice barely masking the sultry edge that followed, "What can I do to repay you, hmm?"
Trevor listens to that shifting, and as soon as things click into place inside that little hamster-filled brain of his he glances away from the naked woman, looking anywhere but at her. "Nothing," he admits, "Do you need me to carry you down, Miss? Or are you good to get yourself down?"
Opting for the former, Sam's pursuit leads him to a high-speed chase down treacherous roads, a daring move fueled by determination and the need to protect the sanctity of 'The Hand'. This chase culminates in the blackmailer's disastrous crash, rendering him vulnerable and defeated. Despite the situation's severity, Sam sees an opportunity; he offers the man a proposition to turn his skills to his advantage, thus transforming an adversary into an ally. Through quick thinking and a show of force, Sam not only neutralizes the threat to 'The Hand' but also expands his network with a newfound informant at his behest. This resolution mirrors the complexity of navigating the murky waters of their society, exemplified by Sam's ability to turn a precarious situation into a beneficial alliance.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRLenny):SRLenny)
[Fri Dec 13 2024]
At The Trove Barcade
This room is dominated by a sprawling, weathered bar. The bar's surface, polished to a high sheen, is inlaid with a mosaic of colorful sea glass, glinting in the dim, lantern-like lighting.
The walls, painted a deep, oceanic blue, are adorned with an eclectic assortment of nautical paraphernalia. Aged maps, and faded flags are interspersed with vintage arcade game marquees. The ceiling, draped with tattered sails and thick, knotted ropes, gives the impression of being below deck on a ship.
In the corners of the room, clusters of arcade games flicker and beep, their colorful screens casting a kaleidoscope of light onto the wooden floorboards. The air is filled with the clatter of pinball machines, the electronic melodies of video games, and the occasional thud of an axe hitting its target.
Behind the bar, a vast array of bottles is displayed, their contents ranging from craft beers to exotic rums. The bartenders, dressed in pirate garb, deftly mix cocktails, their movements punctuated by the clink of glass and the hiss of a freshly opened beer.
North/South: Restrooms
Northeast: Games
East: Axe Throwing
Southeast: Competitive Games
Down: Laser Tag
It is noon, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds.
(Your target and their allies are charged with tracking down a supernatural criminal on the run from the factions, what they do with them then is up to the players to decide.
)
It's a quiet morning that is transitioning to noon in Haven. The chill outside should scare people indoors but they have not chosen to join Sam in the Trove Barcade today. There are the odd patron. Some regulars. People who just pass through. Thats why when someone opens the door and steps inside with heavy foot steps it sort of draws attention. A figure stands there, dressed darkly. At a second glance they present as a man with severe features. They scan the establishment before they spot Sam and approach the bar with a purpose
Standing behind the bar at his usual perch, Sam greets the man, one hand polishing a glass in the other hand with a dingy dishcloth. "Ey! Welcome to the Trove! What can I getcha to get the games started?" He smiles, his patented bar-tender smile right there as he looks over the man from behind his shades, eyes giving him the routine one-over for any symbols or sigils to show affiliation, and of course to check if he had a visitor's aura.
There is no smile in return or symbol present but its fairly obvious they are not some unaware tourist. They reach into their jacket inner pocket like a secret agent who might be pulling a gun out to pop Sam in the head a moment later, instead he pulls out a folder and hands it over to Sam telling him cooly, "You have one hour to transfer fifty thousand to the number in the file."
Leaving the folder on the bar top if Sam wont take it directly, the man turns to walk out the way he came. There is no hurry in his steps as he intends to leave.
Opening the file reveals to Sam a dense collection of ledgers, photos, data of all kind. Whats in the file would do serious harm to a handful of Hand executives. It's blackmail that would hurt Sam's organization, but likely not him directly unless someone found out he failed to do something about it.
Fifty thousand isn't exactly an easy ask to pay, but yes there is an account number in the file to transfer funds too. But there is no other contact information. The man who handed him this file has just left, the door only closed moments ago. Theres a chance he could be persued or there could be an other ways to deal with this damning file.
Letting out a sigh, Sam reaches under the bar, retrieving his glock from a backpack stashed there. He puts it on a discreet holster at his side, and heads after the leaving man, his free hand removing his shades, exposing his eyes.
Quick strides, and he's outside as well, trying to find the man, to see if he can't intercept him. That file is stashed in the pack, kept close.
Sam heads out into the street with his gun holstered. He's got nothing but his eyes to try and track the man who had left a moment ago. The man himself is no where to be seen, but there are numerous cars parked on the street side. The odd pedestrian walks the sidewalk but none can be mistake for the man himself. No car seems to have recently pulled out to drive away either. Unless the man bolted down the street at a full sprint the second he left the barcade, he couldn't have gotten out of sight he could be in one of the cars, or dipped into a different store or hiding in plain sight.
Letting out a sigh, Sam looks down, into the recently falling snow, to perhaps track the man that way. Seeing how he was quite gone, and could frankly be anywhere, the Jock just exhales, and briefly considers his options. He does briefly look over the file's names, considering if he knows how important the names mentioned are.
There wouldn't be an obvious connection between the names and pictures in the document and allies or enemies of Lucien. Nothing is likely going to hurt the Hand branch in Haven directly, but it would hurt the Hand as a whole and that may appeal to a sense of loyalty towards the greater hand, or it might not. It could be a gift in disguise, there is enough damning info on New York elites in the Hand that someone who wanted to cajole and blackmail there way further in the organization might benefit from this information..if the blackmailer who demanded money from Sam didn't just release it all first. Blackmail isn't valuable once its out.
A few cars down a black sedan's ignition can be heard as someone starts it up, Sam didn't see anyone get into it so they must've been in the car before he got outside. There is a chance..
Seeing a chance, the jock jumps on his bike, trying to discern if he can see the driver. Regardless, Sam prepares a text with the information about the blackmail, to be sent to the Whispers, should his current chase not be successful. He does kick his bike into gear, and gets ready to chase, should the car indeed contain the man he is looking for. One hand rests on his pistol, and he narrows his eyes, looking a tad shade annoyed at the slipperiness of this particular man.
When Sam gets on his bike just as the sedan is pulling out, the sedan seems to notice and suddenly tires squeal and it peels out of there forcing Sam to pursue. Its a guarantee that's his man since there is no reason for anyone else to run from Sam. This went from blackmail attempt to hot pursuit in moments and its up to Sam's reflexes on the road and the speed of his bike to keep up.
With a grin, Sam starts to drive, and lowers himself onto that bike. An old junker, but a sportsbike nonetheless, he kicks it into gear, waiting either for the sedan to stop, or for him to have a clear shot on the bike's tires.... somewhere where this will not attract too much attention. His annoyance changes to dogged determination, the jock perhaps enjoying the chase, regardless of use to the company. Though that is certainly on his mind.
In Haven there isn't many places to hide or run in town but to head out presents endless forest through trecherous roads and thats the path the sedan takes. It finds the nearest exit from Haven and begins driving down a rough dirt road to try and escape Sam. The guy drives like a mad man and more than once he nearly takes himself off the road. If Sam does start shooting he may be able to take the car out if he even fractionally diminishes the controllability of the car.
With a smirk, Sam decides a different path. Now that they are out of the city limits, and away from prying eyes, the arcanist glares at the man, pulling out a rather human-looking fingerbone on a silver chain from under his jacket. Then, the runes on the thing glow, and the blood-vessels in the man's eyes respond to the Haemologist's call, bursting open and bleeding into the man's eyes.
Using that momentum, Sam does open fire, aiming to disable the car, mostly, as of course directly killing the man would violate sanctuary.
The car violently serves when the man inside is blinded, it flies off the road and wraps its front around a tree. Totaling the sedan and stopping it dead in its tracks. Within the car the airbags have deployed and the man seems to be unconscious against his airbag. Perhaps barely alive after taking such a bad and sudden crash. There are signs of life though as after a few moments the man brings his head back against his headrest and groans.
Stopping his bike right near the car, Sam opens the door, punching in the window to unlock it if needed. He grabs the man by the collar, and smiles. "All right." He makes eye-contact, slapping the man's face a few times to ensure he is conscious enough to speak. "Hi. You're an idiot, aintcha?" He keeps that eye-contact, trying to draw the man into a trance, eyes gleaming just a little. "All right. So how about you tell me who else knows this information... just you? Do you work alone?" He pauses, then speaks, the words more of a command than a question. "Tell me the truth." He smiles, trying to drill that instruction into the man's psyche.
Beaten and injured there is no fight left in the man in the car. He spills all. He's a solo agent who has had success blackmailing and extorting many society members. He's quite skilled at finding dirt. He never has to follow through on the threats as everyone pays up. But with Sam he found the wrong mark. Further prying reveals from the man that there is a copy in one of the antlers rooms that Sam can easily deal with. There would be no threat of blackmail at that point, the only thing left to do is decide on how to deal with the man.
A pause, then, and Sam smiles. He looks to the man, and softly tuts. "All right." He smiles. "This case is all paid up, correct?" He extends a hand, helpfully helping the man out. Well, more dragging him out of the car. He is put down onto the ground, lifted up with super-human strength. "How about I make you a deal. You work for me now." A smile covers his face, as he puts those shades back. "If you do not check in with me every week, I will assume you ran, and I will kill you." A pleasant smile accompanies that statement. "If you work well, I will get you dirt, the likes of which you ain't seen before.
"Do we have a deal?" He extends that hand, seemingly not really caring for the man's battered and bloodied state. "
A pause, then, and Sam smiles. He looks to the man, and softly tuts. "All right." He smiles. "This case is all paid up, correct?" He extends a hand, helpfully helping the man out. Well, more dragging him out of the car. He is put down onto the ground, lifted up with super-human strength. "How about I make you a deal. You work for me now." A smile covers his face, as he puts those shades back. "If you do not check in with me every week, I will assume you ran, and I will kill you." A pleasant smile accompanies that statement. "If you work well, I will get you dirt, the likes of which you ain't seen before."
"Do we have a deal?" He extends that hand, seemingly not really caring for the man's battered and bloodied state. (fix)
For the man this is the best he could hope for. A job and some direction in what he's doing. The blackmail wasn't really working out for him anyways. There is hesitation before he shakes Sam's hand and thats that. A contact has been made. Sam can clean up, or have the guy clean himself up. There is no more threat anymore
(Your target has been flagged down by someone who wants their help getting their cat down from a tree.
)
Trevor's had a quiet morning, or evening depending on how one would view time. The man is just going about his day, leaving home relatively quickly in order to get a sandwich that he chomps on while driving around a little bit.
Trevor is forced to slow his drive, coming to a reluctant halt at a red light where the road stretches emptily ahead. That's when his path is suddenly blocked by a man clad in what can only be described as medieval cosplay-layers of cardboard painted to mimic armor, duct tape gleaming under the sunlight. The man strikes a heroic pose, hand on his hip and chin jutted forward, clearly committing to the bit, "Ho there, traveler!" He exclaims, his voice adopting a shaky, over-the-top imitation of Ye Olde English, "Thou art summoned! A quest most epic awaits thee!"
Trevor sighs, and slows down, but doesn't quite get out of his truck. He rolls the window down, and leans outside to call, "Oi," he begins, trying his best to do Ye Old English as well, "What wouldst thou hast me doth?" He might not be very good at, not well studied in the fine art of Ye Olde Englishism.
The man's exaggerated confidence falters as Trevor remains steadfast, unmoved by the ridiculous call to action. A flash of confusion crosses the would-be knight's face, and he rummages through a lumpy burlap sack slung over his shoulder. With a triumphant 'Aha!' he pulls out a large, crudely crafted exclamation point sign. It's bright yellow with blinking lights that sputter unevenly. He hoists the sign high above his head, standing as tall as his duct-taped greaves will allow, "You cannot ignore thy destiny!" He bellows, his voice cracking with desperation, aimed toward Trevor's truck like a rallying cry, "The gods themselves have decreed it! Thy fate beckons! Thy steel steed must be stilled, noble sir!" He declares, voice booming with exaggerated gravity, "Park it here, dismount, and prepare thyself! The fate of realms untold rests upon thy shoulders!"
Trevor exhales, and shockingly, just decides to pull his truck over to the side of the road, turning it off and hopping out of the vehicle with the thunk of the door closing. Casually, he strolls up to the man, and kinda prods him, perhaps just a little bit harder than necessary. "I'm trying to accept your quest," he says rather casually. The Ye Olde English is gone from his voice now. "What do I need to do?" He scans the area carefully, making sure there's not other people hiding or anything around.
With his destiny accepted, the knight leads Trevor a few steps off the road. And that's when Trevor's eyes land on the absurd sight of a cardboard sword jammed into a medium-sized boulder, the edges of the flimsy prop already frayed. The knight, oblivious or indifferent to Trevor's growing doubts, gestures grandly toward the 'sword', his voice grave, "Only the pure of heart may draw the sword from the stone. To prove thyself worthy of this noble quest, thou must pull it free." The knight stands tall, unyielding in his seriousness, "The sword will not yield to the unworthy. Prove thy heart's purity, or leave in disgrace."
"Only the worthy?" Trevor asks, a clarifying question, though most rhetorical and just strolls up to the cardboard props. He positions himself above the boulder, and then grabs the hilt of the sword with two hands - and 'pulls'. He doesn't actually pull, only fakes it. Gotta really sell the quest, of course.
PULL. PULL. Both still fake.
Trevor lets go, frowning at the sword a moment, and then decides to unbutton his jacket, remove it, and roll up his sleeves. Now, this time, Trevor actually pulls on sword.
The sword doesn't budge. Instead, the boulder shifts with a low, grinding scrape, rising off the ground as if it weighs nothing, the rock dangling midair, seemingly suspended by the sheer defiance of physics.
Watching Trevor's attempts at pulling the sword with stoic patience, the knight folds his 'armored' arms over his chest. When it's clear that brute strength will not prevail, he clears his throat meaningfully, "I did caution thee," the knight begins, his voice carrying a patient yet pointed tone. "The sword doth not yield to might alone. There is but one quality which it honors above all others." He lifts a gauntleted hand, pointing skyward. If Trevor were to follow the gesture, his gaze would land on a scruffy cat clinging to a high branch of a nearby tree. It's fur is windswept, and it's small cries of distress are faint but insistent.
The knight lowers his hand with a solemn nod, "There," He says gravely. "The selfless act of aiding another, with no thought of reward nor gain, this alone proves a heart pure enough to draw the blade. Rescue yonder feline, and perhaps thou shalt earn thy worthiness." He steps back, allowing the words to settle, and folds his hands behind his back, clearly ready to watch Trevor's reaction.
Trevor follows that gauntleted hand upwards, letting out a little grunt at the cat. And without really needed any prodding at all, Trevor just begins to climb the tree, in order to rescue the cat.
Trevor's gaze flickers back and forth between the cat perched precariously in the tree and the ground far below. The creature's tail flicks anxiously, it's eyes wide and alert. It was clear the cat needed help. As he nears the top, he finally reaches the branch where the cat clung, it's little paws splayed wide against the wood. But just as Trevor's fingers brush the cat's fur something strange happened. The fur rippled, as if a wave of energy passed through the cat's body, it's form distorting before his very eyes, as the small creature began to expand and shift, muscles and bones realigning with a sickening, unnatural twist. The cat's body grew, reshaping itself into something else entirely. The creature now was no longer a cat, but a young woman, naked, blue-haired, and completely unbothered by her transformation. She stretches, her arms arching above her head as she adjusts to her new form, her smile a mixture of playful mischief and gratitude. "Well, well," she purrs, her voice light and teasing as her eyes glimmered up at Trevor, "My hero. I do love a brave man with a cardboard sword." She fluttered her eyelashes, the humor in her voice barely masking the sultry edge that followed, "What can I do to repay you, hmm?"
Trevor listens to that shifting, and as soon as things click into place inside that little hamster-filled brain of his he glances away from the naked woman, looking anywhere but at her. "Nothing," he admits, "Do you need me to carry you down, Miss? Or are you good to get yourself down?"