Encounterlogs
Sams Odd Encounter Sr Tyler 241029
The story begins on Elm Street as dusk falls, with Sam discussing his peculiar encounters, hinting at a curse that's made the world hostile towards him. His troubled demeanor suggests recent supernatural engagements have left him vulnerable and desperate for aid. Eric, initially supportive, becomes visibly unsettled as the environment reacts strangely around them, indicating a tension between the natural and supernatural. An attempt by Sam to seek help through his phone is thwarted by a visibly agitated crowd and Eric's growing frustration towards Sam's history of attracting trouble.
As the situation escalates, a child's taunt turns the crowd's curiosity into aggression, pinning Sam as the source of unease. Sam, struggling with isolation and public disdain, attempts to connect with Eric, his plea for solidarity only met with accusations of recklessness. The arrival of the police amplifies the situation's severity, with the officer's immediate hostility towards Sam highlighting the curse's influence on human perceptions. Despite Sam's compliance, his arrest underlines the harsh realities of his supernatural affliction, leaving Eric to grapple with his own reactions as Sam is taken away, broadcasting a poignant message about the complexities of friendship and the heavy toll of unseen burdens.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRTyler):SRTyler)
[Mon Oct 28 2024]
On Elm Street
It is dusk, about 60F(15C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Sam says, with a nod, "Well, that's that."
(Your target has been cursed with persecution, it is up to them to survive a world suddenly turned hostile until their allies can come and help get them to safety or deal with the curse.
)
Sam steps off of his bike, looking down at his phone. "Oh, hey, that medium is texting me." He shrugs, rolling back his shoulders. "Hey man, sorry if I'm being weird, yeh? Some shit went down earlier that's got me all fucked."
"You did mention the uh.." Eric glances about a bit, if just to make sure he's not about to reveal all he knows to absolute crowds of randos. "The other ghost shit, fam. It's all good. Just lookin' out." The man raises his right shoulder once, none too agitated really.
Sam just offers Eric a fist-bump, smiling wryly. "Appriciate that, man. Feels like the whole world's against me sometime,s yadig?"
As both Eric and Sam stand upon Elm Street, there is a quiet whirring to life as one of the street lamps seemingly fails to light itself as the sun continues to set upon the autumn-touched town. The trees and their dying, falling leaves are reminiscent of the season, and so is the weather, given the relatively mild temperatures. A few random pedestrians pass the two of you, some with their eyes glued to their phones, and others wearing suits and other work uniforms likely heading home after a day's shift. It seems normal for a spell, but there is a brief moment before the climate turns momentarily stifling as if a sudden burst of humidity hit, before gradually fading back to normal.
Sam pauses, shivering slightly. "Hey, uh, ya feel that?" He pauses, narrowing his eyes.
Eric returns the fist bump over Sam's way, happy to grin riiight back on over. "I get it, fam, I do. Might-as well fukken be with the.. Everything. Just best not to beat yourself- mh?" He pauses, glancing about himself with a little bit of a squint, and then grimaces soon after. Exhaling, he puts on a big frown. "Blud.. I try not to, uh, fuck- egh.."
Eric backs aside from Sam some, turning for Sam some more, eyeing Sam all warily in doing so.
Sam looks over at Eric, and winces. "Oi, you... you okay there, kid?" He tenses slightly.
A few errant passersby continue to tread past both Sam and Eric, some of which sparing a passing glance of curiosity towards the exchange between the two men. However, when their gazes seem to meet upon Sam, some narrow their eyes in suspicion, others hold a hand to their mouth in disgust, and one even pulls their child to the other side of the sidewalk as they pass, careful to keep them away from Sam.
Sam looks himself all over, looking more than a little uneasy, and certainly completely unaware of how to act. "Fuck..." He flicks through his phone, a list of names greyed out... not available.
Eric keeps his gaze on Sam, hesitant, jaw clenching briefly, taking a while yet to find the words before he speaks up again: "Fam.. Blud. What- what did you- what did they do to.. What happened to you, what- what did you /do/ today, man?" He has to force himself, really, to keep up an expression with a semblance of normalcy, to really keep his gaze on Sam without an actual cringe of fear
Sam looks at Eric, and blinks repeatedly. "What?" His hands visibly shake as he tries a few numbers, seemingly getting no connection. "Fuck!"
Eric lifts a finger to point at Sam, the simple process of which still has the gesture come out all shaky and hesitant-like. "Y-you.. Y-you did- you- it was some FREAKY shit wasn't it, some- what- you just- what did you DO, man, you- you prodded at the WRONG stuff, AGAIN, why can't you just.. Why you gotta fuck that shit up EVERY SINGLE TIME?!" His breath quickens, and he steps on back a bit more, further, having no build, means, or hope in picking fight over flight.. If even from what might seem to be an increasingly bewildered man, and nothing else.
The circumstances around both Eric and Sam take sudden, obvious turn away from the subtle as a small pebble whistles through the air. Yet, Sam's wariness allows him to know that something is flying towards him, though the what is likely uncertain. "Get lost, creep!" a small voice exclaims, its source likely a child given its tone.
Sam ducks low, and turns, trying to avoid whatever is being thrown as he frantically presses numbers on his phone. 9, 1, 1. He shakes his head slowly towards Eric. "I don't fuckin' know, man, shit just happens." He seems more upset by Eric's words, than anything else, though his eyes dart around rapidly as he looks at his surroundings. He seems to want to bolt, but his eyes fix on Eric. "Eric. Calm the fuck down, please." His hands tremble as more and more of that cocky demeanor melts away.
Eric seems deeply unconvinced of whatever calmness he supposedly must show, and even regains a measure of steadiness as his finger points right at Sam directly, the earlier quiver becoming a thing of the past. "I- I AM- YOU have been all fucking.. Brash, and yolo, and.. It's trouble, man, it follows -you-, the ghosts, the Russian flame-temple-freaks, everything- every time it's YOU, and you KEEP DOING IT, even now with the salt guy, why can't you just stop, cut it out, why you gotta go from problem to issue to nasty fukken.. Why you gotta be like that, blud, fuck is wrong with you?!"
While Sam fumbles with his phone, a few errant sound effects ring out from the device as Sam's thumbs touch the numbers upon its touch screen. Yet, the urgent nature of Sam's fumbling causes him to screw up with the first attempt. The second, fortunately, rings true after backspacing and re-trying after his first failed attempt. Whether automated or dutiful, Sam's phone receives a response almost immediately: "911, what's your emergency?" Meanwhile, more people begin to crowd around the exchange between Sam and Eric -- though not as bystanders, each of them seems to be taking Eric's stance, staring at Sam with a look that betrays clear disdain, even hatred. "Yeah, let him have it!" cries one voice, masculine in its tones. "Can't believe they let people like that walk around here freely..." says another, elderly and feminine in its delivery.
Each word makes Sam recoil, and he trembles heavily as he balls a fist, and blenches it hard at his side. "I never asked for none of this bullshit, yeh?" His free hand keeps dialing, then, when he finally reaches the line, he speaks, a tremble in his voice. "Yeah, uh.. Some trouble... can you please send Special Deputy Valentin?" He seems to speak that name as a sort of hail-mary, looking around as he realizes he's quite surrounded.
"Ych..." a voice on the phone says, as if something in Sam's own voice was causing her to recoil even at a distance. "Can I get your location, please?" The voice then demands, insistent and impatient. It is hard to hear the request, however, amidst the rising cries of disdain and vicious enmity that continues to build up with the small crowd that has circled around both Sam and Eric. "Let him know how you really feel, pal!" another voice cries, encouraging Eric. "Yeah! Let him have it!"
"I am trying to TALK to you and you just- put the damn phone down and EXPLAIN YOURSELF blud, what the fuck?" Eric is not an angry person, and the sheer indignance at being snubbed in favor of a phone call riles him up to raise his chest in a very real and instinctive feeling that surely, clearly, instinctive rage really is enough to overcome any foe. "You gonna call the cops- on me, fam? A guy? A fucking guy, whitebread, three words and- it's the cops? That's the big bad fukken gameplan all along? You having a laugh?!"
Sam sighs. "Elm street. In front of the book-store." He lowers the phone, and lets out a long sigh. "Look, kid, I'm sorry." I really am. He tucks the phone away, seemingly resigning himself slightly. He casts his gaze to his feet. "Look, I have no excuse, aight? I'm a fuckup." His shoulders slump as he seems right on the verge of breaking.
As each word pours out of Eric's throat, the small crowd around the two of you roars in both anger and approval as Eric makes his protestations known towards Sam. Like a pack of wolves, the crowd begins to narrow the circular space around the two men and any avenue of egress is increasingly finding itself shorn away. "What a little shit. He's even covered in BLOOD. I bet he's done something HORRID." Another woman issues out a belting shriek as she points from the crowd towards Sam. The operator on the other end of the line breaks past the din and issues forth an annoyed reply towards Sam "I'm afraid she's presently unavailable. We will send another deputy. Please hold." Without missing a beat or prompt from Sam at all, the cheery din of what could best be described as jazzy elevator music issues forth from the speaker on Sam's phone, nearly lost amidst the angry crowd's hooting and hollering.
Insofar lynch mobs are at least a century out of time, and Eric has no business treating a man twice his weight as a whipping boy, something about the moment has him join in with what is entirely too much shouting and yelling for Sam's countenance to take, apparently. Bony arms spread in a questioning gesture, and he stares Sam down a bunch more with the downcast look. It impresses him none at all. "You kidding, fam? Fuckup? Almost got your ass KILLED at Rosie's, and then- cemetery bullshit, and, and.. Guns- guns!! And the Russian shit, and the fire-stone place, and- all of it, man, think of it! THINK! You were gonna leap headfirst at a nightmare that.. How fucking STUPID do you gotta be to fall for shit like that?!" In the berating, in reaching for accusations and insults, he draws nearer, high on the deeply human and ancestral fervor of a man driving down his own, he ends up lunging at Sam with two hands, only knowing to quite just shove Sam back, hard as deeply untrained arms can really do. There's even something between a growl and a roar, long-suppressed urges coming to a head in his attempt to do just that
Sam recoils as he is shoved, the strength doing nothing much, though he does seem extremely hesitant to fight back. He seems to panic hard. He bites down hard on his own lips, piercing the flesh, and looking at Eric. "Look, man, I'm sorry, aight?" He wipes his mouth, a slight amount of blood on his fingers as he goes to one knee, and looks up at Eric. "I just want us to stick together, yeh? You, me, against the world. I can take that. But I ain't nuthing without you." He tilts his head up, and pause,s trembling all over. "Please. Help me." He places his hand onto the floor, firmly, smearing the blood from his lips onto the asphalt.
Finally! Violence! The crowd roars with enthusiasm as Eric makes a lunge with both hands towards Sam. Jeers and shouts of encouragement and escalation get lost amidst the din of the darkening street. Even now, the occasional car slows down on the street to spectate what exactly is going on. As Sam bites down on his lip and smears the blood onto the asphalt, something wanes in the air, and the crowd wanes slightly in its violent disposition towards Sam. Finally, the whir and cry of a telltale police siren fills the air and, without missing a beat, something causes the crowd to begin to disperse near immediately with only the most enthralled in the violence wrapped up in its passion despite the now obvious police presence. With emphasis, one of the male onlookers takes an opportunity to plant the tip of boot right into the side of Sam's ribs as Sam takes a knee. "Haven Sheriff Department. Disperse. Disperse." The voice booms from a speaker on the police car, and even those who were tenacious enough to remain in the crowd do as the loud speaker commands, quickly leaving only Sam and Eric.
A lean, masculine man with jet black hair and sunglasses in defiance of the setting sun steps out of the police car and watches the people disperse with only the slightest bit of head movement before he slams the driver's side door behind with a loud thud. It's when his eyes go towards both Eric and Sam does his disposition change, and even the officer's brow furrows with clear disdain at the proceedings. Without missing a beat, and almost horrifyingly, the officer pulls out a handgun and points it -- squarely at Sam. "Get down on the ground. Now." The voice is demanding, clear in its threat.
Eric finds himself looking on with only the very smallest hint of terror at what is a far more violent kick than his own shove had been.. And, with the crowd dispersing, with so very few people baying for literal blood, with less the encouragement, finds himself motionless, unguided perhaps. A single clumsy shove still leaves him a clean contrast to the couple bruises and ugly-looking spatters on Sam's form, not moving an inch away once the police does show up. That command to disperse likely wasn't aimed at him anyhow... And when the guns come out, when it's a very good idea not to move, it isn't his lanky frame they get aimed at. "Fucking.. Fucking idiot." His voice is more of a hoarse whisper, the early frantic quality making way for something much quieter, much lower. "Shoulda just.. Chilled. Fucking- dipshit- ugh.."
Sam does NOT hesitate, he falls flat on the ground, putting his hands behind his head as his New-york survival instincts kick in. He remains still, his lips moving silently in a repeat of what he was saying earlier, almost like a literal hail-mary. His body trembles, and his face is twisted in dogged determination as he just awaits the further actions of the officer-of-the-hopefully-just-law.
The officer has his index finger on the trigger and everything seems to be screaming in his body language to pull the trigger on Sam, but the officer hesitates before he finally lunging forward to place cuffs upon Sam. "You're under arrest," the officer says with an incredulous tone, as if he couldn't believe it himself. "You'll be coming with me back to the st..." The officer pauses, the cop shaking his head as if there were something loose inside it that he needed to eject out. "Fuck," the man's voice grumbles, glaring down at Sam. "I see what's going on. Fucking again, though?" Removing his cuffs from his belt, he secures the steel links about both of Sam's wrists and then uses his strength to lift the man up rather roughly by his forearm. "You're coming with me. For all of our sakes."
Eric continues to look on even after having quieted down, breath still heavy, chest heaving just some. He frowns at Sam, all deeply, not even managing to summon pity so much as.. Relief? Tugging at a jacket sleeve, giving the fabulously helpful officers of the law all the space they need, he looks on if just to confirm what he seems to have been so very sure of: the man fucked up. Incredibly, immensely much. The arrest is surely the final nail in that particular guilt-shaped coffin, right?
Sam closes his eyes as he all but feels the malice in the officer's intent. He then lets out a sigh of relief as the cuffs are placed onto him, and he casts a look to Eric, a little like a lost puppy. He complies with the cop, his lip still bloodied as he turns, but not before casting Eric a look, somewhat akin a kicked, and beaten dog. He is blinking rapidly, the stress seemingly having caused his eyes to water up. Surely it's the exertion.
Eric blinks all slowly, once, twice, looking on with a twitch in the jaw. He shakes his head a bit, and grumbles frustratedly as he glances at one of those friend-shoving hands, as if grasping for something or another not quite in reach.
Unceremoniously without a hint of civility, the officer leads Sam towards the back of the police car. Reaching forward to open the door, the officer curtly shoves Sam into the backseat without so much as a reading of Sam's rights. Without even bothering to check to see if Sam is securely in the vehicle, the officer slams the back door shut and begins to make his way back towards the front seat. "Stay away from him for a bit. For your own sake." The officer spares Eric only a sidelong glance, not even bothering to inquire as to the relationship between Sam and Eric, nor does it seem that the man even cares. Instead, the cop swiftly makes his way into the front seat of the car and, with a turn of the ignition, begins to make his way down the street and towards the north side of town.
Sam just plops down onto the back-seat, perhaps breathing a sigh of relief as he looks back at Eric. He surely is in a lot of trouble, but at least one of the two is out of hot water, right?
As the situation escalates, a child's taunt turns the crowd's curiosity into aggression, pinning Sam as the source of unease. Sam, struggling with isolation and public disdain, attempts to connect with Eric, his plea for solidarity only met with accusations of recklessness. The arrival of the police amplifies the situation's severity, with the officer's immediate hostility towards Sam highlighting the curse's influence on human perceptions. Despite Sam's compliance, his arrest underlines the harsh realities of his supernatural affliction, leaving Eric to grapple with his own reactions as Sam is taken away, broadcasting a poignant message about the complexities of friendship and the heavy toll of unseen burdens.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRTyler):SRTyler)
[Mon Oct 28 2024]
On Elm Street
It is dusk, about 60F(15C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Sam says, with a nod, "Well, that's that."
(Your target has been cursed with persecution, it is up to them to survive a world suddenly turned hostile until their allies can come and help get them to safety or deal with the curse.
)
Sam steps off of his bike, looking down at his phone. "Oh, hey, that medium is texting me." He shrugs, rolling back his shoulders. "Hey man, sorry if I'm being weird, yeh? Some shit went down earlier that's got me all fucked."
"You did mention the uh.." Eric glances about a bit, if just to make sure he's not about to reveal all he knows to absolute crowds of randos. "The other ghost shit, fam. It's all good. Just lookin' out." The man raises his right shoulder once, none too agitated really.
Sam just offers Eric a fist-bump, smiling wryly. "Appriciate that, man. Feels like the whole world's against me sometime,s yadig?"
As both Eric and Sam stand upon Elm Street, there is a quiet whirring to life as one of the street lamps seemingly fails to light itself as the sun continues to set upon the autumn-touched town. The trees and their dying, falling leaves are reminiscent of the season, and so is the weather, given the relatively mild temperatures. A few random pedestrians pass the two of you, some with their eyes glued to their phones, and others wearing suits and other work uniforms likely heading home after a day's shift. It seems normal for a spell, but there is a brief moment before the climate turns momentarily stifling as if a sudden burst of humidity hit, before gradually fading back to normal.
Sam pauses, shivering slightly. "Hey, uh, ya feel that?" He pauses, narrowing his eyes.
Eric returns the fist bump over Sam's way, happy to grin riiight back on over. "I get it, fam, I do. Might-as well fukken be with the.. Everything. Just best not to beat yourself- mh?" He pauses, glancing about himself with a little bit of a squint, and then grimaces soon after. Exhaling, he puts on a big frown. "Blud.. I try not to, uh, fuck- egh.."
Eric backs aside from Sam some, turning for Sam some more, eyeing Sam all warily in doing so.
Sam looks over at Eric, and winces. "Oi, you... you okay there, kid?" He tenses slightly.
A few errant passersby continue to tread past both Sam and Eric, some of which sparing a passing glance of curiosity towards the exchange between the two men. However, when their gazes seem to meet upon Sam, some narrow their eyes in suspicion, others hold a hand to their mouth in disgust, and one even pulls their child to the other side of the sidewalk as they pass, careful to keep them away from Sam.
Sam looks himself all over, looking more than a little uneasy, and certainly completely unaware of how to act. "Fuck..." He flicks through his phone, a list of names greyed out... not available.
Eric keeps his gaze on Sam, hesitant, jaw clenching briefly, taking a while yet to find the words before he speaks up again: "Fam.. Blud. What- what did you- what did they do to.. What happened to you, what- what did you /do/ today, man?" He has to force himself, really, to keep up an expression with a semblance of normalcy, to really keep his gaze on Sam without an actual cringe of fear
Sam looks at Eric, and blinks repeatedly. "What?" His hands visibly shake as he tries a few numbers, seemingly getting no connection. "Fuck!"
Eric lifts a finger to point at Sam, the simple process of which still has the gesture come out all shaky and hesitant-like. "Y-you.. Y-you did- you- it was some FREAKY shit wasn't it, some- what- you just- what did you DO, man, you- you prodded at the WRONG stuff, AGAIN, why can't you just.. Why you gotta fuck that shit up EVERY SINGLE TIME?!" His breath quickens, and he steps on back a bit more, further, having no build, means, or hope in picking fight over flight.. If even from what might seem to be an increasingly bewildered man, and nothing else.
The circumstances around both Eric and Sam take sudden, obvious turn away from the subtle as a small pebble whistles through the air. Yet, Sam's wariness allows him to know that something is flying towards him, though the what is likely uncertain. "Get lost, creep!" a small voice exclaims, its source likely a child given its tone.
Sam ducks low, and turns, trying to avoid whatever is being thrown as he frantically presses numbers on his phone. 9, 1, 1. He shakes his head slowly towards Eric. "I don't fuckin' know, man, shit just happens." He seems more upset by Eric's words, than anything else, though his eyes dart around rapidly as he looks at his surroundings. He seems to want to bolt, but his eyes fix on Eric. "Eric. Calm the fuck down, please." His hands tremble as more and more of that cocky demeanor melts away.
Eric seems deeply unconvinced of whatever calmness he supposedly must show, and even regains a measure of steadiness as his finger points right at Sam directly, the earlier quiver becoming a thing of the past. "I- I AM- YOU have been all fucking.. Brash, and yolo, and.. It's trouble, man, it follows -you-, the ghosts, the Russian flame-temple-freaks, everything- every time it's YOU, and you KEEP DOING IT, even now with the salt guy, why can't you just stop, cut it out, why you gotta go from problem to issue to nasty fukken.. Why you gotta be like that, blud, fuck is wrong with you?!"
While Sam fumbles with his phone, a few errant sound effects ring out from the device as Sam's thumbs touch the numbers upon its touch screen. Yet, the urgent nature of Sam's fumbling causes him to screw up with the first attempt. The second, fortunately, rings true after backspacing and re-trying after his first failed attempt. Whether automated or dutiful, Sam's phone receives a response almost immediately: "911, what's your emergency?" Meanwhile, more people begin to crowd around the exchange between Sam and Eric -- though not as bystanders, each of them seems to be taking Eric's stance, staring at Sam with a look that betrays clear disdain, even hatred. "Yeah, let him have it!" cries one voice, masculine in its tones. "Can't believe they let people like that walk around here freely..." says another, elderly and feminine in its delivery.
Each word makes Sam recoil, and he trembles heavily as he balls a fist, and blenches it hard at his side. "I never asked for none of this bullshit, yeh?" His free hand keeps dialing, then, when he finally reaches the line, he speaks, a tremble in his voice. "Yeah, uh.. Some trouble... can you please send Special Deputy Valentin?" He seems to speak that name as a sort of hail-mary, looking around as he realizes he's quite surrounded.
"Ych..." a voice on the phone says, as if something in Sam's own voice was causing her to recoil even at a distance. "Can I get your location, please?" The voice then demands, insistent and impatient. It is hard to hear the request, however, amidst the rising cries of disdain and vicious enmity that continues to build up with the small crowd that has circled around both Sam and Eric. "Let him know how you really feel, pal!" another voice cries, encouraging Eric. "Yeah! Let him have it!"
"I am trying to TALK to you and you just- put the damn phone down and EXPLAIN YOURSELF blud, what the fuck?" Eric is not an angry person, and the sheer indignance at being snubbed in favor of a phone call riles him up to raise his chest in a very real and instinctive feeling that surely, clearly, instinctive rage really is enough to overcome any foe. "You gonna call the cops- on me, fam? A guy? A fucking guy, whitebread, three words and- it's the cops? That's the big bad fukken gameplan all along? You having a laugh?!"
Sam sighs. "Elm street. In front of the book-store." He lowers the phone, and lets out a long sigh. "Look, kid, I'm sorry." I really am. He tucks the phone away, seemingly resigning himself slightly. He casts his gaze to his feet. "Look, I have no excuse, aight? I'm a fuckup." His shoulders slump as he seems right on the verge of breaking.
As each word pours out of Eric's throat, the small crowd around the two of you roars in both anger and approval as Eric makes his protestations known towards Sam. Like a pack of wolves, the crowd begins to narrow the circular space around the two men and any avenue of egress is increasingly finding itself shorn away. "What a little shit. He's even covered in BLOOD. I bet he's done something HORRID." Another woman issues out a belting shriek as she points from the crowd towards Sam. The operator on the other end of the line breaks past the din and issues forth an annoyed reply towards Sam "I'm afraid she's presently unavailable. We will send another deputy. Please hold." Without missing a beat or prompt from Sam at all, the cheery din of what could best be described as jazzy elevator music issues forth from the speaker on Sam's phone, nearly lost amidst the angry crowd's hooting and hollering.
Insofar lynch mobs are at least a century out of time, and Eric has no business treating a man twice his weight as a whipping boy, something about the moment has him join in with what is entirely too much shouting and yelling for Sam's countenance to take, apparently. Bony arms spread in a questioning gesture, and he stares Sam down a bunch more with the downcast look. It impresses him none at all. "You kidding, fam? Fuckup? Almost got your ass KILLED at Rosie's, and then- cemetery bullshit, and, and.. Guns- guns!! And the Russian shit, and the fire-stone place, and- all of it, man, think of it! THINK! You were gonna leap headfirst at a nightmare that.. How fucking STUPID do you gotta be to fall for shit like that?!" In the berating, in reaching for accusations and insults, he draws nearer, high on the deeply human and ancestral fervor of a man driving down his own, he ends up lunging at Sam with two hands, only knowing to quite just shove Sam back, hard as deeply untrained arms can really do. There's even something between a growl and a roar, long-suppressed urges coming to a head in his attempt to do just that
Sam recoils as he is shoved, the strength doing nothing much, though he does seem extremely hesitant to fight back. He seems to panic hard. He bites down hard on his own lips, piercing the flesh, and looking at Eric. "Look, man, I'm sorry, aight?" He wipes his mouth, a slight amount of blood on his fingers as he goes to one knee, and looks up at Eric. "I just want us to stick together, yeh? You, me, against the world. I can take that. But I ain't nuthing without you." He tilts his head up, and pause,s trembling all over. "Please. Help me." He places his hand onto the floor, firmly, smearing the blood from his lips onto the asphalt.
Finally! Violence! The crowd roars with enthusiasm as Eric makes a lunge with both hands towards Sam. Jeers and shouts of encouragement and escalation get lost amidst the din of the darkening street. Even now, the occasional car slows down on the street to spectate what exactly is going on. As Sam bites down on his lip and smears the blood onto the asphalt, something wanes in the air, and the crowd wanes slightly in its violent disposition towards Sam. Finally, the whir and cry of a telltale police siren fills the air and, without missing a beat, something causes the crowd to begin to disperse near immediately with only the most enthralled in the violence wrapped up in its passion despite the now obvious police presence. With emphasis, one of the male onlookers takes an opportunity to plant the tip of boot right into the side of Sam's ribs as Sam takes a knee. "Haven Sheriff Department. Disperse. Disperse." The voice booms from a speaker on the police car, and even those who were tenacious enough to remain in the crowd do as the loud speaker commands, quickly leaving only Sam and Eric.
A lean, masculine man with jet black hair and sunglasses in defiance of the setting sun steps out of the police car and watches the people disperse with only the slightest bit of head movement before he slams the driver's side door behind with a loud thud. It's when his eyes go towards both Eric and Sam does his disposition change, and even the officer's brow furrows with clear disdain at the proceedings. Without missing a beat, and almost horrifyingly, the officer pulls out a handgun and points it -- squarely at Sam. "Get down on the ground. Now." The voice is demanding, clear in its threat.
Eric finds himself looking on with only the very smallest hint of terror at what is a far more violent kick than his own shove had been.. And, with the crowd dispersing, with so very few people baying for literal blood, with less the encouragement, finds himself motionless, unguided perhaps. A single clumsy shove still leaves him a clean contrast to the couple bruises and ugly-looking spatters on Sam's form, not moving an inch away once the police does show up. That command to disperse likely wasn't aimed at him anyhow... And when the guns come out, when it's a very good idea not to move, it isn't his lanky frame they get aimed at. "Fucking.. Fucking idiot." His voice is more of a hoarse whisper, the early frantic quality making way for something much quieter, much lower. "Shoulda just.. Chilled. Fucking- dipshit- ugh.."
Sam does NOT hesitate, he falls flat on the ground, putting his hands behind his head as his New-york survival instincts kick in. He remains still, his lips moving silently in a repeat of what he was saying earlier, almost like a literal hail-mary. His body trembles, and his face is twisted in dogged determination as he just awaits the further actions of the officer-of-the-hopefully-just-law.
The officer has his index finger on the trigger and everything seems to be screaming in his body language to pull the trigger on Sam, but the officer hesitates before he finally lunging forward to place cuffs upon Sam. "You're under arrest," the officer says with an incredulous tone, as if he couldn't believe it himself. "You'll be coming with me back to the st..." The officer pauses, the cop shaking his head as if there were something loose inside it that he needed to eject out. "Fuck," the man's voice grumbles, glaring down at Sam. "I see what's going on. Fucking again, though?" Removing his cuffs from his belt, he secures the steel links about both of Sam's wrists and then uses his strength to lift the man up rather roughly by his forearm. "You're coming with me. For all of our sakes."
Eric continues to look on even after having quieted down, breath still heavy, chest heaving just some. He frowns at Sam, all deeply, not even managing to summon pity so much as.. Relief? Tugging at a jacket sleeve, giving the fabulously helpful officers of the law all the space they need, he looks on if just to confirm what he seems to have been so very sure of: the man fucked up. Incredibly, immensely much. The arrest is surely the final nail in that particular guilt-shaped coffin, right?
Sam closes his eyes as he all but feels the malice in the officer's intent. He then lets out a sigh of relief as the cuffs are placed onto him, and he casts a look to Eric, a little like a lost puppy. He complies with the cop, his lip still bloodied as he turns, but not before casting Eric a look, somewhat akin a kicked, and beaten dog. He is blinking rapidly, the stress seemingly having caused his eyes to water up. Surely it's the exertion.
Eric blinks all slowly, once, twice, looking on with a twitch in the jaw. He shakes his head a bit, and grumbles frustratedly as he glances at one of those friend-shoving hands, as if grasping for something or another not quite in reach.
Unceremoniously without a hint of civility, the officer leads Sam towards the back of the police car. Reaching forward to open the door, the officer curtly shoves Sam into the backseat without so much as a reading of Sam's rights. Without even bothering to check to see if Sam is securely in the vehicle, the officer slams the back door shut and begins to make his way back towards the front seat. "Stay away from him for a bit. For your own sake." The officer spares Eric only a sidelong glance, not even bothering to inquire as to the relationship between Sam and Eric, nor does it seem that the man even cares. Instead, the cop swiftly makes his way into the front seat of the car and, with a turn of the ignition, begins to make his way down the street and towards the north side of town.
Sam just plops down onto the back-seat, perhaps breathing a sigh of relief as he looks back at Eric. He surely is in a lot of trouble, but at least one of the two is out of hot water, right?