Encounterlogs
Sams Odd Encounter Sr Victoria 241224
On a quiet, cold evening in Haven, Sam finds himself drawn from the solace of his apartment by a mysterious call for help. The caller, a young man burdened with a cursed artifact capable of summoning a powerful demon, wishes to defect from a dangerous group known as The Destined Host. The artifact, a clear orb with dark swirls moving within, holds untold power and peril. The young man seeks Sam's aid in exchange for the artifact, hoping to escape the dangerous path he's found himself on. Sam, recognizing the gravity of the situation and the opportunity before him, agrees to the exchange, promising to protect the man and use the artifact for purposes other than those intended by The Destined Host. As they make the exchange in a moonlit clearing near Sam's apartment, they become aware of approaching figures, prompting them to flee into the shadows, with Sam ensuring the man's safety.
In a different thread of fate, Lark finds herself unexpectedly accused of digital piracy by Officer Tony Green, who claims she is under arrest for downloading Adobe Photoshop illegally. Rashid, who is with her, questions the officer's integrity and the absurdity of the situation. As the officer insists on Lark's arrest and hints at a willingness to overlook the charges for a bribe, Rashid intervenes physically, leading to a scuffle. Despite Rashid's efforts—including a knee to the officer's groin and a stun from a taser—confusion reigns until Rashid employs hypnotism to make the officer forget the entire incident and believe he was assaulted by an unknown assailant. The officer, now believing he has another matter to attend to, limps away, leaving Lark and Rashid to process the bewildering encounter.
These intertwined tales of confrontation, supernatural dealings, and quick thinking showcase the darker, often ambiguous moral landscape of Haven. Sam's encounter highlights the complexities of power, loyalty, and choice, as he navigates the dangers of aligning with those holding cursed artifacts. Meanwhile, Lark's run-in with the law—a mixture of confusion, fear, and manipulation—exposes the everyday challenges and peculiarities faced by the residents of a town where not all is as it seems.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRVictoria):SRVictoria)
[Mon Dec 23 2024]
In a Cozy Living Room
The walls of this room shifts in shades, from the blue of the entryway shifting to teal to the kitchen in the east, swinging to a vibrant green after coming back in, dipping into the book nook, before turning teal and blue more rapidly on the western wall, so that it fades perfectly into the blue of that doorway.
The walls of this room shifts in shades, from the blue of the entryway shifting to teal to the kitchen in the east, swinging to a vibrant green after coming back in, dipping into the book nook, before turning teal and blue more rapidly on the western wall, so that it The booknook to the south counterpoints directly to the TV setup on the north end, with its modern console and hidden wiring. The couch, black leather, sits against the western wall, with an ottoman against the southern wall perfect for whoever is in the corner to put their feet on. In the western half of the center of the room, in easy reach of the couch, is an old, round wooden table, where anyone can place their food and drinks.perfectly into the blue of that doorway.
Soft plush carpeting round off the room, cut off sharply at the eastern end by the kitchen's linoleum, no wall between the two areas. This allows those in the kitchen to watch the TV, or easily speak to those lounging in the living room.
It is night, about 38F(3C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky. There is a waning crescent moon.
(The Destined Host has recently acquired a cursed artifact said to have the power to bring a powerful demon into our realm. Your target, who has ties to this group, has been given the task of guarding this artifact. However, they've been having second thoughts about their allegiance and are considering defecting in order to prevent the artifact from being used. The encounter begins with them contacting the group for help, offering to hand over the artifact in exchange for protection from The Destined Host. The group must then devise a plan to safely extract both the target and the artifact without alerting The Destined Host. This encounter will involve elements of stealth, negotiation, and potentially combat if things go awry.)
Leaning back on the couch with his feet propped up, Sam lazily puts one hand behind his head. He has a cold bottle of bud-light in his hand, and he takes a swig. The jock is freshly showered, though he is tired as heck.
After that swig, he briefly puts down his bottle, rubbing a hand across his shoulder, where a wound is slowly healing. Break an Omelet to make eggs and whatnot.
The night in Haven is calm and still, a quiet peace settling over the city, though a chill lingered in the air. It's two days before Christmas, and the streets outside are eerily quiet, with only the occasional car passing by. Inside his apartment, Sam sits alone, nursing a drink in the dim light of the room. The soft hum of household appliances perhaps the only sound that accompanies him, the world beyond his windows distant and unimportant for the moment. Everything feels as it should, solitary, familiar, and, for the time being, peaceful.
Just as Sam settles into the quiet comfort of the evening, his phone buzzes, breaking the stillness. Before he can even check, the phone buzzes again, followed by a persistent ring. The sound cuts through the calm like a sharp knife, and he can feel the weight of the moment shifting. Its as if someone is determined to pull him out of his solitude, refusing to let him sink back into the peace of his own thoughts. Whoever it is, theyre not going to let him rest tonight.
A soft sigh escapes Sam's lips, and he sits up slightly straighter. He takes a good swig of his beer, puts it down, and, finally, takes his phone from the pocket of his jacket.
"Yhello?" He does not, in fact, check the caller ID. He never does. If they have his number, and are calling him, they must have a good reason for it, right?" "
Lifting the phone to his ear, Sam's fingers feel the cool finish of the device against his skin as he listens. A gruff voice crackles through the speaker, preceded by a heavy sigh. "Sam?" the voice asks, almost as if uncertain. "The owner of the Trove?" Theres a brief pause, another huff of breath, and then the voice continues, not waiting for any response. "I need your help. Come alone. If you help me, I have something that could help you in return."
Before Sam has a chance to process, the call abruptly drops, leaving nothing but the quiet hum of his phone and the unsettling stillness of his apartment. The silence presses in, heavier now, as the words linger in the air, and the phone screen fades to black.
The darkness on the screen doesnt last long. A moment later, the phone lights up again, vibrating lightly in Sam's hand. As he glances to it, he sees a new text. The message is brief but clear: Theres a clearing in the woods not far from your place. Youll know it when you see it. Come alone.
Letting out a soft sigh after a moment's of contemplation, Sam takes that bottle, chugs it, and puts it with the rest of the empty bottles in the kitchen. Next, he moves over to his bike. He looks down at his suit, and pauses. Reaching into the trunk of his bike, he takes out a ceramic plated vest, and puts it on, securing the thing under the jacket of his suit. Better safe than sorry, especially in Haven.
Sufficiently decked out, the man heads north, along Elm's Bane, towards the clearing the man described. Good thing he dark does not bother him that much, because if it was hiking? Well, he'd be as lost as that time with the Satyr.
The clearing isnt deep in the woods at all, just a short walk from Sam's apartment, the trees parting to reveal a quiet space bathed in the soft light of the moon. A young man sits cross legged in the center, his attention focused on a small box in his hands. He's dressed in dark, nondescript clothing, clearly chosen for blending in with his surroundings. His dark, curly hair falls just over the top of thick black glasses, and his posture is tense, as if he's been waiting but also trying to appear casual.
Sam steps into the clearing, his footsteps barely making a sound on the soft earth, but the young man notices him immediately. He jumps to his feet, his body stiffening as he quickly hides the box behind his back, eyes darting to Sam with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.
"I wasnt doing any" he starts, his voice cutting off abruptly as if realizing something. His eyes narrow, studying Sam's face for a moment, and then the realization dawns. "Sam?" he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as if confirming that the person standing before him is the same one hed called just moments ago.
Giving the young man his usual one over, Sam's eyes flit up and down assessively. Symbols, nightmare charm, any sect or society markings... aura, the usual due dilligence when meeting someone new.
With that behind him, he looks at the box, then at the man, in that order. "That'd be me." He looks to the man again. "Whatcha got me going out in the butt-freezing cold for, chum?" He squints at the man from behind his shades, the Jock not being dressed for the cold weather.
The young man glances around the clearing, his eyes flicking nervously from tree to tree, as if expecting someone or something to emerge from the shadows. He swallows hard, the tension in his posture evident, before he makes a decision. With a quick flick of his fingers, he beckons Sam over, urging him to come closer.
When Sam steps into the circle of the clearing, the man leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if to make sure no one else can overhear. Listen, he says, his tone urgent, his eyes darting continuously, scanning the darkness. We dont have a lot of time.
A heavy sigh escapes him, and he pulls the box from behind his back, holding it out toward Sam, the object looking almost out of place in the moonlight. He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing the gravity of what he's about to say, then meets Sam's gaze with a level of seriousness that immediately shifts the air between them.
"I'm not going to lie to you," he continues, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Im with the Destined Host." The words hang in the air like a challenge, their weight settling between them as Sam processes what he's just heard. "I need help, and my contacts outside tell me you're someone who can do what I need."
Almost too casually, Sam reaches into the backpack that's slung over his back, then freezes. Shit. Where normally he'd have his gun, he in fact does not seem to have it. Barring that, he does approach, though a hand rests on the hilt of an oily-black blade in a hidden sheath at his side.
"Keep talkin'." He looks down at the man, making sure to step right into his personal space, easily enough. The jock does not draw his knife, but he also leaves very little room for interpretation: if the young man before him tries /anything/, the blond arcanist is not about to be kind.
The man casts a wary glance at Sam, his eyes narrowing slightly as if measuring how much to reveal. He nods his head toward the box in his hands, his voice dropping even lower. "This box..." he begins, his words trailing off as he shifts uncomfortably, his gaze briefly lingering on the object before him. "I've been with the Destined Host a long time," he continues, his voice tinged with a mix of fatigue and unease. "But this... even makes me nervous."
Theres a pause as he looks down at the box in his hands, clearly weighing something. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifts the lid. The soft creak of the hinges breaks the silence of the night, and inside, nestled in the velvet lining, rests a nearly crystal-clear orb. It looks ordinary enough at first glance, just a smooth, almost ethereal sphere, its surface glowing faintly in the moonlight.
But as Sam draws closer, his eyes are drawn to the dark swirls moving within the orb, shifting in a slow, hypnotic dance. It's an unsettling sight, something that doesnt belong in something so seemingly simple. The swirling patterns seem to shift and stretch, as though the orb is alive, or perhaps hiding something far more dangerous inside.
The man's hand trembles slightly as he holds the box steady, his voice barely a whisper now. This isnt just any artifact, he says, his eyes meeting Sam's with a grave intensity. "They want to summon a demon, more powerful than anything I've seen." A look of anxiety crosses his features. "I'll give it to you, instead, but I don't want to be a part of this anymore. Get me out of here, and it's yours, yeah?"
"A summoning focus, eh?" Sam pauses, barely able to contain the shit-eating grin on his face. He looks down at the man, and offers a hand. "The artifact in exchange for a new life, as part of something else? Is that it?" He looks to the man, and smiles. "If so... Deal."
He stands there, smiling from ear to ear as he stands over the man, clearly beyond pleased with this opportunity.
"Yeah, something like that," the man replies quickly, his voice still low and cautious, his eyes flicking around the clearing once more, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. His anxiety is palpable, his every motion filled with urgency. He shifts his weight, as if ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
"More of our guys are supposed to come pick it up," he continues, his tone tightening as he speaks. "And I need to be way out of here before they can get here." He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice even further, as if the very trees themselves might be listening. "They cant find me. Or you."
He takes a quick breath, trying to steady himself. "Just take it. Take the box, and get out of here with me." His eyes lock onto Sam's, a mix of desperation and something darker flashing behind them. "Trust me, you dont want to stick around when they show up."
As if on queue, whispered voices and crunching steps can be heard, and they're not far away.
Pulling out his arcane focus, Sam nods, tugging the man along as he tries to just slip away. He stays low, the jock seemingly no stranger to sneaking about. He does tuck that strange box away into his backpack, a mild grin playing across his lips.
When he thinks he is somewhere slightly obscured, he taps at his phone, sending a text away. "Ey Dean, could use extraction. Got a +1. Converted cultist." He sends off the text, and looks around, trying to see how much time if any he would have to spare, or if stalling was the better option.
Before Sam can move, the man suddenly freezes, his finger shooting out to point urgently to the ground. His eyes widen, his expression shifting to one of pure tension. The foliage beneath their feet, already brittle and dry from the chill in the air, looks eager to betray them. The leaves rustle loudly, sharp and unmistakable, as if the earth itself is giving them away. The sound grows louder, closer as the footsteps continue in the direction of the pair. The man's eyes widen, his grip tightening on the box as his body tenses, ready for flight.
"We have to move," the man growls, his voice harsh with urgency. He takes a step back, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes darting to the approaching sounds, clearly agitated. "But if you leave a way for them to track you, we're both dead."
Hissing softly, Sam pushes up to his feet, the jock frantically thinking. "Fuckin' shoulda brought my bike..." He looks to the man. "Ya got a nightmare-charm?" He asks, rifling though his backpack, nothing of real use in there either. A soft scowl under his breath then, as the jock wracks his brain for ideas.
"Course I do," the figure beside Sam snorts, a hint of dark humor flickering in his voice, though the tension is still thick in the air. "It's a must-have when dealing with items like this, or at least thats what the person I picked it up from says. Not the slightest clue what to do with it."
With a quick glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one is too close, the man opens the box once more. This time, he pulls the orb out with careful hands, cradling it in his palm as though it might slip through his fingers at any moment. The object seems to shimmer with a strange energy, almost alive in its own way. He extends his arm toward Sam, offering the orb with a silent plea in his eyes.
"Come on," he urges again, his voice now a low whisper, his eyes darting to the shadows, the footsteps growing ever closer. "We're about out of time. Just... promise me you wont use it to help them."
His words hang in the air, heavy with a kind of unspoken warning. The orb glows faintly in his outstretched hand, and Sam can feel the weight of the choice. Whatever it is, whatever this orb holds, its clear that its not something to be taken lightly. And yet, in that moment, the urgency is overwhelming. They have no more time.
"Deal. It will not be used for their purposes." Sam speaks, the words coming easily, as he has no intention to break them. He smiles, extending a hand to the man for that orb.
"All right, let's hop into the nightmare, move faster that way. I know a few hidden nooks and crannies we can stash you until the cavalry arrives." He nods to the man, getting ready to haul ass.
Nodding emphatically, the man leaves the box behind in the clearing without a second thought, his eyes flashing with resolve as he looks back at Sam. "I need you to protect me," he states, his voice a low, urgent command. "From them."
Theres a finality to his words, as though he knows theyre past the point of no return. With a quick, desperate glance toward the shadows and the growing sound of footsteps, the man places the orb into someone waiting hand. The object feels strangely warm, almost alive, as if it holds a power waiting to be unleashed.
As they begin to move as silently as possible, the distance between them and the approaching figures shrinks with every passing moment, but Sam feels the weight of the orb in his hand, its promise of power and the responsibility that comes with it.
Nodding emphatically, the man leaves the box behind in the clearing without a second thought, his eyes flashing with resolve as he looks back at Sam. "I need you to protect me," he states, his voice a low, urgent command. "From them."
Theres a finality to his words, as though he knows theyre past the point of no return. With a quick, desperate glance toward the shadows and the growing sound of footsteps, the man places the orb into Sam's waiting hand. The object feels strangely warm, almost alive, as if it holds a power waiting to be unleashed.
As they begin to move as silently as possible, the distance between them and the approaching figures shrinks with every passing moment, but Sam feels the weight of the orb in his hand, its promise of power and the responsibility that comes with it.
His prize secured, Sam breathes in slowly, briefly relishing in the taste of the man's panic before he helps him along. The artifact is stashed into that backpack, and he grins some more to himself.
Once that's done, he does in fact lead the man to safety, at least far enough away to step out of the mirror of a nearby bar, on the northside.
Job well done, and time to return for another bud light.
(Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.
)
Lark walks into reception spotting Rashid. "Oh hey good timing!" She waves.
Quirking his lips, Rashid pads inward, glancing over towards Lark. "Assalamu Alaikum," the man intones carefully, with his trusty 'magical brick' sputtering onwards, quite helpfully, "Peace be upon you." His lips twitch slightly and he mutters (with the use of his phone), "I thought it would be easier to find you here first rather than go to metal-demon troughs."
Lark repeats to Rashid after hearing the translation: "Assalamu Alaikum!" The pronunciation is nowhere near perfect, likely butchered. She pulls her phone out and fires off a text.
Lark decides for the translate function via her phone instead. "You have such colorful descriptions for places. I look forward to seeing which place you meant."
Rashid smiles at Lark's words, dipping his head before scrawling Arabic script into his own phone, clicking the translate command. "I am not sure whether that is a compliment, but I shall take it as such. Though, let me repeat my words for you."
The blistery north wind blows over the small township of Haven. People dash about trying to get their last minute Christmas shopping done and the mists that keep sweeping into the town every night doesn't help. Street signs have been dented left and right, with the pole at almost every street corner bent in a odd shape given the many crashes that have been occurring due to inattentive drivers. The shops themselves are full of people at all times of the night, lamenting the closure of the shops they really needed /right now/ even though they have had much of the year to buy and horde Christmas presents.
Still, nothing much seems to be decorated for Christmas in this dreary town, almost as if people are too scared that the flashing lights would draw attention - either that or they're too lazy to take them down again. There were rumors that there was a hanging santa somewhere. Infact of it hanging right outside the college at the 'hanging tree' for whatever else is that tree good for? However, there was no concrete photos snapped - at least not released in public and certainly the santa is now missing from the tree.
For a institution that is supposed to be celebrating the birth of their Lord and Savior, the college is fairly underdecorated. There is a tiny nativity scene on the desk of the reception with a neon sign that pops up saying 'Yay Jesus' and a single lonely wreath that sits on the door of the reception building that Rashid and Lark currently occupy but... that is it.
Today, on Christmas Eve eve the reception hall is fairly barren of students, most of them having headed home to visit family however there are still people scurrying about, attending the clinic and heading to the police department to make reports about their crashed vehicles.
As Lark and Rashid chat, a man with steely green eyes walks out from the rest of the institute. Dressed in the uniform of the Haven police department, the man is balding, with hair in the style of an omelet if the omelet was rather overcooked and overfried. A thick woolen coat adorns his shoulders and in his hands is a thick file. "Lark Hall?" Lark and Rashid can probably overhear as the man starts making his way into the reception. "Urg. Where the hell am I supposed to find a college student on Christmas eve eve? This is ridiculous, she's probably gone home for Christmas I'm jus-." His words cut off as he looks up at Lark, then at the photo, then at Lark, then at the photo. His hand holds the photo upwards until it's parallel with Lark's head at least from his point of view. Thick brows knit together as he looks rather unhappy that his target was... rather easily found. "Hey!" He calls out making his way over towards Lark. "Are you one Lark Hall?"
Lark is in the middle of conversation with Rashid, leaning in to listen closely. But at hearing her name Lark's head snaps up, Glancing around before looking over to the officer. "Yeah, that's me." She blinks a moment, caught off guard. "What can I help you with, officer?"
The green eyed man looks Lark up and down as she identifies herself. "Excellent! Miss Lark Hall, I am Officer Tony Green and you are under arrest. So if you would please not resist, I already had to chase down two perps today and I am exhausted and I wish to no longer run. So turn around, put your hands against the wall so I can pat you down for weapons." The man's gruff voice intones as he gestures towards the closest wall.
Rashid glances over towards the officer, knitting his eyebrows together. There's some sort of skepticism had towards the man, and then pointed at Lark, as he flicks his gaze between the two. There's a moment taken as the Andalusian slowly deciphers everything said. Then, slowly, he speaks into his phone, carefully, whilst his nose wrinkles and a helpless growl emanates from his throat. "Shurta. What is she accused of?"
"What?" Lark shoots back immediately, stunned. "Under arrest? For what?" There's a Furrowing of her brow here, confusion, a little bit of anger, and a slight tremble in her hand, which she stuffs into her rabbit fur overcoat to hide. She nods in agreement with Rashid.
The man looks down at his piece of paper and then back up at Lark. "Miss. I am to arrest you on the grounds of digital piracy. Have you downloaded anything illegal in the last ten years?" He says sternly, turning to look at Rashid, "And you sir, are you her husband?" He asks looking Rashid up and down as well as if assessing for threats.
Apparently, now, Rashid exists to cause the officer more problems, because the first thing he asks, via his phone, is this, "What is digital?" And then he adds, "And how can woman be pirate. She does not own boat. She cannot even sail!"
"Now sir." The officer raises a finger admonishingly towards Rashid, "You will not raise your voice at me sir or I will have you arrested for disturbing a peace officer."
Lark opens her mouth to reply but then her head swivels to blink at Rashid, though she doesn't dwell too long before interjecting. "He's learning English. He's not trying to disturb the peace." Her lips press together in a thin line. "And no I do not recall downloading anything illegal. It's Christmas Eve, what is this about really."
"What is peace officer, I thought you were shurta?" the Andalusian's phone sputters out weakly, whilst Rashid busies himself scrawling up Arabic script to keep up with the conversation. Staring at the officer, he blinks blankly. "I am disturbing you? I ask question though, how is that disturbing? Must be weak man if disturbed by questions. Or not smart."
"Mister Shantanu Narayen is upset that people may try to emulate what this uh Mario Lugio guy did. Thus we are cracking down on people stealing his software. Are you aware miss that theft over a thousand dollars constitutes a major crime and is a felony?" The officer continues to report in his gruff voice, "And according to this.." He looks down at the file he has in his hand, clipped to a clipboard. "You downloaded Adobe Photoshop CS 6 Master edition previously. As that program costs approximately two thousand and six hundred- two thousand and five hundred and ninty nine pardon me, you are hereby under arrest. Please turn and place your hands on the wall before I have to tase you." The man pulls his coat back to show a bright neon yellow taser tucked into his belt. "And you sir." He directs towards Rashid, "Please identify yourself as this person's husband or you have no right to speak here."
"Wait but I didn't shoot anyone!" But at the details of the crime, her neck flushes dark and her eyes grow wide and all Lark says is: "It wasn't me." Classic.
A finger is wagged towards Lark now, "Miss resisting arrest is a crime in itself. I suggest you place your hands on the wall so that I can pat you down and make sure you are not holding weapons." The balding man insists as his beady eyes look Lark up and down again.
Rashid nods towards Lark, leaning against the wall. "Do as shurta says, yes?" his phone sputters out, though, with the Andalusian adopting a far more neutral expression. "This is public space, you are not my Emir, you cannot command me, shurta," is thrown out towards the 'shurta' as well.
"Actually." The 'shurta' turns towards Rashid, "As you are on US soil and either a citizen of the US or a guest of the United States of Americaaa, you are under my jurisiction and you must obey all directions given to you by a peace officer." The man educates Rashid.
Lark reluctantly turns, hands on the wall. "Do you like have a warrant or something? Don't I like, get to have an attorney present? I saw that on Law and Order." Lark remarks, trying to still her trembling hands.
"Actually." The 'shurta' turns towards Rashid, "As you are on US soil and either a citizen of the US or a guest of the United States of Americaaa, you are under my jurisiction and you must obey all directions given to you by a peace officer." The man educates Rashid. (repost for lark)
"I do have an arrest warrent out for your arrest yes." The man waves the paper up and down as he looks over at Lark. "I was on my way to a christmas eve eve party so I am rather upset you were in my way. However given you're here already, there's nothing to do but to put you in a cell to be sorted out after boxing day." He tells Lark solemnly as he tucks the warrent under his arm and starts to pat Lark down.
"Wait what??" Lark glances towards Rashid for help. "Officer there's got to be a mistake..."
The man's big hands starts to pat down Lark all over her body as he looks for weapons, "There is no mistake." The man tells Lark as his hands pat down over her chest, "However. Given there will be alot of paperwork involved.. I may be convinced to ... not see you." His beady eyes dart towards the ATM.
"You are shurta of American kingdom or just Haven?" Rashid wonders tilting his head, not too unlike a dog. To the perceptible, there's an odd way the Andalusian peers at the man. First, at his waists, then at his hands. Watching his eyes carefully, the muslim stares onward, decidedly leaning against the wall, with one foot propped against it. Then, as the officer begins to pat Lark down, the lithe man makes his move, kicking off the wall to lunge a foot. For the officer's foot. His arm to loop around the officer's neck. Or at least the attempt is there.
"Oi!" The officer is pulled off of Lark by Rashid and the pudgy man is wrestled backwards by the arab as he goes for his taser. "Assulting an officer is an arrestable offense!" He shouts, looking over at reception. "Press the alarm!!" Given the haven police department is barely a corridor away.. Rashid may not have made the smartest choice.
Lark stands up, hands going to her mouth in shock with wide eyes as Rashid grabs the officer. "We can fix this!" she blurts out. "We can fix this, everyone calm down!" Her eyes dart to the ATM. "You wanna get to your party, we don't want to stop you, we just want to be left alone. How's a little something for your trouble and we can forget about this?"
"Shurta should be more noble. Less corrupted by ideas of greed and bribes," the Muslim's phone says, before slamming his knee into the officer's crotch. Repetitively. "Look me in the eyes khafir. Or I will make sure it hurts when I force you to do it." Rashid stares, his eyes dilating a little as he undergoes some preparation of some sort, a throaty growl erupting from his throat.
The man in Rashid's arms wheezes as he's kneed in the groin but the man is a trained police officer! He has at least - some - training. The taser is shoved against Rashid's stomach and fired even as the sound of running comes down the corridor. Bowled over from pain from his gonads, the police officer wheezes as he looks over at Lark, "You're gonna need to offer at least triple after what your husband just did!"
Forget trembling, Lark is full on shaking now, watching all of this go down. "Rashid!" she calls out in alarm as he is tazed, rushing to his side. Tears start filling her eyes. "Please, I don't have much but if- if I pay, you'll go away, forever?"
Clearly, Rashid is surprised. For one, that the officer is still able to tase him, and two, that he is being tased. He relinquishes his grip, howling a little in pain as the jolt erupts. It takes a moment to recover, but the man tosses his phone to the side, instead, growling. His phone still picks up the words spoken, "You should not have done that khafir." It's a ploy to grab the man's attention, so that the Andalusian can look him in the eyes. And should that happen, Rashid would render him stunned for a moment, using his hypnotism.
The man falls into a trance as Rashid's eyes catch his although he's still hunched over cupping his groin. He's just a baldling man, unblinkingly staring ahead of his cupping his crotch now.
The man falls into a trance as Rashid's eyes catch his although he's still hunched over cupping his groin. He's just a baldling man, unblinkingly staring ahead of himself* cupping his crotch now.
Lark just stares in shock and confusion.
Slowly approaching, Rashid lowers himself to a knee, grabbing that phone he threw aside. Eyes dilating again, he intones carefully, so that his phone speaks for him. "You will forget the events of this night, my assault upon you, Lark's warrant for arrest, and that you were given a warrant in the first place." While his words are Arabic, his translator does the job of providing meaning to his words whilst the Andalusian resorts to hypnotism. And once he does this, he moves to snatch said warrant from the officer to toss away in the nearby receptacle. Of course after ripping it into a bunch of pieces.
Given the words Rashid actually speaks with his hypnotism is in Arabic.. The police officer apparently can speak Arabic because the google translation certainly doesn't work. He blinks a few times after it's done and looks over at Lark. Then at Rashid whose still kneeling and then at himself whose still cupping his crotch. "Huh?" The man says stupidly, sounding as stupid as he looks as he rightens up. "What... happened?"
Lark gapes like a fish, her mouth wide open as she glances between Rashid and the officer in an effort to process what happened. "You- you had an accident. And hurt yourself," she says to the man still cupping his crotch.
Regarding the officer with distaste, Rashid corrects Lark with some google-translate to help him. "Some thug ran over and hit you in your groin, shurta, they went to beach."
"Oh dearie me not again!" The balding officer tells Lark as he straightens up, patting himself as if double checking his gonads were all still there. "That's the third time this week! I must've blacked out from the pain! This is terrible!" He tries to straighten himself and winces, "Well ma'am thank you for making sure I'm alright. I do believe I have some Christmas eve eve party I'm supposed to be getting to.." He blinks at few times at Rashid's words, "Whaaa? Someone hit me instead? Oh that is not on! I am going to go arrest them right away!" He huffs even as he limps towards the door.
Lark simply bobs her head, holding her breath until the officer is gone.
In a different thread of fate, Lark finds herself unexpectedly accused of digital piracy by Officer Tony Green, who claims she is under arrest for downloading Adobe Photoshop illegally. Rashid, who is with her, questions the officer's integrity and the absurdity of the situation. As the officer insists on Lark's arrest and hints at a willingness to overlook the charges for a bribe, Rashid intervenes physically, leading to a scuffle. Despite Rashid's efforts—including a knee to the officer's groin and a stun from a taser—confusion reigns until Rashid employs hypnotism to make the officer forget the entire incident and believe he was assaulted by an unknown assailant. The officer, now believing he has another matter to attend to, limps away, leaving Lark and Rashid to process the bewildering encounter.
These intertwined tales of confrontation, supernatural dealings, and quick thinking showcase the darker, often ambiguous moral landscape of Haven. Sam's encounter highlights the complexities of power, loyalty, and choice, as he navigates the dangers of aligning with those holding cursed artifacts. Meanwhile, Lark's run-in with the law—a mixture of confusion, fear, and manipulation—exposes the everyday challenges and peculiarities faced by the residents of a town where not all is as it seems.
(Sam's odd encounter(SRVictoria):SRVictoria)
[Mon Dec 23 2024]
In a Cozy Living Room
The walls of this room shifts in shades, from the blue of the entryway shifting to teal to the kitchen in the east, swinging to a vibrant green after coming back in, dipping into the book nook, before turning teal and blue more rapidly on the western wall, so that it fades perfectly into the blue of that doorway.
The walls of this room shifts in shades, from the blue of the entryway shifting to teal to the kitchen in the east, swinging to a vibrant green after coming back in, dipping into the book nook, before turning teal and blue more rapidly on the western wall, so that it The booknook to the south counterpoints directly to the TV setup on the north end, with its modern console and hidden wiring. The couch, black leather, sits against the western wall, with an ottoman against the southern wall perfect for whoever is in the corner to put their feet on. In the western half of the center of the room, in easy reach of the couch, is an old, round wooden table, where anyone can place their food and drinks.perfectly into the blue of that doorway.
Soft plush carpeting round off the room, cut off sharply at the eastern end by the kitchen's linoleum, no wall between the two areas. This allows those in the kitchen to watch the TV, or easily speak to those lounging in the living room.
It is night, about 38F(3C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey clouds in the sky. There is a waning crescent moon.
(The Destined Host has recently acquired a cursed artifact said to have the power to bring a powerful demon into our realm. Your target, who has ties to this group, has been given the task of guarding this artifact. However, they've been having second thoughts about their allegiance and are considering defecting in order to prevent the artifact from being used. The encounter begins with them contacting the group for help, offering to hand over the artifact in exchange for protection from The Destined Host. The group must then devise a plan to safely extract both the target and the artifact without alerting The Destined Host. This encounter will involve elements of stealth, negotiation, and potentially combat if things go awry.)
Leaning back on the couch with his feet propped up, Sam lazily puts one hand behind his head. He has a cold bottle of bud-light in his hand, and he takes a swig. The jock is freshly showered, though he is tired as heck.
After that swig, he briefly puts down his bottle, rubbing a hand across his shoulder, where a wound is slowly healing. Break an Omelet to make eggs and whatnot.
The night in Haven is calm and still, a quiet peace settling over the city, though a chill lingered in the air. It's two days before Christmas, and the streets outside are eerily quiet, with only the occasional car passing by. Inside his apartment, Sam sits alone, nursing a drink in the dim light of the room. The soft hum of household appliances perhaps the only sound that accompanies him, the world beyond his windows distant and unimportant for the moment. Everything feels as it should, solitary, familiar, and, for the time being, peaceful.
Just as Sam settles into the quiet comfort of the evening, his phone buzzes, breaking the stillness. Before he can even check, the phone buzzes again, followed by a persistent ring. The sound cuts through the calm like a sharp knife, and he can feel the weight of the moment shifting. Its as if someone is determined to pull him out of his solitude, refusing to let him sink back into the peace of his own thoughts. Whoever it is, theyre not going to let him rest tonight.
A soft sigh escapes Sam's lips, and he sits up slightly straighter. He takes a good swig of his beer, puts it down, and, finally, takes his phone from the pocket of his jacket.
"Yhello?" He does not, in fact, check the caller ID. He never does. If they have his number, and are calling him, they must have a good reason for it, right?" "
Lifting the phone to his ear, Sam's fingers feel the cool finish of the device against his skin as he listens. A gruff voice crackles through the speaker, preceded by a heavy sigh. "Sam?" the voice asks, almost as if uncertain. "The owner of the Trove?" Theres a brief pause, another huff of breath, and then the voice continues, not waiting for any response. "I need your help. Come alone. If you help me, I have something that could help you in return."
Before Sam has a chance to process, the call abruptly drops, leaving nothing but the quiet hum of his phone and the unsettling stillness of his apartment. The silence presses in, heavier now, as the words linger in the air, and the phone screen fades to black.
The darkness on the screen doesnt last long. A moment later, the phone lights up again, vibrating lightly in Sam's hand. As he glances to it, he sees a new text. The message is brief but clear: Theres a clearing in the woods not far from your place. Youll know it when you see it. Come alone.
Letting out a soft sigh after a moment's of contemplation, Sam takes that bottle, chugs it, and puts it with the rest of the empty bottles in the kitchen. Next, he moves over to his bike. He looks down at his suit, and pauses. Reaching into the trunk of his bike, he takes out a ceramic plated vest, and puts it on, securing the thing under the jacket of his suit. Better safe than sorry, especially in Haven.
Sufficiently decked out, the man heads north, along Elm's Bane, towards the clearing the man described. Good thing he dark does not bother him that much, because if it was hiking? Well, he'd be as lost as that time with the Satyr.
The clearing isnt deep in the woods at all, just a short walk from Sam's apartment, the trees parting to reveal a quiet space bathed in the soft light of the moon. A young man sits cross legged in the center, his attention focused on a small box in his hands. He's dressed in dark, nondescript clothing, clearly chosen for blending in with his surroundings. His dark, curly hair falls just over the top of thick black glasses, and his posture is tense, as if he's been waiting but also trying to appear casual.
Sam steps into the clearing, his footsteps barely making a sound on the soft earth, but the young man notices him immediately. He jumps to his feet, his body stiffening as he quickly hides the box behind his back, eyes darting to Sam with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.
"I wasnt doing any" he starts, his voice cutting off abruptly as if realizing something. His eyes narrow, studying Sam's face for a moment, and then the realization dawns. "Sam?" he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as if confirming that the person standing before him is the same one hed called just moments ago.
Giving the young man his usual one over, Sam's eyes flit up and down assessively. Symbols, nightmare charm, any sect or society markings... aura, the usual due dilligence when meeting someone new.
With that behind him, he looks at the box, then at the man, in that order. "That'd be me." He looks to the man again. "Whatcha got me going out in the butt-freezing cold for, chum?" He squints at the man from behind his shades, the Jock not being dressed for the cold weather.
The young man glances around the clearing, his eyes flicking nervously from tree to tree, as if expecting someone or something to emerge from the shadows. He swallows hard, the tension in his posture evident, before he makes a decision. With a quick flick of his fingers, he beckons Sam over, urging him to come closer.
When Sam steps into the circle of the clearing, the man leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if to make sure no one else can overhear. Listen, he says, his tone urgent, his eyes darting continuously, scanning the darkness. We dont have a lot of time.
A heavy sigh escapes him, and he pulls the box from behind his back, holding it out toward Sam, the object looking almost out of place in the moonlight. He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing the gravity of what he's about to say, then meets Sam's gaze with a level of seriousness that immediately shifts the air between them.
"I'm not going to lie to you," he continues, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Im with the Destined Host." The words hang in the air like a challenge, their weight settling between them as Sam processes what he's just heard. "I need help, and my contacts outside tell me you're someone who can do what I need."
Almost too casually, Sam reaches into the backpack that's slung over his back, then freezes. Shit. Where normally he'd have his gun, he in fact does not seem to have it. Barring that, he does approach, though a hand rests on the hilt of an oily-black blade in a hidden sheath at his side.
"Keep talkin'." He looks down at the man, making sure to step right into his personal space, easily enough. The jock does not draw his knife, but he also leaves very little room for interpretation: if the young man before him tries /anything/, the blond arcanist is not about to be kind.
The man casts a wary glance at Sam, his eyes narrowing slightly as if measuring how much to reveal. He nods his head toward the box in his hands, his voice dropping even lower. "This box..." he begins, his words trailing off as he shifts uncomfortably, his gaze briefly lingering on the object before him. "I've been with the Destined Host a long time," he continues, his voice tinged with a mix of fatigue and unease. "But this... even makes me nervous."
Theres a pause as he looks down at the box in his hands, clearly weighing something. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifts the lid. The soft creak of the hinges breaks the silence of the night, and inside, nestled in the velvet lining, rests a nearly crystal-clear orb. It looks ordinary enough at first glance, just a smooth, almost ethereal sphere, its surface glowing faintly in the moonlight.
But as Sam draws closer, his eyes are drawn to the dark swirls moving within the orb, shifting in a slow, hypnotic dance. It's an unsettling sight, something that doesnt belong in something so seemingly simple. The swirling patterns seem to shift and stretch, as though the orb is alive, or perhaps hiding something far more dangerous inside.
The man's hand trembles slightly as he holds the box steady, his voice barely a whisper now. This isnt just any artifact, he says, his eyes meeting Sam's with a grave intensity. "They want to summon a demon, more powerful than anything I've seen." A look of anxiety crosses his features. "I'll give it to you, instead, but I don't want to be a part of this anymore. Get me out of here, and it's yours, yeah?"
"A summoning focus, eh?" Sam pauses, barely able to contain the shit-eating grin on his face. He looks down at the man, and offers a hand. "The artifact in exchange for a new life, as part of something else? Is that it?" He looks to the man, and smiles. "If so... Deal."
He stands there, smiling from ear to ear as he stands over the man, clearly beyond pleased with this opportunity.
"Yeah, something like that," the man replies quickly, his voice still low and cautious, his eyes flicking around the clearing once more, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. His anxiety is palpable, his every motion filled with urgency. He shifts his weight, as if ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
"More of our guys are supposed to come pick it up," he continues, his tone tightening as he speaks. "And I need to be way out of here before they can get here." He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice even further, as if the very trees themselves might be listening. "They cant find me. Or you."
He takes a quick breath, trying to steady himself. "Just take it. Take the box, and get out of here with me." His eyes lock onto Sam's, a mix of desperation and something darker flashing behind them. "Trust me, you dont want to stick around when they show up."
As if on queue, whispered voices and crunching steps can be heard, and they're not far away.
Pulling out his arcane focus, Sam nods, tugging the man along as he tries to just slip away. He stays low, the jock seemingly no stranger to sneaking about. He does tuck that strange box away into his backpack, a mild grin playing across his lips.
When he thinks he is somewhere slightly obscured, he taps at his phone, sending a text away. "Ey Dean, could use extraction. Got a +1. Converted cultist." He sends off the text, and looks around, trying to see how much time if any he would have to spare, or if stalling was the better option.
Before Sam can move, the man suddenly freezes, his finger shooting out to point urgently to the ground. His eyes widen, his expression shifting to one of pure tension. The foliage beneath their feet, already brittle and dry from the chill in the air, looks eager to betray them. The leaves rustle loudly, sharp and unmistakable, as if the earth itself is giving them away. The sound grows louder, closer as the footsteps continue in the direction of the pair. The man's eyes widen, his grip tightening on the box as his body tenses, ready for flight.
"We have to move," the man growls, his voice harsh with urgency. He takes a step back, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes darting to the approaching sounds, clearly agitated. "But if you leave a way for them to track you, we're both dead."
Hissing softly, Sam pushes up to his feet, the jock frantically thinking. "Fuckin' shoulda brought my bike..." He looks to the man. "Ya got a nightmare-charm?" He asks, rifling though his backpack, nothing of real use in there either. A soft scowl under his breath then, as the jock wracks his brain for ideas.
"Course I do," the figure beside Sam snorts, a hint of dark humor flickering in his voice, though the tension is still thick in the air. "It's a must-have when dealing with items like this, or at least thats what the person I picked it up from says. Not the slightest clue what to do with it."
With a quick glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one is too close, the man opens the box once more. This time, he pulls the orb out with careful hands, cradling it in his palm as though it might slip through his fingers at any moment. The object seems to shimmer with a strange energy, almost alive in its own way. He extends his arm toward Sam, offering the orb with a silent plea in his eyes.
"Come on," he urges again, his voice now a low whisper, his eyes darting to the shadows, the footsteps growing ever closer. "We're about out of time. Just... promise me you wont use it to help them."
His words hang in the air, heavy with a kind of unspoken warning. The orb glows faintly in his outstretched hand, and Sam can feel the weight of the choice. Whatever it is, whatever this orb holds, its clear that its not something to be taken lightly. And yet, in that moment, the urgency is overwhelming. They have no more time.
"Deal. It will not be used for their purposes." Sam speaks, the words coming easily, as he has no intention to break them. He smiles, extending a hand to the man for that orb.
"All right, let's hop into the nightmare, move faster that way. I know a few hidden nooks and crannies we can stash you until the cavalry arrives." He nods to the man, getting ready to haul ass.
Nodding emphatically, the man leaves the box behind in the clearing without a second thought, his eyes flashing with resolve as he looks back at Sam. "I need you to protect me," he states, his voice a low, urgent command. "From them."
Theres a finality to his words, as though he knows theyre past the point of no return. With a quick, desperate glance toward the shadows and the growing sound of footsteps, the man places the orb into someone waiting hand. The object feels strangely warm, almost alive, as if it holds a power waiting to be unleashed.
As they begin to move as silently as possible, the distance between them and the approaching figures shrinks with every passing moment, but Sam feels the weight of the orb in his hand, its promise of power and the responsibility that comes with it.
Nodding emphatically, the man leaves the box behind in the clearing without a second thought, his eyes flashing with resolve as he looks back at Sam. "I need you to protect me," he states, his voice a low, urgent command. "From them."
Theres a finality to his words, as though he knows theyre past the point of no return. With a quick, desperate glance toward the shadows and the growing sound of footsteps, the man places the orb into Sam's waiting hand. The object feels strangely warm, almost alive, as if it holds a power waiting to be unleashed.
As they begin to move as silently as possible, the distance between them and the approaching figures shrinks with every passing moment, but Sam feels the weight of the orb in his hand, its promise of power and the responsibility that comes with it.
His prize secured, Sam breathes in slowly, briefly relishing in the taste of the man's panic before he helps him along. The artifact is stashed into that backpack, and he grins some more to himself.
Once that's done, he does in fact lead the man to safety, at least far enough away to step out of the mirror of a nearby bar, on the northside.
Job well done, and time to return for another bud light.
(Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.
)
Lark walks into reception spotting Rashid. "Oh hey good timing!" She waves.
Quirking his lips, Rashid pads inward, glancing over towards Lark. "Assalamu Alaikum," the man intones carefully, with his trusty 'magical brick' sputtering onwards, quite helpfully, "Peace be upon you." His lips twitch slightly and he mutters (with the use of his phone), "I thought it would be easier to find you here first rather than go to metal-demon troughs."
Lark repeats to Rashid after hearing the translation: "Assalamu Alaikum!" The pronunciation is nowhere near perfect, likely butchered. She pulls her phone out and fires off a text.
Lark decides for the translate function via her phone instead. "You have such colorful descriptions for places. I look forward to seeing which place you meant."
Rashid smiles at Lark's words, dipping his head before scrawling Arabic script into his own phone, clicking the translate command. "I am not sure whether that is a compliment, but I shall take it as such. Though, let me repeat my words for you."
The blistery north wind blows over the small township of Haven. People dash about trying to get their last minute Christmas shopping done and the mists that keep sweeping into the town every night doesn't help. Street signs have been dented left and right, with the pole at almost every street corner bent in a odd shape given the many crashes that have been occurring due to inattentive drivers. The shops themselves are full of people at all times of the night, lamenting the closure of the shops they really needed /right now/ even though they have had much of the year to buy and horde Christmas presents.
Still, nothing much seems to be decorated for Christmas in this dreary town, almost as if people are too scared that the flashing lights would draw attention - either that or they're too lazy to take them down again. There were rumors that there was a hanging santa somewhere. Infact of it hanging right outside the college at the 'hanging tree' for whatever else is that tree good for? However, there was no concrete photos snapped - at least not released in public and certainly the santa is now missing from the tree.
For a institution that is supposed to be celebrating the birth of their Lord and Savior, the college is fairly underdecorated. There is a tiny nativity scene on the desk of the reception with a neon sign that pops up saying 'Yay Jesus' and a single lonely wreath that sits on the door of the reception building that Rashid and Lark currently occupy but... that is it.
Today, on Christmas Eve eve the reception hall is fairly barren of students, most of them having headed home to visit family however there are still people scurrying about, attending the clinic and heading to the police department to make reports about their crashed vehicles.
As Lark and Rashid chat, a man with steely green eyes walks out from the rest of the institute. Dressed in the uniform of the Haven police department, the man is balding, with hair in the style of an omelet if the omelet was rather overcooked and overfried. A thick woolen coat adorns his shoulders and in his hands is a thick file. "Lark Hall?" Lark and Rashid can probably overhear as the man starts making his way into the reception. "Urg. Where the hell am I supposed to find a college student on Christmas eve eve? This is ridiculous, she's probably gone home for Christmas I'm jus-." His words cut off as he looks up at Lark, then at the photo, then at Lark, then at the photo. His hand holds the photo upwards until it's parallel with Lark's head at least from his point of view. Thick brows knit together as he looks rather unhappy that his target was... rather easily found. "Hey!" He calls out making his way over towards Lark. "Are you one Lark Hall?"
Lark is in the middle of conversation with Rashid, leaning in to listen closely. But at hearing her name Lark's head snaps up, Glancing around before looking over to the officer. "Yeah, that's me." She blinks a moment, caught off guard. "What can I help you with, officer?"
The green eyed man looks Lark up and down as she identifies herself. "Excellent! Miss Lark Hall, I am Officer Tony Green and you are under arrest. So if you would please not resist, I already had to chase down two perps today and I am exhausted and I wish to no longer run. So turn around, put your hands against the wall so I can pat you down for weapons." The man's gruff voice intones as he gestures towards the closest wall.
Rashid glances over towards the officer, knitting his eyebrows together. There's some sort of skepticism had towards the man, and then pointed at Lark, as he flicks his gaze between the two. There's a moment taken as the Andalusian slowly deciphers everything said. Then, slowly, he speaks into his phone, carefully, whilst his nose wrinkles and a helpless growl emanates from his throat. "Shurta. What is she accused of?"
"What?" Lark shoots back immediately, stunned. "Under arrest? For what?" There's a Furrowing of her brow here, confusion, a little bit of anger, and a slight tremble in her hand, which she stuffs into her rabbit fur overcoat to hide. She nods in agreement with Rashid.
The man looks down at his piece of paper and then back up at Lark. "Miss. I am to arrest you on the grounds of digital piracy. Have you downloaded anything illegal in the last ten years?" He says sternly, turning to look at Rashid, "And you sir, are you her husband?" He asks looking Rashid up and down as well as if assessing for threats.
Apparently, now, Rashid exists to cause the officer more problems, because the first thing he asks, via his phone, is this, "What is digital?" And then he adds, "And how can woman be pirate. She does not own boat. She cannot even sail!"
"Now sir." The officer raises a finger admonishingly towards Rashid, "You will not raise your voice at me sir or I will have you arrested for disturbing a peace officer."
Lark opens her mouth to reply but then her head swivels to blink at Rashid, though she doesn't dwell too long before interjecting. "He's learning English. He's not trying to disturb the peace." Her lips press together in a thin line. "And no I do not recall downloading anything illegal. It's Christmas Eve, what is this about really."
"What is peace officer, I thought you were shurta?" the Andalusian's phone sputters out weakly, whilst Rashid busies himself scrawling up Arabic script to keep up with the conversation. Staring at the officer, he blinks blankly. "I am disturbing you? I ask question though, how is that disturbing? Must be weak man if disturbed by questions. Or not smart."
"Mister Shantanu Narayen is upset that people may try to emulate what this uh Mario Lugio guy did. Thus we are cracking down on people stealing his software. Are you aware miss that theft over a thousand dollars constitutes a major crime and is a felony?" The officer continues to report in his gruff voice, "And according to this.." He looks down at the file he has in his hand, clipped to a clipboard. "You downloaded Adobe Photoshop CS 6 Master edition previously. As that program costs approximately two thousand and six hundred- two thousand and five hundred and ninty nine pardon me, you are hereby under arrest. Please turn and place your hands on the wall before I have to tase you." The man pulls his coat back to show a bright neon yellow taser tucked into his belt. "And you sir." He directs towards Rashid, "Please identify yourself as this person's husband or you have no right to speak here."
"Wait but I didn't shoot anyone!" But at the details of the crime, her neck flushes dark and her eyes grow wide and all Lark says is: "It wasn't me." Classic.
A finger is wagged towards Lark now, "Miss resisting arrest is a crime in itself. I suggest you place your hands on the wall so that I can pat you down and make sure you are not holding weapons." The balding man insists as his beady eyes look Lark up and down again.
Rashid nods towards Lark, leaning against the wall. "Do as shurta says, yes?" his phone sputters out, though, with the Andalusian adopting a far more neutral expression. "This is public space, you are not my Emir, you cannot command me, shurta," is thrown out towards the 'shurta' as well.
"Actually." The 'shurta' turns towards Rashid, "As you are on US soil and either a citizen of the US or a guest of the United States of Americaaa, you are under my jurisiction and you must obey all directions given to you by a peace officer." The man educates Rashid.
Lark reluctantly turns, hands on the wall. "Do you like have a warrant or something? Don't I like, get to have an attorney present? I saw that on Law and Order." Lark remarks, trying to still her trembling hands.
"Actually." The 'shurta' turns towards Rashid, "As you are on US soil and either a citizen of the US or a guest of the United States of Americaaa, you are under my jurisiction and you must obey all directions given to you by a peace officer." The man educates Rashid. (repost for lark)
"I do have an arrest warrent out for your arrest yes." The man waves the paper up and down as he looks over at Lark. "I was on my way to a christmas eve eve party so I am rather upset you were in my way. However given you're here already, there's nothing to do but to put you in a cell to be sorted out after boxing day." He tells Lark solemnly as he tucks the warrent under his arm and starts to pat Lark down.
"Wait what??" Lark glances towards Rashid for help. "Officer there's got to be a mistake..."
The man's big hands starts to pat down Lark all over her body as he looks for weapons, "There is no mistake." The man tells Lark as his hands pat down over her chest, "However. Given there will be alot of paperwork involved.. I may be convinced to ... not see you." His beady eyes dart towards the ATM.
"You are shurta of American kingdom or just Haven?" Rashid wonders tilting his head, not too unlike a dog. To the perceptible, there's an odd way the Andalusian peers at the man. First, at his waists, then at his hands. Watching his eyes carefully, the muslim stares onward, decidedly leaning against the wall, with one foot propped against it. Then, as the officer begins to pat Lark down, the lithe man makes his move, kicking off the wall to lunge a foot. For the officer's foot. His arm to loop around the officer's neck. Or at least the attempt is there.
"Oi!" The officer is pulled off of Lark by Rashid and the pudgy man is wrestled backwards by the arab as he goes for his taser. "Assulting an officer is an arrestable offense!" He shouts, looking over at reception. "Press the alarm!!" Given the haven police department is barely a corridor away.. Rashid may not have made the smartest choice.
Lark stands up, hands going to her mouth in shock with wide eyes as Rashid grabs the officer. "We can fix this!" she blurts out. "We can fix this, everyone calm down!" Her eyes dart to the ATM. "You wanna get to your party, we don't want to stop you, we just want to be left alone. How's a little something for your trouble and we can forget about this?"
"Shurta should be more noble. Less corrupted by ideas of greed and bribes," the Muslim's phone says, before slamming his knee into the officer's crotch. Repetitively. "Look me in the eyes khafir. Or I will make sure it hurts when I force you to do it." Rashid stares, his eyes dilating a little as he undergoes some preparation of some sort, a throaty growl erupting from his throat.
The man in Rashid's arms wheezes as he's kneed in the groin but the man is a trained police officer! He has at least - some - training. The taser is shoved against Rashid's stomach and fired even as the sound of running comes down the corridor. Bowled over from pain from his gonads, the police officer wheezes as he looks over at Lark, "You're gonna need to offer at least triple after what your husband just did!"
Forget trembling, Lark is full on shaking now, watching all of this go down. "Rashid!" she calls out in alarm as he is tazed, rushing to his side. Tears start filling her eyes. "Please, I don't have much but if- if I pay, you'll go away, forever?"
Clearly, Rashid is surprised. For one, that the officer is still able to tase him, and two, that he is being tased. He relinquishes his grip, howling a little in pain as the jolt erupts. It takes a moment to recover, but the man tosses his phone to the side, instead, growling. His phone still picks up the words spoken, "You should not have done that khafir." It's a ploy to grab the man's attention, so that the Andalusian can look him in the eyes. And should that happen, Rashid would render him stunned for a moment, using his hypnotism.
The man falls into a trance as Rashid's eyes catch his although he's still hunched over cupping his groin. He's just a baldling man, unblinkingly staring ahead of his cupping his crotch now.
The man falls into a trance as Rashid's eyes catch his although he's still hunched over cupping his groin. He's just a baldling man, unblinkingly staring ahead of himself* cupping his crotch now.
Lark just stares in shock and confusion.
Slowly approaching, Rashid lowers himself to a knee, grabbing that phone he threw aside. Eyes dilating again, he intones carefully, so that his phone speaks for him. "You will forget the events of this night, my assault upon you, Lark's warrant for arrest, and that you were given a warrant in the first place." While his words are Arabic, his translator does the job of providing meaning to his words whilst the Andalusian resorts to hypnotism. And once he does this, he moves to snatch said warrant from the officer to toss away in the nearby receptacle. Of course after ripping it into a bunch of pieces.
Given the words Rashid actually speaks with his hypnotism is in Arabic.. The police officer apparently can speak Arabic because the google translation certainly doesn't work. He blinks a few times after it's done and looks over at Lark. Then at Rashid whose still kneeling and then at himself whose still cupping his crotch. "Huh?" The man says stupidly, sounding as stupid as he looks as he rightens up. "What... happened?"
Lark gapes like a fish, her mouth wide open as she glances between Rashid and the officer in an effort to process what happened. "You- you had an accident. And hurt yourself," she says to the man still cupping his crotch.
Regarding the officer with distaste, Rashid corrects Lark with some google-translate to help him. "Some thug ran over and hit you in your groin, shurta, they went to beach."
"Oh dearie me not again!" The balding officer tells Lark as he straightens up, patting himself as if double checking his gonads were all still there. "That's the third time this week! I must've blacked out from the pain! This is terrible!" He tries to straighten himself and winces, "Well ma'am thank you for making sure I'm alright. I do believe I have some Christmas eve eve party I'm supposed to be getting to.." He blinks at few times at Rashid's words, "Whaaa? Someone hit me instead? Oh that is not on! I am going to go arrest them right away!" He huffs even as he limps towards the door.
Lark simply bobs her head, holding her breath until the officer is gone.