Encounterlogs
Seamuss Odd Encounter Sr Kah 250402
Seamus finds himself entangled in a murky web of intrigue after receiving an enigmatic email offering a substantial retainer to investigate a local politician suspected of harboring connections to The Black Flame, a group accused of planning a ritual to usher an eldritch horror into their world. The quiet sophistication of Seamus's master bedroom serves as a backdrop to this momentous decision. Despite the risks outlined by the mysterious messenger, including hints of financial corruption and darker undercurrents within the small town's political landscape, Seamus opts to pursue the investigation. A secretive meeting in the rain-soaked edges of Badwater Park with a man identified only as "Mr. Johnson" deepens the mystery. Johnson hands over a weighty dossier filled with allegations against Lawrence McCray, a politician with ambitions that may extend far beyond their small town, warning Seamus of the dangerous waters he's about to navigate. Yet, undeterred, Seamus accepts the challenge, signaling the beginning of a perilous journey into corruption and dark plots that could have vast implications.
The narrative takes an unexpected turn when Seamus and his companion Beth are interrupted at home by a drenched young woman in desperate need of assistance. Her car has failed amidst the downpour, and with her phone rendered inoperable, she pleads for their help to find an important contact lost in the nearby woods. Driven by a sense of urgency and the promise of changing fortunes, she manages to convince Seamus and Beth to embark on a rescue mission under the cloak of a relentless storm. As they set out into the night, their journey morphs into more than just a detour from Seamus's initial investigation. It becomes a race against time to aid a stranger in distress, underscoring the unpredictability and interconnectedness of the small town's struggles against both human and possibly supernatural threats. This unforeseen quest adds layers to Seamus's character, showcasing his willingness to venture into the unknown for the sake of others, even as dark clouds of a different nature loom on his horizon.
(Seamus's odd encounter(SRKah):SRKah)
[Mon Mar 31 2025]
In a comfortably appointed master bedroom
Masculine elegance radiates from every corner of this stately bedroom. The walls are painted in a light shade of mist grey, providing a calming ambiance that is perfect for relaxation. The bed, made of sturdy ash wood, sits in the center of the room, dressed in crisp grey sheets and adorned with a silver comforter.
The room is filled with subtle details that showcase the owner's refined taste. A vintage armchair is placed in the corner, inviting one to sit and enjoy the warm glow of the electric fireplace. The floor-to-ceiling bay window is framed by thick curtains made of a luxurious, heavy grey fabric that pools at the floor.
It is afternoon, about 40F(4C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target and their allies have discovered a local politician is a member of The Black Flame. They must expose him and stop the ritual he is planning to perform that will bring an eldritch horror into our world. This could involve investigation, combat, and dealing with the fallout of such a revelation in a small town.)
Seamus was sitting in his bedroom doom scrolling his phone, reviewing case files, and generally trying to avoid going outside and getting his shoes wet.
The room envelops you in its quiet sophistication as you sit within it. The walls, painted in a muted shade of slate, seem to absorb the light rather than reflect it, creating a cocoon-like atmosphere. The air carries a faint trace of cedarwood and leather, a scent that feels both grounding and indulgent. The centerpiece of the room; a bed crafted from dark walnut commands attention without arrogance. Its frame is sturdy yet sleek, and the bedding, a harmonious blend of charcoal and silver tones, invites you to sink into its embrace. Every detail in the room speaks of intention. A sleek writing desk, positioned near the window, holds a leather-bound journal and a fountain pen, as if waiting for inspiration to strike. A small tray on the desk carries a decanter of amber liquid and two crystal glasses, their facets catching the light in a quiet dance. Even the air seems to hum with a sense of purpose, as if the room itself is alive with possibility.
The soft chime of an incoming email breaks the room's stillness, its sound almost swallowed by the hum of the computer's fan. The screen flickers to life, casting a pale glow that dances across the polished surface of the desk. The subject line stands out in bold: "Confidential InquiryHigh Retainer." Beneath it, the sender's name is unfamiliar, but the tone of the message carries an air of urgency and discretion. The words seem to pulse with weight, as if the email itself is alive with the gravity of its contents. As you read, the details unfold like the opening lines of a novel. A local politician, well-known but enigmatic, is at the center of the case. The sender outlines allegations that are as murky as they are tantalizing, hinting at financial discrepancies and whispered scandals. The retainer offered is substantialenough to make you pause and consider the implications. This isn't just a job; it's a labyrinth of power and secrecy, where every step could lead to revelation or ruin. The email ends with a request for a meeting, the location deliberately vague but promising privacy. The cursor hovers over the reply button, the weight of the decision pressing against your chest. The room seems to hold its breath, the faint hum of the fireplace and the ticking of the clock fading into the background. This is the moment where the story begins, where the room's quiet elegance transforms into the stage for a drama that promises to be anything but ordinary. Now, Seamus has a number of case files in front of them now, and no doubt no shortage of work already contracted and spoken for ... but this could a game-changer. A life changer. This could be the start of something that could really put his business on the map. OR ... it could end his career. The question becomes, how much does he have to lose?
Seamus thinks a moment as he studies the email, weighing his option. He glances over his shoulder at the woman sleeping in his bed and then back to the email. There is a look of thought as he seriously considers the opportunity and ultimately decides that it is worth pursuing.
Here in such a small town, there aren't a lot of vague places to meet and so Seamus may not be surprised when this one seems to be somewhere in the neighborhood of Badwater park. The seedier part of town to be sure, but it's a meeting request that comes with urgency and so as Seamus makes the choice, and potentially responds to let them know they're interested in taking the job - it will only take a minute or two for another response to come setting up the meeting. And just like that, the private detective has only a few scant minutes to get himself together and get out the door! As he may prepare himself, the different scenarios may run through the man's mind, as it comes and goes. What could go right, what could go wrong. The options for going wrong seem to go on so much longer than the other side of things, but that's to be expected when it comes to politics. Especially here. Seamus may not have been here long, but if he's taken even the most cursory glance into the political landscape in Haven - the town hardly bothers with elections, Founding Family members often serving in positions such as Sheriff and Mayor for years and years. All the more reason to be suspicious of a local politician that isn't connected to one of those families.
Seamus doesn't mind the walk, other than his shoes aren't water proof. The whole way he grumps to himself, and only to himself, that he needs to get proper rainboots. The trench coat and brimmed hat do a good enough job keeping the rest of the rain off of him, but he does wince occasionally with the sound of foghorns and ship's klaxons.
He lights his cigarette as he gets closer to the meeting spot. Outside it doesn't matter who sees him, and matters even less to him who the contact is. If they can't stand him smoking, he is the wrong man for the job. Reaching the agreed upon location he looks around, and waits.
And so now Seamus finds himself standing near the entrance of an alley near the outskirts of Badwater Park as if he's in movie scene. The rain comes down in heavy pattering that pelts the ground and drowns out everything in the small town. Amidst the deluge and downpour - the faint orange glow of a cigarette cherry, the low-pulled brim of a hat and the long hem of that classic trench coat beige. From the depths of the alleyway, a shadowed figure comes, and when he's revealed it seems merely an aide, or perhaps some assistant to a campaign manager or political secretary. "You the detective?" Comes a hushed voice, a tired-sounding tenor.
"Yeah," Seamus says as he reaches up and scratches at his cheek with his free hand. "You Mr. Johnson?" he asks using the term for someone who doesn't want to reveal their real name but is still looking for specialized services. He ashes his cigarette in the puddle that are the streets. "Seems like you are in a pickle. Or your boss is."
The generic name speaks volumes while saying nothing, and the man nods at Seamus as he asks the question in response. "It's so much more than that. Here." Stepping forward, the man seems the look the part. Slacks, tucked in shirt. Suit jacket, a tie that's been pulled loose out of stress or anxiety. He eyes the cigarette that the man is smoking almost enviously, perhaps trying to quit or trying not to smoke for his job. He hands over a large, manilla envelope. One of those with the little metal prong to bend shut, and the strings to wind around the disk over the flap of the envelope. It's fat with contents, and heavy. Paper always is and that tells Seamus one thing: The man has brought something worth looking at. It's always the paper work that buries them, isn't it? "What you'll find in there goes beyond the politics. We both know he's never going to be mayor here, but I think he's trying to move his way up to Boston. And leave a gigantic fucking mess behind him while he does. You know the deal, right. YOu take the retainer, and we never had this fucking conversation. We never saw each other, I don't know how you got those documents and I've never met you in my life. Know that what you're getting into isn't your average shit." He glances around nervously; there's nobody around, the man is just that paranoid.
A bullshitter knows a bullshitter, or a smoker knows a smoker. He fishes around in his pocket and produces the pack of Marlboros with their iconic red an white packaging, offering the pack to the other man with one hand, while the one without the cigarette accepts the package.
"Yeah yeah, I know the routine," Seamus says as he opens the package, but just enough to peek inside and review the top sheet before closing it again not wanting to get the documents too wet. "Is there anything I need to know that isn't in here?"
"Yeah. Don't trust anyone" Mister Johnson says, as he accepts the pack and takes a cigarette from it almost by muscle memory. Handing it back, he fishes his own lighter out of his pocket; someone trying to quit, then. He lights up though, taking a calming drag of the smoke so that he can settle his hands, and his nerves. "McCray is up to something, and I don't know what it is. But whatever it is, people are already dead." That peek at top page reveals the beginning of what looks like your usual dossier on one Lawrence McCray, local politician and rising MAGA supporter. No doubt the information will get more dire once he's had a chance to take a look at the contents. Taking another drag, Mister Johnson glances around again and then he's turning to end the meeting and turn back down the alley. "Whatever you find, send it to the news. If I see the right kind of coverage, I'll double the retainer. Don't call me." And then the man is slipping back into the shadows and he's gone, out of sight.
Seamus cannot roll his eyes harder at that warning, but he somehow is able to control himself. "Yeah. Been there, done that," he muses to the Johnson and takes his smokes back, having honored the code. "Ok I think I have what I need. Let me know if you have anything else. Otherwise I don't know you and you'll get my bill when I am done."
And just like that - another clandestine meeting comes and goes. The walk is a short one back to his home, though soggy and he'll have the opportunity to take a closer look at this dossier. Most of it the usual stuff. Leads on financial crimes, potential mis-use of funds, the average politician's closet. But all throughout, there are smaller signs and cues and Seamus will pick up on them. They all point to a group called The Black Flame. It would seem that this Lawrence McCray is not only in far deeper than anyone might have suspected, but also that hunting down those leads and this man's secrets might be just as dangerous as the man has warned. It's going to be a long night of study and decision making for Seamus.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Seamus sits on the couch next to Beth chatting idly about the events of the day
Monday's are the worst day of the week for everyone. And today proves to be no different. It's a wet evening in Haven and despite the hour, the waters have still not abated. Outside, the wind whips around, creating an intense chill that accompanies the shallow dampness that plagues the town. But that wouldn't be of concern, not to those in the Elm Street Apartments, with their doors closed tight. Inside, it's warm and blissfully not wet. As Seamus and Beth shut the door to the apartment, not a minute later, the sound of voices can be heard in the hallway:
"Ohmigod. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me!!!" There's an angry squeal and the sound of footsteps stomping into a run that ends right outside of the apartment door.
BANG BANG BANG - three knocks on the door. "OHMYGOSH OPEN UP. PUH-LEAZE!!! OPEN, OPEN, OPEN!" a high pitched voice whines. There's a blunt sound coming from the bottom part of the front door - are they kicking it?! It seems likely from the way the front door rattles.
"S.O.S. TOTAL EMERGENCY!" the voice declares, dramatically. As if it were the end of the world...
Beth startles as the banging on the door occurs, brows lifting and then furrowing in some concern. "What on earth...?" She slides back a step, shamelessly half hiding behind Seamus to let him answer the door.
Seamus seems a little freaked out as well and stands up. He reaches for the inside of his coat pocket but realizes he doesn't have whatever it is he is looking for. "Alright," he mutters and opens the door, leaving Beth behind him, "Let's see."
Once the front door opens, Beth and Seamus would see a tall girl with long brown hair and blue eyes. And she is -drenched-. Her velvet red boots are waterstained to a muddy brackish color and surely ruined, her white jeans are wet, and even her nice green blouse is dripping. Not to mention her hair. Her face is fully made up, as if she had painstakingly prepared for a night out, only to have tripped and fallen over in a bathtub. A wet cat couldn't look any more pitiful that this young woman. When the door opens, her eyes light up.
"AHHH!! THANK YOU!! OH MY GOD. MY CAR. WILL. NOT. START." The concept of an indoor voice seems lost on this one.
"IT'S ALL THE FLOODING!" she complains, gesturing down the hallway. "I live down the hall and I've got a super super super SUPER important meeting with someone important and they're lost! I don't have any way of getting there in the rain and I dropped my phone in the water too, and now it's not working and oh my god, the best opportunity of my life is passing me by. Will you please, please, pretty please help me?!" It's frantic - manic, even, the words tumbling out of this young woman's mouth as her mascara runs down her face in black streaks.
Beth peeks from around Seamus as the tall girl starts pleading her case. She looks sympathetic to the plight but also a bit wary about the situation in general. "That sounds like a string of really bad luck." She agrees sympathetically. "Do you know where they are?" She wonders, maybe not -opposed- to helping with a good cause, but she does look to Seamus to see what his opinion of it all is.
"Shh we have nosy neighbors," Seamus says with a stern look in his eyes, but a small comforting smile on his lips. "I imagine the water isn't doing any good no," he muses then looks at Beth then back to the woman, "Yes if you can tell us where they are I am sure we can find someone to help."
He pauses and glances to Beth, "Can you drive? I mean I would go with you, obviously, you are my ride." Modern relationships require modern solutions.
The young woman tones it down a notch. She's still loud, but at least it's something. "Sooorrry!" she replies before nodding - nodding a little too fast. "Yes, very very very very bad luck! Would you mind giving me a ride and helping me find them? Their car broke down outside of town and they decided to try to hoof it even thought I told them that's like a terrible idea and they'll ruin their shoes and stuff! But the last message I got was a pin of their location, in the woods south of here by like a quarter of a mile, so it's like not even that far of a hike?" she replies, her blue eyes pleading at Beth. "You have a car? Oh god, please please please? This is like gonna be a life changing meeting and they'll totally owe me - and you too - if we help them out! Please! No one deserves to be out there in the cold like that, especially when the weather's being all weird!"
Beth gives Seamus a squeeze and nods to the woman. "Yeah, yeah. We'll go on a little road trip." She figures, moving to retrieve coats for herself and Seamus so they can head out. "I think we should all be able to pile in to the hatchback too." She figures confidently enough.
The narrative takes an unexpected turn when Seamus and his companion Beth are interrupted at home by a drenched young woman in desperate need of assistance. Her car has failed amidst the downpour, and with her phone rendered inoperable, she pleads for their help to find an important contact lost in the nearby woods. Driven by a sense of urgency and the promise of changing fortunes, she manages to convince Seamus and Beth to embark on a rescue mission under the cloak of a relentless storm. As they set out into the night, their journey morphs into more than just a detour from Seamus's initial investigation. It becomes a race against time to aid a stranger in distress, underscoring the unpredictability and interconnectedness of the small town's struggles against both human and possibly supernatural threats. This unforeseen quest adds layers to Seamus's character, showcasing his willingness to venture into the unknown for the sake of others, even as dark clouds of a different nature loom on his horizon.
(Seamus's odd encounter(SRKah):SRKah)
[Mon Mar 31 2025]
In a comfortably appointed master bedroom
Masculine elegance radiates from every corner of this stately bedroom. The walls are painted in a light shade of mist grey, providing a calming ambiance that is perfect for relaxation. The bed, made of sturdy ash wood, sits in the center of the room, dressed in crisp grey sheets and adorned with a silver comforter.
The room is filled with subtle details that showcase the owner's refined taste. A vintage armchair is placed in the corner, inviting one to sit and enjoy the warm glow of the electric fireplace. The floor-to-ceiling bay window is framed by thick curtains made of a luxurious, heavy grey fabric that pools at the floor.
It is afternoon, about 40F(4C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(Your target and their allies have discovered a local politician is a member of The Black Flame. They must expose him and stop the ritual he is planning to perform that will bring an eldritch horror into our world. This could involve investigation, combat, and dealing with the fallout of such a revelation in a small town.)
Seamus was sitting in his bedroom doom scrolling his phone, reviewing case files, and generally trying to avoid going outside and getting his shoes wet.
The room envelops you in its quiet sophistication as you sit within it. The walls, painted in a muted shade of slate, seem to absorb the light rather than reflect it, creating a cocoon-like atmosphere. The air carries a faint trace of cedarwood and leather, a scent that feels both grounding and indulgent. The centerpiece of the room; a bed crafted from dark walnut commands attention without arrogance. Its frame is sturdy yet sleek, and the bedding, a harmonious blend of charcoal and silver tones, invites you to sink into its embrace. Every detail in the room speaks of intention. A sleek writing desk, positioned near the window, holds a leather-bound journal and a fountain pen, as if waiting for inspiration to strike. A small tray on the desk carries a decanter of amber liquid and two crystal glasses, their facets catching the light in a quiet dance. Even the air seems to hum with a sense of purpose, as if the room itself is alive with possibility.
The soft chime of an incoming email breaks the room's stillness, its sound almost swallowed by the hum of the computer's fan. The screen flickers to life, casting a pale glow that dances across the polished surface of the desk. The subject line stands out in bold: "Confidential InquiryHigh Retainer." Beneath it, the sender's name is unfamiliar, but the tone of the message carries an air of urgency and discretion. The words seem to pulse with weight, as if the email itself is alive with the gravity of its contents. As you read, the details unfold like the opening lines of a novel. A local politician, well-known but enigmatic, is at the center of the case. The sender outlines allegations that are as murky as they are tantalizing, hinting at financial discrepancies and whispered scandals. The retainer offered is substantialenough to make you pause and consider the implications. This isn't just a job; it's a labyrinth of power and secrecy, where every step could lead to revelation or ruin. The email ends with a request for a meeting, the location deliberately vague but promising privacy. The cursor hovers over the reply button, the weight of the decision pressing against your chest. The room seems to hold its breath, the faint hum of the fireplace and the ticking of the clock fading into the background. This is the moment where the story begins, where the room's quiet elegance transforms into the stage for a drama that promises to be anything but ordinary. Now, Seamus has a number of case files in front of them now, and no doubt no shortage of work already contracted and spoken for ... but this could a game-changer. A life changer. This could be the start of something that could really put his business on the map. OR ... it could end his career. The question becomes, how much does he have to lose?
Seamus thinks a moment as he studies the email, weighing his option. He glances over his shoulder at the woman sleeping in his bed and then back to the email. There is a look of thought as he seriously considers the opportunity and ultimately decides that it is worth pursuing.
Here in such a small town, there aren't a lot of vague places to meet and so Seamus may not be surprised when this one seems to be somewhere in the neighborhood of Badwater park. The seedier part of town to be sure, but it's a meeting request that comes with urgency and so as Seamus makes the choice, and potentially responds to let them know they're interested in taking the job - it will only take a minute or two for another response to come setting up the meeting. And just like that, the private detective has only a few scant minutes to get himself together and get out the door! As he may prepare himself, the different scenarios may run through the man's mind, as it comes and goes. What could go right, what could go wrong. The options for going wrong seem to go on so much longer than the other side of things, but that's to be expected when it comes to politics. Especially here. Seamus may not have been here long, but if he's taken even the most cursory glance into the political landscape in Haven - the town hardly bothers with elections, Founding Family members often serving in positions such as Sheriff and Mayor for years and years. All the more reason to be suspicious of a local politician that isn't connected to one of those families.
Seamus doesn't mind the walk, other than his shoes aren't water proof. The whole way he grumps to himself, and only to himself, that he needs to get proper rainboots. The trench coat and brimmed hat do a good enough job keeping the rest of the rain off of him, but he does wince occasionally with the sound of foghorns and ship's klaxons.
He lights his cigarette as he gets closer to the meeting spot. Outside it doesn't matter who sees him, and matters even less to him who the contact is. If they can't stand him smoking, he is the wrong man for the job. Reaching the agreed upon location he looks around, and waits.
And so now Seamus finds himself standing near the entrance of an alley near the outskirts of Badwater Park as if he's in movie scene. The rain comes down in heavy pattering that pelts the ground and drowns out everything in the small town. Amidst the deluge and downpour - the faint orange glow of a cigarette cherry, the low-pulled brim of a hat and the long hem of that classic trench coat beige. From the depths of the alleyway, a shadowed figure comes, and when he's revealed it seems merely an aide, or perhaps some assistant to a campaign manager or political secretary. "You the detective?" Comes a hushed voice, a tired-sounding tenor.
"Yeah," Seamus says as he reaches up and scratches at his cheek with his free hand. "You Mr. Johnson?" he asks using the term for someone who doesn't want to reveal their real name but is still looking for specialized services. He ashes his cigarette in the puddle that are the streets. "Seems like you are in a pickle. Or your boss is."
The generic name speaks volumes while saying nothing, and the man nods at Seamus as he asks the question in response. "It's so much more than that. Here." Stepping forward, the man seems the look the part. Slacks, tucked in shirt. Suit jacket, a tie that's been pulled loose out of stress or anxiety. He eyes the cigarette that the man is smoking almost enviously, perhaps trying to quit or trying not to smoke for his job. He hands over a large, manilla envelope. One of those with the little metal prong to bend shut, and the strings to wind around the disk over the flap of the envelope. It's fat with contents, and heavy. Paper always is and that tells Seamus one thing: The man has brought something worth looking at. It's always the paper work that buries them, isn't it? "What you'll find in there goes beyond the politics. We both know he's never going to be mayor here, but I think he's trying to move his way up to Boston. And leave a gigantic fucking mess behind him while he does. You know the deal, right. YOu take the retainer, and we never had this fucking conversation. We never saw each other, I don't know how you got those documents and I've never met you in my life. Know that what you're getting into isn't your average shit." He glances around nervously; there's nobody around, the man is just that paranoid.
A bullshitter knows a bullshitter, or a smoker knows a smoker. He fishes around in his pocket and produces the pack of Marlboros with their iconic red an white packaging, offering the pack to the other man with one hand, while the one without the cigarette accepts the package.
"Yeah yeah, I know the routine," Seamus says as he opens the package, but just enough to peek inside and review the top sheet before closing it again not wanting to get the documents too wet. "Is there anything I need to know that isn't in here?"
"Yeah. Don't trust anyone" Mister Johnson says, as he accepts the pack and takes a cigarette from it almost by muscle memory. Handing it back, he fishes his own lighter out of his pocket; someone trying to quit, then. He lights up though, taking a calming drag of the smoke so that he can settle his hands, and his nerves. "McCray is up to something, and I don't know what it is. But whatever it is, people are already dead." That peek at top page reveals the beginning of what looks like your usual dossier on one Lawrence McCray, local politician and rising MAGA supporter. No doubt the information will get more dire once he's had a chance to take a look at the contents. Taking another drag, Mister Johnson glances around again and then he's turning to end the meeting and turn back down the alley. "Whatever you find, send it to the news. If I see the right kind of coverage, I'll double the retainer. Don't call me." And then the man is slipping back into the shadows and he's gone, out of sight.
Seamus cannot roll his eyes harder at that warning, but he somehow is able to control himself. "Yeah. Been there, done that," he muses to the Johnson and takes his smokes back, having honored the code. "Ok I think I have what I need. Let me know if you have anything else. Otherwise I don't know you and you'll get my bill when I am done."
And just like that - another clandestine meeting comes and goes. The walk is a short one back to his home, though soggy and he'll have the opportunity to take a closer look at this dossier. Most of it the usual stuff. Leads on financial crimes, potential mis-use of funds, the average politician's closet. But all throughout, there are smaller signs and cues and Seamus will pick up on them. They all point to a group called The Black Flame. It would seem that this Lawrence McCray is not only in far deeper than anyone might have suspected, but also that hunting down those leads and this man's secrets might be just as dangerous as the man has warned. It's going to be a long night of study and decision making for Seamus.
(Your target's been contacted to help find a civilian who's become lost in the woods.
)
Seamus sits on the couch next to Beth chatting idly about the events of the day
Monday's are the worst day of the week for everyone. And today proves to be no different. It's a wet evening in Haven and despite the hour, the waters have still not abated. Outside, the wind whips around, creating an intense chill that accompanies the shallow dampness that plagues the town. But that wouldn't be of concern, not to those in the Elm Street Apartments, with their doors closed tight. Inside, it's warm and blissfully not wet. As Seamus and Beth shut the door to the apartment, not a minute later, the sound of voices can be heard in the hallway:
"Ohmigod. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me!!!" There's an angry squeal and the sound of footsteps stomping into a run that ends right outside of the apartment door.
BANG BANG BANG - three knocks on the door. "OHMYGOSH OPEN UP. PUH-LEAZE!!! OPEN, OPEN, OPEN!" a high pitched voice whines. There's a blunt sound coming from the bottom part of the front door - are they kicking it?! It seems likely from the way the front door rattles.
"S.O.S. TOTAL EMERGENCY!" the voice declares, dramatically. As if it were the end of the world...
Beth startles as the banging on the door occurs, brows lifting and then furrowing in some concern. "What on earth...?" She slides back a step, shamelessly half hiding behind Seamus to let him answer the door.
Seamus seems a little freaked out as well and stands up. He reaches for the inside of his coat pocket but realizes he doesn't have whatever it is he is looking for. "Alright," he mutters and opens the door, leaving Beth behind him, "Let's see."
Once the front door opens, Beth and Seamus would see a tall girl with long brown hair and blue eyes. And she is -drenched-. Her velvet red boots are waterstained to a muddy brackish color and surely ruined, her white jeans are wet, and even her nice green blouse is dripping. Not to mention her hair. Her face is fully made up, as if she had painstakingly prepared for a night out, only to have tripped and fallen over in a bathtub. A wet cat couldn't look any more pitiful that this young woman. When the door opens, her eyes light up.
"AHHH!! THANK YOU!! OH MY GOD. MY CAR. WILL. NOT. START." The concept of an indoor voice seems lost on this one.
"IT'S ALL THE FLOODING!" she complains, gesturing down the hallway. "I live down the hall and I've got a super super super SUPER important meeting with someone important and they're lost! I don't have any way of getting there in the rain and I dropped my phone in the water too, and now it's not working and oh my god, the best opportunity of my life is passing me by. Will you please, please, pretty please help me?!" It's frantic - manic, even, the words tumbling out of this young woman's mouth as her mascara runs down her face in black streaks.
Beth peeks from around Seamus as the tall girl starts pleading her case. She looks sympathetic to the plight but also a bit wary about the situation in general. "That sounds like a string of really bad luck." She agrees sympathetically. "Do you know where they are?" She wonders, maybe not -opposed- to helping with a good cause, but she does look to Seamus to see what his opinion of it all is.
"Shh we have nosy neighbors," Seamus says with a stern look in his eyes, but a small comforting smile on his lips. "I imagine the water isn't doing any good no," he muses then looks at Beth then back to the woman, "Yes if you can tell us where they are I am sure we can find someone to help."
He pauses and glances to Beth, "Can you drive? I mean I would go with you, obviously, you are my ride." Modern relationships require modern solutions.
The young woman tones it down a notch. She's still loud, but at least it's something. "Sooorrry!" she replies before nodding - nodding a little too fast. "Yes, very very very very bad luck! Would you mind giving me a ride and helping me find them? Their car broke down outside of town and they decided to try to hoof it even thought I told them that's like a terrible idea and they'll ruin their shoes and stuff! But the last message I got was a pin of their location, in the woods south of here by like a quarter of a mile, so it's like not even that far of a hike?" she replies, her blue eyes pleading at Beth. "You have a car? Oh god, please please please? This is like gonna be a life changing meeting and they'll totally owe me - and you too - if we help them out! Please! No one deserves to be out there in the cold like that, especially when the weather's being all weird!"
Beth gives Seamus a squeeze and nods to the woman. "Yeah, yeah. We'll go on a little road trip." She figures, moving to retrieve coats for herself and Seamus so they can head out. "I think we should all be able to pile in to the hatchback too." She figures confidently enough.