Encounterlogs
Seamuss Odd Encounter Sr Takeshi 250402
In a city torn apart by natural disasters and supernatural disturbances, Seamus finds himself caught in an escalating scenario that feels anything but ordinary. The once bustling Haven has been brought to its knees by massive camelia orchids, their roots wreaking havoc on the city’s underground infrastructure, leading to widespread chaos and destruction. Amid the turmoil of construction crews struggling to repair the damage, compromised gas lines causing explosions, and the White Oak Webster Clinic being overwhelmed with casualties, Haven is a city on the brink. It's within this backdrop of disorder and desperation that Seamus encounters his own personal nightmare - a ghost haunting his apartment, crying out with pained wailing and haunted moaning, adding a layer of surreal fear to the tangible disasters outside.
The ghost, driven near insane with only fragments of memory, recognizes Seamus, addressing him with familiar contempt. This paranormal entity isn't just a random occurrence in Seamus’s life, it is deeply intertwined with his recent experiences, hinting at a city filled with more than just physical ruin. Seamus, already on edge from the city's calamities and his own injuries from a previous night's earthquake, faces the ghost's wrath. His unique ability to perceive supernatural elements - including ghosts, nightmare forms, and auras - presents both an opportunity and a curse. Seamus’s struggle against the spectral being in his apartment underlines a broader theme of survival and sanity amid an environment where the boundaries between the natural and supernatural have blurred. The haunting, rather than being an isolated event, becomes a pivotal moment for Seamus, challenging him to confront the unseen forces at play in Haven, and perhaps, find a way to restore some semblance of order within the chaos that surrounds him.
(Seamus's odd encounter(SRTakeshi):SRTakeshi)
[Mon Mar 24 2025]
In A sun washed library with a cityscape view
Floor to ceiling windows allow a shower of sun to flow into the room, touching all within at the right moment with a hue of natural gold. It falls upon a soft rug, the threadwork dappled with speckles of that same color that form the signs of the Greek zodiac forming an endless spiral around the room.
The gaze is torn between two places of pride. against one wall, flanking the doorway and filling the corners, bookshelves hold everything from leather bound texts to well-thumbed paperbacks. Opposite them, placed so the sunlight would angle across it, a luxurious sofa allows a reader to relax and lose themselves in one of the volumes on display.
The wall looking out over the city is taken up with a baby grand piano. Rosewood gleams, paired with the glistening ivory of the white keys, and the rich ebony of the black. Before it, a matching stool, scrolled with Tudor roses, sits ready for a pair of players to sit before the instrument and look out over the park and the distant bay.
It is morning, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Another day in paradise! If paradise was where massive camelia orchids sprung up out of nowhere overnight and their roots tore apart your cities underground infrastructure like it was paper mache. The sound of construction crews working was filling the air, making any attempts at sleep mostly impossible. Loud shouting of worker men communicating over the noise of their equipment would be too muffled by the sounds of drill and sledges and industrial equipment loudly smashing at concrete.
With so much of the damaged infrastructure underground and with so much of the accessways to that infrastructure collapsed in, blocked by roots, or simply too compromised to send workers into safely, the best option for repairing a good portion of the damage would be the expensive and wasteful process of simply smashing up the road and pavement and digging down to find the issue.
Even with such a roundabout and wasteful strategy, it still wasnt perfect. Compromised gas pipes had been shut off at the source, but who knows how big the underground gas pockets from the broken gas lines had gotten before that happened. Most of the underground electrical cabling had been turned off but short of depowering the entire city they werent going to be able to turn everything off.
Explosions from pockets of gas handled poorly, third degree burns from workers discovering electric lines that had shifted someplace unexpected, below surface construction sites flash flooding as waterways are opened up onto the heads of work men as they try (And often, sadly, fail) to scramble to safety.
The White Oak Webster Clinic, which was already only a clinic and not a full sized hospital, was overloaded with survivors dug out of the rubble of collapsed buildings, leaving slim hope for the unfortunate workmen who injured themselves in the rushed repair attempts and needed urgent medical assistance.
The carpark and the greens that dotted the White Oak campus are covered in white triage tents, injured placed onto blankets on the cold, hard ground as beds had quickly ran out.
Medical supplies were on their way, but slowly, the highways were packed full, not just because a large portion of them had been churned to undrivable pieces by the roots of the Camelia, but also due to the massive influx of press, tourists, and vigilante relief workers who were doing little more than getting in the way.
The roads out were packed too, those who had survived the chaos unharmed but found themselves without someplace to live, those who had work places compromised and needed to find work elsewhere, those who were simply deciding maybe Haven wasnt the safest place after all, the empty cargo deliveries on their way back to restock, and those who had made the terrible choice to simply get in their car to go for a drive today. All of them had been gifted with a horn in their vehicle by the vehicle manufacturer, and it seemed all of them felt the need to be using it.
Unless youre a very good sleeper, youve probably not gotten a lot of it tonight.
That wasnt the only reason Seamus might be struggling to sleep tonight though. There was a ghost in his apartment. Maybe. Probably. It could be someone just messing with him, but whatever it was, it wouldnt shut the fuck up. Pained wailing and haunted moaning echoed his halls, loud enough they should be audible from outside his accommodation but if hed thought to check hed find they never were. Whatever it was, it knew his name too. someone name audible every now and then, often followed by you asshole or occasionally you fucker.
Another day in paradise! If paradise was where massive camelia orchids sprung up out of nowhere overnight and their roots tore apart your cities underground infrastructure like it was paper mache. The sound of construction crews working was filling the air, making any attempts at sleep mostly impossible. Loud shouting of worker men communicating over the noise of their equipment would be too muffled by the sounds of drill and sledges and industrial equipment loudly smashing at concrete.
With so much of the damaged infrastructure underground and with so much of the accessways to that infrastructure collapsed in, blocked by roots, or simply too compromised to send workers into safely, the best option for repairing a good portion of the damage would be the expensive and wasteful process of simply smashing up the road and pavement and digging down to find the issue.
Even with such a roundabout and wasteful strategy, it still wasnt perfect. Compromised gas pipes had been shut off at the source, but who knows how big the underground gas pockets from the broken gas lines had gotten before that happened. Most of the underground electrical cabling had been turned off but short of depowering the entire city they werent going to be able to turn everything off.
Explosions from pockets of gas handled poorly, third degree burns from workers discovering electric lines that had shifted someplace unexpected, below surface construction sites flash flooding as waterways are opened up onto the heads of work men as they try (And often, sadly, fail) to scramble to safety.
The White Oak Webster Clinic, which was already only a clinic and not a full sized hospital, was overloaded with survivors dug out of the rubble of collapsed buildings, leaving slim hope for the unfortunate workmen who injured themselves in the rushed repair attempts and needed urgent medical assistance.
The carpark and the greens that dotted the White Oak campus are covered in white triage tents, injured placed onto blankets on the cold, hard ground as beds had quickly ran out.
Medical supplies were on their way, but slowly, the highways were packed full, not just because a large portion of them had been churned to undrivable pieces by the roots of the Camelia, but also due to the massive influx of press, tourists, and vigilante relief workers who were doing little more than getting in the way.
The roads out were packed too, those who had survived the chaos unharmed but found themselves without someplace to live, those who had work places compromised and needed to find work elsewhere, those who were simply deciding maybe Haven wasnt the safest place after all, the empty cargo deliveries on their way back to restock, and those who had made the terrible choice to simply get in their car to go for a drive today. All of them had been gifted with a horn in their vehicle by the vehicle manufacturer, and it seemed all of them felt the need to be using it.
Unless youre a very good sleeper, youve probably not gotten a lot of it tonight.
That wasnt the only reason Seamus might be struggling to sleep tonight though. There was a ghost in his apartment. Maybe. Probably. It could be someone just messing with him, but whatever it was, it wouldnt shut the fuck up. Pained wailing and haunted moaning echoed his halls, loud enough they should be audible from outside his accommodation but if hed thought to check hed find they never were. Whatever it was, it knew his name too. Seamus s name audible every now and then, often followed by you asshole or occasionally you fucker.
Seamus had been wounded the previous night when the major earthquake hit. He had been slowly on the mend, thanks in no small part to all of the restless sleep he had gotten over the last day. He fell out of bed which was something of an embarrasment but such is life. The noises kept him up though. Since coming to town something cracked in his brain allowing him to see things that he didn't believe were there. Ghosts, nightmare forms, auras. All in all the idea of a ghost in his apartment was not the least suspicious thing of his night.
The ghost, driven near insane with only fragments of memory, recognizes Seamus, addressing him with familiar contempt. This paranormal entity isn't just a random occurrence in Seamus’s life, it is deeply intertwined with his recent experiences, hinting at a city filled with more than just physical ruin. Seamus, already on edge from the city's calamities and his own injuries from a previous night's earthquake, faces the ghost's wrath. His unique ability to perceive supernatural elements - including ghosts, nightmare forms, and auras - presents both an opportunity and a curse. Seamus’s struggle against the spectral being in his apartment underlines a broader theme of survival and sanity amid an environment where the boundaries between the natural and supernatural have blurred. The haunting, rather than being an isolated event, becomes a pivotal moment for Seamus, challenging him to confront the unseen forces at play in Haven, and perhaps, find a way to restore some semblance of order within the chaos that surrounds him.
(Seamus's odd encounter(SRTakeshi):SRTakeshi)
[Mon Mar 24 2025]
In A sun washed library with a cityscape view
Floor to ceiling windows allow a shower of sun to flow into the room, touching all within at the right moment with a hue of natural gold. It falls upon a soft rug, the threadwork dappled with speckles of that same color that form the signs of the Greek zodiac forming an endless spiral around the room.
The gaze is torn between two places of pride. against one wall, flanking the doorway and filling the corners, bookshelves hold everything from leather bound texts to well-thumbed paperbacks. Opposite them, placed so the sunlight would angle across it, a luxurious sofa allows a reader to relax and lose themselves in one of the volumes on display.
The wall looking out over the city is taken up with a baby grand piano. Rosewood gleams, paired with the glistening ivory of the white keys, and the rich ebony of the black. Before it, a matching stool, scrolled with Tudor roses, sits ready for a pair of players to sit before the instrument and look out over the park and the distant bay.
It is morning, about 29F(-1C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Another day in paradise! If paradise was where massive camelia orchids sprung up out of nowhere overnight and their roots tore apart your cities underground infrastructure like it was paper mache. The sound of construction crews working was filling the air, making any attempts at sleep mostly impossible. Loud shouting of worker men communicating over the noise of their equipment would be too muffled by the sounds of drill and sledges and industrial equipment loudly smashing at concrete.
With so much of the damaged infrastructure underground and with so much of the accessways to that infrastructure collapsed in, blocked by roots, or simply too compromised to send workers into safely, the best option for repairing a good portion of the damage would be the expensive and wasteful process of simply smashing up the road and pavement and digging down to find the issue.
Even with such a roundabout and wasteful strategy, it still wasnt perfect. Compromised gas pipes had been shut off at the source, but who knows how big the underground gas pockets from the broken gas lines had gotten before that happened. Most of the underground electrical cabling had been turned off but short of depowering the entire city they werent going to be able to turn everything off.
Explosions from pockets of gas handled poorly, third degree burns from workers discovering electric lines that had shifted someplace unexpected, below surface construction sites flash flooding as waterways are opened up onto the heads of work men as they try (And often, sadly, fail) to scramble to safety.
The White Oak Webster Clinic, which was already only a clinic and not a full sized hospital, was overloaded with survivors dug out of the rubble of collapsed buildings, leaving slim hope for the unfortunate workmen who injured themselves in the rushed repair attempts and needed urgent medical assistance.
The carpark and the greens that dotted the White Oak campus are covered in white triage tents, injured placed onto blankets on the cold, hard ground as beds had quickly ran out.
Medical supplies were on their way, but slowly, the highways were packed full, not just because a large portion of them had been churned to undrivable pieces by the roots of the Camelia, but also due to the massive influx of press, tourists, and vigilante relief workers who were doing little more than getting in the way.
The roads out were packed too, those who had survived the chaos unharmed but found themselves without someplace to live, those who had work places compromised and needed to find work elsewhere, those who were simply deciding maybe Haven wasnt the safest place after all, the empty cargo deliveries on their way back to restock, and those who had made the terrible choice to simply get in their car to go for a drive today. All of them had been gifted with a horn in their vehicle by the vehicle manufacturer, and it seemed all of them felt the need to be using it.
Unless youre a very good sleeper, youve probably not gotten a lot of it tonight.
That wasnt the only reason Seamus might be struggling to sleep tonight though. There was a ghost in his apartment. Maybe. Probably. It could be someone just messing with him, but whatever it was, it wouldnt shut the fuck up. Pained wailing and haunted moaning echoed his halls, loud enough they should be audible from outside his accommodation but if hed thought to check hed find they never were. Whatever it was, it knew his name too. someone name audible every now and then, often followed by you asshole or occasionally you fucker.
Another day in paradise! If paradise was where massive camelia orchids sprung up out of nowhere overnight and their roots tore apart your cities underground infrastructure like it was paper mache. The sound of construction crews working was filling the air, making any attempts at sleep mostly impossible. Loud shouting of worker men communicating over the noise of their equipment would be too muffled by the sounds of drill and sledges and industrial equipment loudly smashing at concrete.
With so much of the damaged infrastructure underground and with so much of the accessways to that infrastructure collapsed in, blocked by roots, or simply too compromised to send workers into safely, the best option for repairing a good portion of the damage would be the expensive and wasteful process of simply smashing up the road and pavement and digging down to find the issue.
Even with such a roundabout and wasteful strategy, it still wasnt perfect. Compromised gas pipes had been shut off at the source, but who knows how big the underground gas pockets from the broken gas lines had gotten before that happened. Most of the underground electrical cabling had been turned off but short of depowering the entire city they werent going to be able to turn everything off.
Explosions from pockets of gas handled poorly, third degree burns from workers discovering electric lines that had shifted someplace unexpected, below surface construction sites flash flooding as waterways are opened up onto the heads of work men as they try (And often, sadly, fail) to scramble to safety.
The White Oak Webster Clinic, which was already only a clinic and not a full sized hospital, was overloaded with survivors dug out of the rubble of collapsed buildings, leaving slim hope for the unfortunate workmen who injured themselves in the rushed repair attempts and needed urgent medical assistance.
The carpark and the greens that dotted the White Oak campus are covered in white triage tents, injured placed onto blankets on the cold, hard ground as beds had quickly ran out.
Medical supplies were on their way, but slowly, the highways were packed full, not just because a large portion of them had been churned to undrivable pieces by the roots of the Camelia, but also due to the massive influx of press, tourists, and vigilante relief workers who were doing little more than getting in the way.
The roads out were packed too, those who had survived the chaos unharmed but found themselves without someplace to live, those who had work places compromised and needed to find work elsewhere, those who were simply deciding maybe Haven wasnt the safest place after all, the empty cargo deliveries on their way back to restock, and those who had made the terrible choice to simply get in their car to go for a drive today. All of them had been gifted with a horn in their vehicle by the vehicle manufacturer, and it seemed all of them felt the need to be using it.
Unless youre a very good sleeper, youve probably not gotten a lot of it tonight.
That wasnt the only reason Seamus might be struggling to sleep tonight though. There was a ghost in his apartment. Maybe. Probably. It could be someone just messing with him, but whatever it was, it wouldnt shut the fuck up. Pained wailing and haunted moaning echoed his halls, loud enough they should be audible from outside his accommodation but if hed thought to check hed find they never were. Whatever it was, it knew his name too. Seamus s name audible every now and then, often followed by you asshole or occasionally you fucker.
Seamus had been wounded the previous night when the major earthquake hit. He had been slowly on the mend, thanks in no small part to all of the restless sleep he had gotten over the last day. He fell out of bed which was something of an embarrasment but such is life. The noises kept him up though. Since coming to town something cracked in his brain allowing him to see things that he didn't believe were there. Ghosts, nightmare forms, auras. All in all the idea of a ghost in his apartment was not the least suspicious thing of his night.