Encounterlogs
Siennas Odd Encounter Sr Isaiah 240924
Sienna, a dedicated and industrious student, finds herself drawn away from her project, a rocket that could elevate her academic standing to unprecedented heights, by an unexpected summon to the administration desk. Despite the inconvenience, she navigates through an environment teeming with her less successful, panic-stricken peers without a shred of empathy. Instead, she owns her well-balanced life of academia, work, and social media influence with unwavering confidence. Her interruption leads to a bizarre revelation: a rogue agent from a faction she's involuntarily affiliated with has wreaked havoc in Haven Hardware, and Sienna is tasked with rectifying the situation or face being blamed for the damages. Her journey to the hardware store is met with curiosity rather than concern, leveraging social media to grasp the situation from afar. Upon arrival, she learns the chaos is the work of a distraught man, driven to despair by something personal, his anguish spilling over into destruction.
Faced with the challenge, Sienna approaches the situation with a calculated blend of sympathy and strategy, choosing to subdue the man with a quick-witted concoction rather than confront him head-on. Her method proves effective, and the man's fury gives way to unconsciousness, allowing Sienna to call in assistance for his removal. Through this ordeal, Sienna showcases her adaptability and problem-solving skills, reaffirming her status not merely as a student but as a capable mediator in times of unexpected crisis. With the rogue agent's tantrum quelled and Sienna's intervention successfully preventing further consequences, she promptly returns to her primary concern: her academic project, unphased by the day's strange events and determined to maintain her excellence.
(Sienna's odd encounter(SRIsaiah):SRIsaiah)
[Mon Sep 23 2024]
At the tall grass
It is morning, about 64F(17C) degrees,
(A member of your target's faction has gone rogue and is causing chaos within the town. The rogue member is extremely powerful and your target must find a way to neutralize the threat they pose, either by defeating them, reasoning with them or seeking the help of other factions.)
The morning air feels crisp and cool against the exposed skin of Sienna's arms, the faintest of seaward breezes brushing against her face as she works, a subtle moment of relief here and there that keeps the diligent femme from sweating profusely in her work. The rocket she builds is coming along nicely, a semester's worth of diligent study and, of course, practice, practice, practice, all coming to a head as midterms are announced. This is it, this project: it's what is going to push her above the rest. She not only sets the bar, she is the bar. Excellence, devotion, dedication to her studies, her craft. Pretty faces are great- the world revolves around them, and the best part about them, really, is that they can often cause one to be underestimated. Sienna is beautiful, and she's smart, but the ladder is often not seen due to the eyes that rove her lovely young form. It isn't a curse. When your foes see your pretty face and assume that is all you are, they ultimately end up blindsided when you exercise your talents.
And best of all, doubt that your work is your own: how to get away with murder, really. Be beautiful, be demure, be mindful, and be unassuming. Yet, out here, with crunch time rolling down upon her, the time for demure is over. Sienna is down in the dirt and grass puttign the finishing touches on the rocket that will surely shoot her to the top of her class and, most importantly, Summa Cum Laude. Imagine, if you will, the amount of power that puts into one's resume; the look on the faces of those that hate her, doubt her, or bully her, when they realize she is the best of the best and they should have chosen the targets of their ire more wisely.
The intercom crackles to life, the familiar drone of faculty voices doing morning announcements a bit late due to the hustle and bustle that midterms week has caused for them, too. The static crinkles, then shuts down, the announcements over only for it to return all over again moments later. "Sienna Swann to the reception desk, please. Sienna Swann to the reception desk." It's the voice of the aging women that often holds precedence in that particular space, having worked here for too many years and eagerly awaiting a retirement that seems less and less worth continuing to push through the nonsense after each day that goes by. She's so close, but so far away, and the fact that she quite simply doesn't want to be here is always evident on her face, in the tone of her voice, and of course, her actions. She is very much a 'not my problem' sort of faculty member.
Sienna pauses in the middle of soldering a wire today as the crackle of the intercom pulls her out of her focused bubble. She lets out a small, frustrated sigh, her perfectly glossed lips pressing into an annoyed pout. Of course, now they need her at reception. This couldn't have waited five, ten minutes?
An arm lifts to wipe a bit of oil off her cheek with the back of her hand, standing up and stretching her arms above her head, the crisp air bringing a refreshing coolness to her bare skin. Glancing back at her project, nearly on the verge of another test launch, she can't help but heave another lamenting sigh. Her already perfect GPA can't get any better, but it's all about attracting better job offers from Silicon Valley. It's always sweeter when it's handed to her by her anonymous submissions rather than titled or after a glimpse of her pretty face and body.
With a light roll of her eyes, the teen wipes her hands clean, picking up her bag and swinging it over a shoulder, robotic wires sticking out from the unzipped pocket. "This better be quick," she muses aloud, flicking her freshly dyed blonde hair back as she heads down the covered path, already envisioning the envious looks once she presents her project to her ornery ass professor.
The walk to the reception is abuzz with people chattering, students panicking, one girl standing on the edge of the Mermaid Fountain, staring down into the waters with a glazed over expression, as though wishing the short jump into those shallow waters might just end it all. There's a senior boy, a star athlete, linebacker on the football team, curling up in a fetal position against the wall of the clinic, hugging his knees as he rocks back and forth, crying and murmuring panicked words under his breath. He's got a 2.0 right now, and after party hardying all semester long he'd forgotten that things aren't this sweet forever. Now he's paying for it. But these people aren't why Sienna is walking to the reception. No. They aren't the reason she's enjoying a trafficless stroll to the Union building, where her peers and fellow students are too busy forcing their heads into the books to do any walking.
Even still, they really aren't her problem; she'd done what she was supposed to do. She /worked/. She somehow managed to balance school life with having a job, on top of constantly being a social media influencer, and you don't see Sienna crying about her circumstances. She owns it, she works, and now she walks.
The woman at the reception desk stares blankly at Sienna as though already prepared to get this student-teacher interaction out of her way so she can go back to reading her AARP magazine about vacation hotspots this year for senior citizens and retirees. She blinks slowly, and it's clear that Sienna is moving far too casually for her taste. Still, once the biracial beauty is standing before her, the woman says little beyond rattling off the message that had been left. "Some redheaded lesbian do well was here for you," says her somewhat husky voice, the smell of cigarettes and coffee on her breath and a smudge of her too-red lipstick on her slightly yellow teeth. "Said your first job is gonna be wrangling in some fucking rogue agent, whatever that means," she hisses out, glancing at the time on a surprisingly well taken care of and feminine looking watch. "It's my lunch break, finally. Anyways, said put down the red rocket and go prove your worth at Haven Hardware. Apparently she pissed someone off- foul mouthed thing. Any who, they're tearing apart the hardware store and says if you don't fix it, you're taking the fall for the damages."
She falls silent for a time, then stands, reaching into a drawer on her desk and pulling out a zipped-closed and insulated lunch box. "Also, she says you should take care of that quarter-sized pimple on the back of your neck before it gets infected. Then told me to kiss you on the mouth, but I'm not doing that. Be queer on your own time."
Sienna weaves through the scattered chaos with an amused smile. She sees the panic, the desperation hanging on her classmates' faces, but it's all white noise. The girl by the Mermaid Fountain? The linebacker? Not her problem. She'd offered tutoring services twice a week for several weeks already and it's not their fault they didn't take it. The Beta Phi Chi babe has done the work, balanced everything - school, running a salon, and her accidental influencer life - with her head held high. She doesn't have time for breakdowns, and honestly, it's almost fun watching the chaos unfold while she strides towards the Union.
When she reaches the desk and faces the receptionist, she stands demurely, flicking her blonde hair back, unbothered by the woman's bland expression. Perfectly glossed lips nestle themselves into a serenely innocent smile, bowing her head with respect for the message passed her way. "Rogue agent?" she echoes, barely a whisper under her breath. "That totally sounds like a normal day. Not like I had anything better to do at all."
Her nose wrinkles slightly at the smell of cigarettes while she listens to the woman prattle on about the mess at the hardware store. Great. Because it's totally my fault that someone can't keep their mouth shut," Sienna mutters to herself, rolling her eyes. But when she hears the threat about taking the fall for the damages, her eyes narrow. "Well, isn't that just convenient," she adds under her breath, turning on heel, with a backward wave cast over a shoulder. "Later, Karen! Good luck with finding a cozy little spot to retire!" And once she's out of range, already heading toward her car toward Haven Hardware, the blonde sighs out, "Fucking bitch. I saw her bank accounts. She'll never be able to retire off that piss poor salary and shit savings.""
Karen doesn't seem to hear those words Sienna has murmured, luckily enough for her- the lady is too busy shifting herself out from behind that reception desk, grabbing her lunch, and making her way to the faculty break room. It's true that the woman can't save two pennies to rub together; she spends most of the excess she makes on cigarettes, coffee, and having Sienna's employees manicure her horrid banshee claws. But, hey, every penny spent at You Wish Beauty goes right into Sienna's pocket- after taxes and expenses, of course. It's a good life to live, and it certainly helps cushion the blow of juggling multiple life choices at once for the heroine of our story here as she climbs into her car and prepares to handle what was not her problem, but now is.
The drive to Haven Hardware is just as dull as one might expect- it's a brief journey, and the weather forecast for today isn't cloudy with a chance of meteor showers. Calm, perfect weather, a light sea breeze, sunshine beaming down, and yet distinctively the end of summer- there's a chill in the air. Fall is coming. The time of pumpkin spice, warm sweaters, apple cider, and pumpkin pie. One can almost imagine the crispy crunch of leaves beneath their feet as they walk along the sleepy streets of Haven proper. Speaking of Haven, it's not long before Sienna is pulling up to a hardware store with a small cluster of employees standing outside worriedly, some of them texting, and some of them taking videos through the glass to get a peek at what's going on inside. There's the loud sounds of things being thrown around, high enough in volume that she can hear it even still sitting in her car. A quick peek in the direction of the building will reveal the vague outline of someone inside tossing and upturning the wares.
Sienna pulls into the nearest parking spot at Starbucks, her gaze flicking toward the chaos unfolding across the street at Haven Hardware. Her lips press together in a mix of irritation and curiosity. Instead of jumping straight into the mess, she parks and leans back in her seat, reaching for her phone. She opens the MyHaven app, fingers gliding across the screen with practiced ease to search the geolocation for any videos or posts related to the current scene.
There's always someone who manages to catch the story from its beginning, or close to it, to provide a perspective on what's going on inside Haven Hardware. Her BMW is cut-off, cracking down the window, watching as shelves are overturned. With a quick glance at the employee cluster outside, she assesses the situation, casually sipping her iced coffee.
It's only after she's gathered a sense of what's going on, scrolling through comments for more context, that the teen finally decides to step out of the car, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Hey! What the heck's going on inside? I was coming to buy a couple of flatheads to replace the ones I broke this morning, but... what's all that ruckus going on inside?"
Sienna's social sleuthing will find her rewarded: There are no videos of what happened at the start, but some are close to it. They all begin once a brown-haired guy inside has already started his freak out, tears streaming down his face, which is contorted into an expression of pure agony; not of the physical kind, but of the emotional sort. Though her search does turn up a few edited and exaggerated images and videos of the incident, the general consensus seems to be the same: young folks recording the guy and speaking in the background, aghast and disgruntled as they narrate their inner surprise and try to take guesses at what's wrong. "I bet his wife is cheating on him..", "His girlfriend probably dumped him.", "Maybe he got fired... The economy sucks.", "Hah, my face when gas prices." There is only one word, one name, that the man shouts above it all, his voice cracked with sorrow as he grabs more shelves, more inventory, and smashes it all. "SIRINA!!"
The quick approach to the group of employees provides more context than the internet does, which is fair. Stories get stretched, and information gets lost. The employees all clamber over each other speaking before the manager shushes them all down. "He was just a normal guy," they say, hooking their thumb towards the shop. "He was waiting in line to check out- just had a box of carpenter nails and some wood. Said it was for a home project. He checked his phone while he was waiting, he got a text or something... Then he just started to freak out," they explain, unable to provide much information on the incident beyond that. "He's been at it for ten, fifteen minutes. HSD isn't responding. We don't know what else to do."
Sienna plays back the videos a couple of times from different angles, taking screenshots as best she can of the distraught brown-haired man losing his damned mind inside the hardware store. They're quickly uploaded and used to try and conduct a cursory search to find his identity and anything she can use to arm herself with helping walk this dude down. Her iPhone is tucked into the cozy and snug confines of a back pocket stretched taut across her yammy-tammy buttock, fingers quickly maneuvering a dark hair tie off her wrist to pull her blonde hair back into a low ponytail.
"Thanks. Hopefully HSD or someone will respond soon enough," she expresses her genuine hope to the manager once the gaggle of employees give her the full rundown from their perspective. She turns her head to look through the front windows, gauging the man's exact location before she moves for the door, pushing through the crowd of spectators. Without hesitation, and before second thoughts can slow her down, she ducks inside and steers immediately down a side aisle to look for one of the several fire extinguishers the store is mandated to keep on hand.
There is one other thing that stands out to Sienna now that she is creeping along the interior of the store as the brunette male trashes everything in sight, sobbing, weeping, calling out that name again and again. "SIRINA! SIRINAAA!!" He has a society symbol dangling from around his neck: the Sword of Damocles with a fiery pommel. The symbol of The Forged Fortune, which Sienna had unceremoniously become part of, voluntold to commit by a certain curly-haired ginger girl. So this is what was meant by 'rogue agent'. One wonders what Sienna's valiant leader could have possibly done to cause all of this.
Consistent studying of the videos and eye witness accounts would continue to educate Sienna on the man's circumstances. He had never lashed out at a customer or an employee. He seemed non-aggressive, but was having a violent outburst over something. Some text he had received upon his phone. Watching him for a time after snagging herself a fire extinguisher, Sienna begins to uncover a few more details. He's got sun tanned skin and lovely green eyes, but that's not what's important. What's important is the pretty yellow gold band on his left ring finger, settled in long enough that it looks like his finger may not recover from the squeeze it places on his rough and calloused digit. An untarnished and well-kept eternal symbol of love. He's married, and it looks to be happily so. So why this? Why now?
Sienna watches the scene unfold, carefully calculating her next steps. Prettily manicured nails tap lightly against the fire extinguisher in her grip. The main's weeping and calling out for Sirina tugs at something deep within her; compassion, earnest empathy for the pain of whatever brought this on. Her eyes flick down toward the glowing emblem of the Sword of Damocles dangling from his neck, and it solidifies the path she's going to take.
She creeps further along the store, noticing the gold band on his finger. Married, but a certain redhead heifer did something to upset him, set him off; an emotional breakdown.
She sets the fire extinguisher aside for a moment, quickly grabbing a spare mask from a pack on the wall advertising PPE for all DIY aficionados, pulling it over her face. Her fingers work swiftly to adjust the extinguisher's nozzle as she navigates through the aisles, plucking up ammonia and bleach to create a chloramine vapor, which can cause respiratory issues and unconsciousness, from a few industrial strength cleaners. Black mamas do this shit every Saturday morning, so why can't she?
A few drops into the extinguisher, and she's ready to release a gas that should knock him unconscious in minutes - theoretically, anyway. She takes a deep breath, keeping her distance as she starts to approach, extinguisher in hand and ready to go if needed. "Hey!" she calls out, her voice soft, full of concern, but firm. "Hey, big guy. You're scaring everyone! We work together, right? Help me help you."
There's a sledge hammer in the guy's hand when Sienna approaches from afar, and justifiably arms herself with the equivalent of homemade mustard gas. He turns to look at her tearfully, a wild look in his eyes, but rather than approach, or swing, he takes a step back, murmuring, "I don't need help. I need Sirina back. She never should have gone on that mission." He falls silent then, contemplative, and for a moment it seems that the conversation is calming him, but ultimately he ends up being riled all over again, his hands gripping that hammer to the point of being white-knuckled and he starts to smash the cash register, the counter, and everything around it repeatedly.
"SIRINA!!" he screams, but he just can't hold his anger and fury the way he had been, knowing that Sienna is there, watching, an innocent bystander, a coworker at that. His shoulders start to sag, and he goes back to weeping. "Sirina... Gods, why.."
Sienna, keeping a safe distance, watches the man swings the sledgehammer with wild abandon, his grief-stricken cries for Sirina echoing through the hardware store. The fire extinguisher weighs heavy in her hands, gripping it tightly, before she takes in a deep breath and adjusts the makeshift mask on her face.
Slowly, she steps forward, just close enough to aim. The man's sobs are heart-wrenching, but the teen keeps her focus. "I'm so sorry about this," she murmurs under her breath, eyes narrowing as she braces herself. In one fluid motion, the girl pulls the trigger on the extinguisher, releasing the chloramine vapor in a controlled burst aimed directly at the distraught man.
It's just smoke- just a puff of white fog that weighs itself down upon the guy who, unsuspecting of the chemical agent within, starts to cough and gag. He spits out the frothy foam and wipes his mouth clean with a sleeve, the shock enough to tear him out of that frenzy to instead look upon Sienna with confusion. "What the Hell?" he asks her, as though he hadn't been in the store destroying everything he could get his hands on in his moment of rage and sorrow. He starts to lean to the side a bit, stumbling as he breathes in the concoction, his eyes growing weary as his mind blatantly grows dizzier and dizzier. ".. Shit... What...?"
*thud*
Down he goes, dropping to his knees as that hammer slips out of his hands, and then he folds forward, massive wait almost seeming to creak like a tree felled by a lumberjack. Face first into his own pile of rubble, the man's consciousness fades, large and in charge- except when Sienna is around, that is. In this case, he's little more than a problem to be solved, and the Swann is nothing if not a problem-solver.
Sienna immediately tosses aside the fire extinguisher, the heavy thing clattering to the floor as the Swannling bolts forward to try and catch the guy's head and lead him down to a resting position. A hand disappears into her back pocket, quickly unlocking her phone and sending off a fast text to JR: Guy downed. Too big to drag by myself. Help me get him out b4 HSD comes & he gets an all inclusive trip to a clinic spa day!!
The end of an era. Sienna' assistance arrives with a middle finger emoji that's accompanied by a trans-flag heart emoji, and then a grinning devil emoji. So many emojis. Who knows what they mean in this JR's secret code language that they have. Or maybe it just means exactly what it looks like- there's really no telling. Regardless, help is here in the form of two bruiser-types who pull the unconscious man with them into the nightmare, unheard and unseen until the guy's form slips past the veil, signaling their presence. Now the college girl is alone in the world, surrounded by rubble and fumes that don't make it past her mask, thankfully. And with mid-terms going on, it's high time she get back to school. She left her rocket out on the field, after all. Who knows which of those jealous student body members have found it by now and done Gods know what. The possibilities are endless, really.
Sienna merely rolls her eyes at the series of emojis scrolling across her phone, cramming the device away into her back pocket. With her poor colleague yoinked off beyond the veil of the nightmare, she wastes no time in skulking off from the store, rushing to her car and peeling out of Starbucks' parking lot to go get her rocket.
Faced with the challenge, Sienna approaches the situation with a calculated blend of sympathy and strategy, choosing to subdue the man with a quick-witted concoction rather than confront him head-on. Her method proves effective, and the man's fury gives way to unconsciousness, allowing Sienna to call in assistance for his removal. Through this ordeal, Sienna showcases her adaptability and problem-solving skills, reaffirming her status not merely as a student but as a capable mediator in times of unexpected crisis. With the rogue agent's tantrum quelled and Sienna's intervention successfully preventing further consequences, she promptly returns to her primary concern: her academic project, unphased by the day's strange events and determined to maintain her excellence.
(Sienna's odd encounter(SRIsaiah):SRIsaiah)
[Mon Sep 23 2024]
At the tall grass
It is morning, about 64F(17C) degrees,
(A member of your target's faction has gone rogue and is causing chaos within the town. The rogue member is extremely powerful and your target must find a way to neutralize the threat they pose, either by defeating them, reasoning with them or seeking the help of other factions.)
The morning air feels crisp and cool against the exposed skin of Sienna's arms, the faintest of seaward breezes brushing against her face as she works, a subtle moment of relief here and there that keeps the diligent femme from sweating profusely in her work. The rocket she builds is coming along nicely, a semester's worth of diligent study and, of course, practice, practice, practice, all coming to a head as midterms are announced. This is it, this project: it's what is going to push her above the rest. She not only sets the bar, she is the bar. Excellence, devotion, dedication to her studies, her craft. Pretty faces are great- the world revolves around them, and the best part about them, really, is that they can often cause one to be underestimated. Sienna is beautiful, and she's smart, but the ladder is often not seen due to the eyes that rove her lovely young form. It isn't a curse. When your foes see your pretty face and assume that is all you are, they ultimately end up blindsided when you exercise your talents.
And best of all, doubt that your work is your own: how to get away with murder, really. Be beautiful, be demure, be mindful, and be unassuming. Yet, out here, with crunch time rolling down upon her, the time for demure is over. Sienna is down in the dirt and grass puttign the finishing touches on the rocket that will surely shoot her to the top of her class and, most importantly, Summa Cum Laude. Imagine, if you will, the amount of power that puts into one's resume; the look on the faces of those that hate her, doubt her, or bully her, when they realize she is the best of the best and they should have chosen the targets of their ire more wisely.
The intercom crackles to life, the familiar drone of faculty voices doing morning announcements a bit late due to the hustle and bustle that midterms week has caused for them, too. The static crinkles, then shuts down, the announcements over only for it to return all over again moments later. "Sienna Swann to the reception desk, please. Sienna Swann to the reception desk." It's the voice of the aging women that often holds precedence in that particular space, having worked here for too many years and eagerly awaiting a retirement that seems less and less worth continuing to push through the nonsense after each day that goes by. She's so close, but so far away, and the fact that she quite simply doesn't want to be here is always evident on her face, in the tone of her voice, and of course, her actions. She is very much a 'not my problem' sort of faculty member.
Sienna pauses in the middle of soldering a wire today as the crackle of the intercom pulls her out of her focused bubble. She lets out a small, frustrated sigh, her perfectly glossed lips pressing into an annoyed pout. Of course, now they need her at reception. This couldn't have waited five, ten minutes?
An arm lifts to wipe a bit of oil off her cheek with the back of her hand, standing up and stretching her arms above her head, the crisp air bringing a refreshing coolness to her bare skin. Glancing back at her project, nearly on the verge of another test launch, she can't help but heave another lamenting sigh. Her already perfect GPA can't get any better, but it's all about attracting better job offers from Silicon Valley. It's always sweeter when it's handed to her by her anonymous submissions rather than titled or after a glimpse of her pretty face and body.
With a light roll of her eyes, the teen wipes her hands clean, picking up her bag and swinging it over a shoulder, robotic wires sticking out from the unzipped pocket. "This better be quick," she muses aloud, flicking her freshly dyed blonde hair back as she heads down the covered path, already envisioning the envious looks once she presents her project to her ornery ass professor.
The walk to the reception is abuzz with people chattering, students panicking, one girl standing on the edge of the Mermaid Fountain, staring down into the waters with a glazed over expression, as though wishing the short jump into those shallow waters might just end it all. There's a senior boy, a star athlete, linebacker on the football team, curling up in a fetal position against the wall of the clinic, hugging his knees as he rocks back and forth, crying and murmuring panicked words under his breath. He's got a 2.0 right now, and after party hardying all semester long he'd forgotten that things aren't this sweet forever. Now he's paying for it. But these people aren't why Sienna is walking to the reception. No. They aren't the reason she's enjoying a trafficless stroll to the Union building, where her peers and fellow students are too busy forcing their heads into the books to do any walking.
Even still, they really aren't her problem; she'd done what she was supposed to do. She /worked/. She somehow managed to balance school life with having a job, on top of constantly being a social media influencer, and you don't see Sienna crying about her circumstances. She owns it, she works, and now she walks.
The woman at the reception desk stares blankly at Sienna as though already prepared to get this student-teacher interaction out of her way so she can go back to reading her AARP magazine about vacation hotspots this year for senior citizens and retirees. She blinks slowly, and it's clear that Sienna is moving far too casually for her taste. Still, once the biracial beauty is standing before her, the woman says little beyond rattling off the message that had been left. "Some redheaded lesbian do well was here for you," says her somewhat husky voice, the smell of cigarettes and coffee on her breath and a smudge of her too-red lipstick on her slightly yellow teeth. "Said your first job is gonna be wrangling in some fucking rogue agent, whatever that means," she hisses out, glancing at the time on a surprisingly well taken care of and feminine looking watch. "It's my lunch break, finally. Anyways, said put down the red rocket and go prove your worth at Haven Hardware. Apparently she pissed someone off- foul mouthed thing. Any who, they're tearing apart the hardware store and says if you don't fix it, you're taking the fall for the damages."
She falls silent for a time, then stands, reaching into a drawer on her desk and pulling out a zipped-closed and insulated lunch box. "Also, she says you should take care of that quarter-sized pimple on the back of your neck before it gets infected. Then told me to kiss you on the mouth, but I'm not doing that. Be queer on your own time."
Sienna weaves through the scattered chaos with an amused smile. She sees the panic, the desperation hanging on her classmates' faces, but it's all white noise. The girl by the Mermaid Fountain? The linebacker? Not her problem. She'd offered tutoring services twice a week for several weeks already and it's not their fault they didn't take it. The Beta Phi Chi babe has done the work, balanced everything - school, running a salon, and her accidental influencer life - with her head held high. She doesn't have time for breakdowns, and honestly, it's almost fun watching the chaos unfold while she strides towards the Union.
When she reaches the desk and faces the receptionist, she stands demurely, flicking her blonde hair back, unbothered by the woman's bland expression. Perfectly glossed lips nestle themselves into a serenely innocent smile, bowing her head with respect for the message passed her way. "Rogue agent?" she echoes, barely a whisper under her breath. "That totally sounds like a normal day. Not like I had anything better to do at all."
Her nose wrinkles slightly at the smell of cigarettes while she listens to the woman prattle on about the mess at the hardware store. Great. Because it's totally my fault that someone can't keep their mouth shut," Sienna mutters to herself, rolling her eyes. But when she hears the threat about taking the fall for the damages, her eyes narrow. "Well, isn't that just convenient," she adds under her breath, turning on heel, with a backward wave cast over a shoulder. "Later, Karen! Good luck with finding a cozy little spot to retire!" And once she's out of range, already heading toward her car toward Haven Hardware, the blonde sighs out, "Fucking bitch. I saw her bank accounts. She'll never be able to retire off that piss poor salary and shit savings.""
Karen doesn't seem to hear those words Sienna has murmured, luckily enough for her- the lady is too busy shifting herself out from behind that reception desk, grabbing her lunch, and making her way to the faculty break room. It's true that the woman can't save two pennies to rub together; she spends most of the excess she makes on cigarettes, coffee, and having Sienna's employees manicure her horrid banshee claws. But, hey, every penny spent at You Wish Beauty goes right into Sienna's pocket- after taxes and expenses, of course. It's a good life to live, and it certainly helps cushion the blow of juggling multiple life choices at once for the heroine of our story here as she climbs into her car and prepares to handle what was not her problem, but now is.
The drive to Haven Hardware is just as dull as one might expect- it's a brief journey, and the weather forecast for today isn't cloudy with a chance of meteor showers. Calm, perfect weather, a light sea breeze, sunshine beaming down, and yet distinctively the end of summer- there's a chill in the air. Fall is coming. The time of pumpkin spice, warm sweaters, apple cider, and pumpkin pie. One can almost imagine the crispy crunch of leaves beneath their feet as they walk along the sleepy streets of Haven proper. Speaking of Haven, it's not long before Sienna is pulling up to a hardware store with a small cluster of employees standing outside worriedly, some of them texting, and some of them taking videos through the glass to get a peek at what's going on inside. There's the loud sounds of things being thrown around, high enough in volume that she can hear it even still sitting in her car. A quick peek in the direction of the building will reveal the vague outline of someone inside tossing and upturning the wares.
Sienna pulls into the nearest parking spot at Starbucks, her gaze flicking toward the chaos unfolding across the street at Haven Hardware. Her lips press together in a mix of irritation and curiosity. Instead of jumping straight into the mess, she parks and leans back in her seat, reaching for her phone. She opens the MyHaven app, fingers gliding across the screen with practiced ease to search the geolocation for any videos or posts related to the current scene.
There's always someone who manages to catch the story from its beginning, or close to it, to provide a perspective on what's going on inside Haven Hardware. Her BMW is cut-off, cracking down the window, watching as shelves are overturned. With a quick glance at the employee cluster outside, she assesses the situation, casually sipping her iced coffee.
It's only after she's gathered a sense of what's going on, scrolling through comments for more context, that the teen finally decides to step out of the car, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Hey! What the heck's going on inside? I was coming to buy a couple of flatheads to replace the ones I broke this morning, but... what's all that ruckus going on inside?"
Sienna's social sleuthing will find her rewarded: There are no videos of what happened at the start, but some are close to it. They all begin once a brown-haired guy inside has already started his freak out, tears streaming down his face, which is contorted into an expression of pure agony; not of the physical kind, but of the emotional sort. Though her search does turn up a few edited and exaggerated images and videos of the incident, the general consensus seems to be the same: young folks recording the guy and speaking in the background, aghast and disgruntled as they narrate their inner surprise and try to take guesses at what's wrong. "I bet his wife is cheating on him..", "His girlfriend probably dumped him.", "Maybe he got fired... The economy sucks.", "Hah, my face when gas prices." There is only one word, one name, that the man shouts above it all, his voice cracked with sorrow as he grabs more shelves, more inventory, and smashes it all. "SIRINA!!"
The quick approach to the group of employees provides more context than the internet does, which is fair. Stories get stretched, and information gets lost. The employees all clamber over each other speaking before the manager shushes them all down. "He was just a normal guy," they say, hooking their thumb towards the shop. "He was waiting in line to check out- just had a box of carpenter nails and some wood. Said it was for a home project. He checked his phone while he was waiting, he got a text or something... Then he just started to freak out," they explain, unable to provide much information on the incident beyond that. "He's been at it for ten, fifteen minutes. HSD isn't responding. We don't know what else to do."
Sienna plays back the videos a couple of times from different angles, taking screenshots as best she can of the distraught brown-haired man losing his damned mind inside the hardware store. They're quickly uploaded and used to try and conduct a cursory search to find his identity and anything she can use to arm herself with helping walk this dude down. Her iPhone is tucked into the cozy and snug confines of a back pocket stretched taut across her yammy-tammy buttock, fingers quickly maneuvering a dark hair tie off her wrist to pull her blonde hair back into a low ponytail.
"Thanks. Hopefully HSD or someone will respond soon enough," she expresses her genuine hope to the manager once the gaggle of employees give her the full rundown from their perspective. She turns her head to look through the front windows, gauging the man's exact location before she moves for the door, pushing through the crowd of spectators. Without hesitation, and before second thoughts can slow her down, she ducks inside and steers immediately down a side aisle to look for one of the several fire extinguishers the store is mandated to keep on hand.
There is one other thing that stands out to Sienna now that she is creeping along the interior of the store as the brunette male trashes everything in sight, sobbing, weeping, calling out that name again and again. "SIRINA! SIRINAAA!!" He has a society symbol dangling from around his neck: the Sword of Damocles with a fiery pommel. The symbol of The Forged Fortune, which Sienna had unceremoniously become part of, voluntold to commit by a certain curly-haired ginger girl. So this is what was meant by 'rogue agent'. One wonders what Sienna's valiant leader could have possibly done to cause all of this.
Consistent studying of the videos and eye witness accounts would continue to educate Sienna on the man's circumstances. He had never lashed out at a customer or an employee. He seemed non-aggressive, but was having a violent outburst over something. Some text he had received upon his phone. Watching him for a time after snagging herself a fire extinguisher, Sienna begins to uncover a few more details. He's got sun tanned skin and lovely green eyes, but that's not what's important. What's important is the pretty yellow gold band on his left ring finger, settled in long enough that it looks like his finger may not recover from the squeeze it places on his rough and calloused digit. An untarnished and well-kept eternal symbol of love. He's married, and it looks to be happily so. So why this? Why now?
Sienna watches the scene unfold, carefully calculating her next steps. Prettily manicured nails tap lightly against the fire extinguisher in her grip. The main's weeping and calling out for Sirina tugs at something deep within her; compassion, earnest empathy for the pain of whatever brought this on. Her eyes flick down toward the glowing emblem of the Sword of Damocles dangling from his neck, and it solidifies the path she's going to take.
She creeps further along the store, noticing the gold band on his finger. Married, but a certain redhead heifer did something to upset him, set him off; an emotional breakdown.
She sets the fire extinguisher aside for a moment, quickly grabbing a spare mask from a pack on the wall advertising PPE for all DIY aficionados, pulling it over her face. Her fingers work swiftly to adjust the extinguisher's nozzle as she navigates through the aisles, plucking up ammonia and bleach to create a chloramine vapor, which can cause respiratory issues and unconsciousness, from a few industrial strength cleaners. Black mamas do this shit every Saturday morning, so why can't she?
A few drops into the extinguisher, and she's ready to release a gas that should knock him unconscious in minutes - theoretically, anyway. She takes a deep breath, keeping her distance as she starts to approach, extinguisher in hand and ready to go if needed. "Hey!" she calls out, her voice soft, full of concern, but firm. "Hey, big guy. You're scaring everyone! We work together, right? Help me help you."
There's a sledge hammer in the guy's hand when Sienna approaches from afar, and justifiably arms herself with the equivalent of homemade mustard gas. He turns to look at her tearfully, a wild look in his eyes, but rather than approach, or swing, he takes a step back, murmuring, "I don't need help. I need Sirina back. She never should have gone on that mission." He falls silent then, contemplative, and for a moment it seems that the conversation is calming him, but ultimately he ends up being riled all over again, his hands gripping that hammer to the point of being white-knuckled and he starts to smash the cash register, the counter, and everything around it repeatedly.
"SIRINA!!" he screams, but he just can't hold his anger and fury the way he had been, knowing that Sienna is there, watching, an innocent bystander, a coworker at that. His shoulders start to sag, and he goes back to weeping. "Sirina... Gods, why.."
Sienna, keeping a safe distance, watches the man swings the sledgehammer with wild abandon, his grief-stricken cries for Sirina echoing through the hardware store. The fire extinguisher weighs heavy in her hands, gripping it tightly, before she takes in a deep breath and adjusts the makeshift mask on her face.
Slowly, she steps forward, just close enough to aim. The man's sobs are heart-wrenching, but the teen keeps her focus. "I'm so sorry about this," she murmurs under her breath, eyes narrowing as she braces herself. In one fluid motion, the girl pulls the trigger on the extinguisher, releasing the chloramine vapor in a controlled burst aimed directly at the distraught man.
It's just smoke- just a puff of white fog that weighs itself down upon the guy who, unsuspecting of the chemical agent within, starts to cough and gag. He spits out the frothy foam and wipes his mouth clean with a sleeve, the shock enough to tear him out of that frenzy to instead look upon Sienna with confusion. "What the Hell?" he asks her, as though he hadn't been in the store destroying everything he could get his hands on in his moment of rage and sorrow. He starts to lean to the side a bit, stumbling as he breathes in the concoction, his eyes growing weary as his mind blatantly grows dizzier and dizzier. ".. Shit... What...?"
*thud*
Down he goes, dropping to his knees as that hammer slips out of his hands, and then he folds forward, massive wait almost seeming to creak like a tree felled by a lumberjack. Face first into his own pile of rubble, the man's consciousness fades, large and in charge- except when Sienna is around, that is. In this case, he's little more than a problem to be solved, and the Swann is nothing if not a problem-solver.
Sienna immediately tosses aside the fire extinguisher, the heavy thing clattering to the floor as the Swannling bolts forward to try and catch the guy's head and lead him down to a resting position. A hand disappears into her back pocket, quickly unlocking her phone and sending off a fast text to JR: Guy downed. Too big to drag by myself. Help me get him out b4 HSD comes & he gets an all inclusive trip to a clinic spa day!!
The end of an era. Sienna' assistance arrives with a middle finger emoji that's accompanied by a trans-flag heart emoji, and then a grinning devil emoji. So many emojis. Who knows what they mean in this JR's secret code language that they have. Or maybe it just means exactly what it looks like- there's really no telling. Regardless, help is here in the form of two bruiser-types who pull the unconscious man with them into the nightmare, unheard and unseen until the guy's form slips past the veil, signaling their presence. Now the college girl is alone in the world, surrounded by rubble and fumes that don't make it past her mask, thankfully. And with mid-terms going on, it's high time she get back to school. She left her rocket out on the field, after all. Who knows which of those jealous student body members have found it by now and done Gods know what. The possibilities are endless, really.
Sienna merely rolls her eyes at the series of emojis scrolling across her phone, cramming the device away into her back pocket. With her poor colleague yoinked off beyond the veil of the nightmare, she wastes no time in skulking off from the store, rushing to her car and peeling out of Starbucks' parking lot to go get her rocket.