Encounterlogs
Siofras Odd Encounter Sr Seamus 250429
In the whimsical and troubled life of Siofra Black, an unexpected visit from state police detectives, Duarte and Hawthorn, shatters the serene afternoon. The detectives arrive at her door to enquire about the previous night's events, specifically involving a college kid named Eli Merritt who was reportedly found drugged in the basement of a club. Siofra, coy and evasive, entertains the detectives at her doorstep, her demeanor a mix of whimsy and distress. Hawthorn's blunt interrogation about Eli's condition and Siofra's potential involvement only leads to more vague and emotional responses from her, emphasizing her worry for her sister and her disdain for the dangerous elements within their town.
As the exchange grows increasingly bizarre, with Siofra's responses ranging from manipulative sorrow to outright hostility towards the accusation of jealousy over her sister, the detectives struggle to maintain focus. Duarte is momentarily incapacitated by a sudden headache after making eye contact with Siofra, whose pupils dance unnervingly. Siofra's plea to reconsider their priorities seems to momentarily distract the detectives, but Hawthorn's patience wears thin, threatening her with obstruction charges. The confrontation abruptly ends as Siofra slams the door on them, leaving the detectives without the answers they sought. Behind closed doors, Siofra takes a menacing step by texting an ominous message titled 'Plumber', intending to escalate the matter through less conventional means. The detectives leave the property, hindered by their inability to penetrate Siofra's deflections and the looming interference from the Home Security Division , with Duarte opting for a personal retreat, a likely respite from the day's failures.
(Siofra's odd encounter(SRSeamus):SRSeamus)
[Mon Apr 28 2025]
In the private chambers of Lady Lisa of House Neverever
The lavish upstairs bedroom offers a large, queen sized bed on a frame of thick wood. Each side of the bed features an antique night stand, making it quite comfortable and classy all-in-all. A corner couch with a coffee table - paired with a modern coffee machine offering a touch display and a wide selection of teas - make for a comfortable place to sit, right in-front of the windows that show the vistas of Haven's historic district and the harbor. Across the windows an antique desk offers a laptop computer, completed with a massive, plush leather desk chair.
It is afternoon, about 56F(13C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Siofra sits up on her bed. There is a blond form sleeping next to her, and within her own divot, is a much larger compression on the bed- like she'd slept in its crater. With a yawn, she glances down to her phone- wherein the camera feed of a boy stuck in a basement alights back.
(Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.
)
It is early afternoon on a lovely spring day. Life is going well at Nevernever land where pandas never grow old and Lisa's sleep restfully. The quiet contemplation is broken up with with a soft rapping at the door below. "Siofra Black. Are you in there?"
Siofra lifts herself off the bed. Within the domain of Whim, it is an easy motion. She sets a few metal pins in her dress to keep the fabric from simply faltering away- torn up the same line as the red tear in her skin. They've been ruined, panda consequences, sadly.
The moment she steps beyond the precipice she pauses. The waves of nausea and the sickness returning to bite and plunder her complexion. But it's not the first day she's done this, and it won't be the last. She more or less crumbles down the stairs, heavy footed and wretched, before finally slapping up to the door and cracking it open. "I am a Miss Black." She comments hoarsely, one black iris staring out.
Two figures stand outside the door, dressed in a professional business attire, state police badges hanging around their neck. The first is a man in his early thirties with short-cropped sandy hair, a square jaw, and a form that looks like he might have played for the Pats at one point. His blue eyes look tired, like he has been up all night for several nights in a row. The second, a sharp-featured woman with olive skin, dark brown eyes and long black hair tied up in a bun. The woman speaks first. "Miss Black I am Detective Duarte, this is Detective Hawthorn. We would like to ask you a few questions about an incident last night. Mind if we come in?"
"Ye' can do so from there." Siofra assures with a bright, lilting tone that smiles. But she doesn't. The half of her face that can be seen is empty- like she's a puppet for the tone of voice. "I am not often involved in 'incidents."
Duarte seems to have half expected this response. You don't make detective by not having casual interactions with people and people should shut the fuck up when talked to by the police. That is the first rule of being a citizen. Stopped by the police? Shut the fuck up. Police show up at your door? Shut the fuck up.
"Very well," the lady cop says and flips open her notebook. It is filled with strange runes and symbols along with other text related to specific cases, "Yesterday evening we received a phone call of loud disturbances in the area. It has been a weird couple of nights here in Haven and we just want to make sure all these cases aren't related." She purses her thin lips together, "Do you know a college kid, about yea tall by the name of Eli Merritt?"
A sudden rictus of a smile on Siofra's lips. "I know everyone, yes. That's his bike outside." The eye turns to a green bike for small town commute. "Mister Merritt was escorted late from the property last night, quare, quare flutered. He had a lot of piss t'drink and I suppose he didn't take his bicycle home."
A sniffle (1). The smile begins to a lose a tug of war to a few tears. Not a single blink of eyelashes help the tears escapes from Siofra's lower lids, but encroach and run down do they manage.
"You sure he wasn't drugged, Miss black?" Hawthorn jumps in, his thick Boston accent makes it clear he grew up on the southside. "Drugged by you? We received reports that he was found in the basement of a club in town high on the fent. Maybe some barbies? What did you feed 'em eh? He make a swipe at you and you shove some qualudes down his throat with a vodka chaser? Give him the Ol' John Belushi treatment?" The woman holds up her hand to silence her aggressive partner then looks back to Siofra, "Please, Miss, we are just trying to string together the events of the last 24 hours and, by your own admission, you were one of the last ones to see him."
"My sister hurts to see me hurt, so why did she leave?" Siofra asks the officers with a little girl's wilting voice. The door slams shut for a moment, and on the other side, is a horrific wail of agony. It is a sound that gives this haunted manor its credibility.
And then the door opens again, tears still streaming from Siofra's face, "L-listen peelers, have ye' ever have folk what ye've done everything fer, but don't come to ye' when ye' need them most?"
This seems to take the detectives off guard as they both squint at Siofra's antics. "I suppose so," Hawthorn asks, the most unsettled of the two before looking to Duarte, "Is she on the dust maybe? Is everyone in this town high on something?" The both look back to Siofra and ask, "What does your sister have to do with Mr. Merritt?"
"I'm sorry, I'm scared o'glasses and I canne s-s-s-peak me mind." Siofra shivers, glancing between each officer with a tearful, pained gaze- eyes downcast and flinching the moment a pair of aviators sneer back at her.
"Answer the question please, Miss Black," Duate asks with a frown as Siofra looks around and anywhere else but them. "What happened with Mister Merritt last night. How did he come from your house to the basement of the Nymph's Rest with enough drugs in him to kill a small horse?"
Siofra peeks out palming her cheek with the heel of her hand to look at Duate in the eyes. The woman might see the two black pupils in their white iris begin to move.. To spin around in a tight, dancing circle until they move so fast and it seems a black ring has taken to her eye. She may not remember who Mister Merritt is.
Glancing at the other officer, she sobs, "Officer, shouldn't you use more wisely yer precious life to see the people you love right now?" This comes with a touch of persuasion. A lingering plea to the subconscious to wrench its focus on the things that matter more than an awkward conversation with a tearful dame.
Duarte blinks a few times after making eye contact before shaking her head slowly, pinching her nose, fighting off a sudden headache. "Sorry, Danny can you take over?" she motions to Siofra as she steps back trying to clear her thoughts.
Hawthorn shifts his weight and steps forward, "You are dancing around a lot of topics here, Miss Black. What happened last night and we will get out of your hair, yeah?"
"So-so many folk go missing in this town.." Siofra whispers, setting a knuckle against her lip to wipe off a stream of tears. "I dunno why Eli does so much drugs, but I don't want t'see me sister with someone like him. It's dangerous t'be out here so often. So many wolves. So many horrible rapists who'll find those ye' love at home just t'spite ye." The fears come out in a fit of natural tears, and if one followed the logic, probably just as hysterically threaded together. Wolves and rapists? A strange connection, to be certain, but the analytics of this town are here. And the five foot three Greek woman with a beautiful, torn dress seems to be worn by the world all the way to the bone. "..Is that all? I want t'see me sister."
"Right, so what you are saying is he showed up at your house to see your sister and then when he fell asleep in her bed you acted out and dragged her away from here and dumped him in the basement of the Nymph's Rest because you were jealous?" Hawthorn asks as Duarte pulls out her cellphone and starts texting someone behind him. It is her personal phone not her work phone so she is thinking about something else for the same time.
Siofra sniffles, shaking here head. When a look of utter disgust and contempt, she hisses "..Why would I be jealous o'him sleeping with her? She's me sister, not me mot! We have different rooms, officer!" She swallows down some natural bile. "Keep yer incestuous thoughts to yerself!"
"Just give us an account of last night," Hawthorn reiterates trying to get to the bottom of this before reaching behind him and pulling out some silver bracelets. "Or we can have this conversation down at the office. Hold you until we can get the answer out of you. I am feeling like charging you with obstruction."
The door slams shut, punting her head back through the door. The cold waft of ghostly presence just puffing for a moment out the cracks of the door. Meanwhile, Siofra cradles her head and hisses, "Stewards! Ye're NOT supposed to slam the door on ME-hee-hee!" She swipes at the air as her breaths rattles back into sobs, but no ghosts are harmed. Rather than making a call, she makes a text. 'Plumber' is all that's written under the context.
I have a case from local PD that I want on Malcolm's desk instead. I don't care if he knows. While you're at it, have a visit with an 'Officer Hawkthorne's' family. Be seen. Give greetings. And give him Miss Black's regards.
Hawthorn frowns as the door is slammed in his face again. he really doesn't have anything to charge the woman with but he does look around the outside of the property and at the bike. "Come one Izzy," he says squinting. "We'll be back. Best get out of here before the HSD comes round. They are pains in my ass."
Duarte, for her part, is busy talking to a kid on the phone that she doesn't see often enough. Probably because of the divorce or something one way or the other. "Yeah yeah, Danny just drive back to the office. I am going to take an early day."
As the exchange grows increasingly bizarre, with Siofra's responses ranging from manipulative sorrow to outright hostility towards the accusation of jealousy over her sister, the detectives struggle to maintain focus. Duarte is momentarily incapacitated by a sudden headache after making eye contact with Siofra, whose pupils dance unnervingly. Siofra's plea to reconsider their priorities seems to momentarily distract the detectives, but Hawthorn's patience wears thin, threatening her with obstruction charges. The confrontation abruptly ends as Siofra slams the door on them, leaving the detectives without the answers they sought. Behind closed doors, Siofra takes a menacing step by texting an ominous message titled 'Plumber', intending to escalate the matter through less conventional means. The detectives leave the property, hindered by their inability to penetrate Siofra's deflections and the looming interference from the Home Security Division , with Duarte opting for a personal retreat, a likely respite from the day's failures.
(Siofra's odd encounter(SRSeamus):SRSeamus)
[Mon Apr 28 2025]
In the private chambers of Lady Lisa of House Neverever
The lavish upstairs bedroom offers a large, queen sized bed on a frame of thick wood. Each side of the bed features an antique night stand, making it quite comfortable and classy all-in-all. A corner couch with a coffee table - paired with a modern coffee machine offering a touch display and a wide selection of teas - make for a comfortable place to sit, right in-front of the windows that show the vistas of Haven's historic district and the harbor. Across the windows an antique desk offers a laptop computer, completed with a massive, plush leather desk chair.
It is afternoon, about 56F(13C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Siofra sits up on her bed. There is a blond form sleeping next to her, and within her own divot, is a much larger compression on the bed- like she'd slept in its crater. With a yawn, she glances down to her phone- wherein the camera feed of a boy stuck in a basement alights back.
(Someone has sent the state police after your target. Perhaps they're a real criminal or perhaps they've been framed, in either case it's up to them to get their arrest warrant handled and removed.
)
It is early afternoon on a lovely spring day. Life is going well at Nevernever land where pandas never grow old and Lisa's sleep restfully. The quiet contemplation is broken up with with a soft rapping at the door below. "Siofra Black. Are you in there?"
Siofra lifts herself off the bed. Within the domain of Whim, it is an easy motion. She sets a few metal pins in her dress to keep the fabric from simply faltering away- torn up the same line as the red tear in her skin. They've been ruined, panda consequences, sadly.
The moment she steps beyond the precipice she pauses. The waves of nausea and the sickness returning to bite and plunder her complexion. But it's not the first day she's done this, and it won't be the last. She more or less crumbles down the stairs, heavy footed and wretched, before finally slapping up to the door and cracking it open. "I am a Miss Black." She comments hoarsely, one black iris staring out.
Two figures stand outside the door, dressed in a professional business attire, state police badges hanging around their neck. The first is a man in his early thirties with short-cropped sandy hair, a square jaw, and a form that looks like he might have played for the Pats at one point. His blue eyes look tired, like he has been up all night for several nights in a row. The second, a sharp-featured woman with olive skin, dark brown eyes and long black hair tied up in a bun. The woman speaks first. "Miss Black I am Detective Duarte, this is Detective Hawthorn. We would like to ask you a few questions about an incident last night. Mind if we come in?"
"Ye' can do so from there." Siofra assures with a bright, lilting tone that smiles. But she doesn't. The half of her face that can be seen is empty- like she's a puppet for the tone of voice. "I am not often involved in 'incidents."
Duarte seems to have half expected this response. You don't make detective by not having casual interactions with people and people should shut the fuck up when talked to by the police. That is the first rule of being a citizen. Stopped by the police? Shut the fuck up. Police show up at your door? Shut the fuck up.
"Very well," the lady cop says and flips open her notebook. It is filled with strange runes and symbols along with other text related to specific cases, "Yesterday evening we received a phone call of loud disturbances in the area. It has been a weird couple of nights here in Haven and we just want to make sure all these cases aren't related." She purses her thin lips together, "Do you know a college kid, about yea tall by the name of Eli Merritt?"
A sudden rictus of a smile on Siofra's lips. "I know everyone, yes. That's his bike outside." The eye turns to a green bike for small town commute. "Mister Merritt was escorted late from the property last night, quare, quare flutered. He had a lot of piss t'drink and I suppose he didn't take his bicycle home."
A sniffle (1). The smile begins to a lose a tug of war to a few tears. Not a single blink of eyelashes help the tears escapes from Siofra's lower lids, but encroach and run down do they manage.
"You sure he wasn't drugged, Miss black?" Hawthorn jumps in, his thick Boston accent makes it clear he grew up on the southside. "Drugged by you? We received reports that he was found in the basement of a club in town high on the fent. Maybe some barbies? What did you feed 'em eh? He make a swipe at you and you shove some qualudes down his throat with a vodka chaser? Give him the Ol' John Belushi treatment?" The woman holds up her hand to silence her aggressive partner then looks back to Siofra, "Please, Miss, we are just trying to string together the events of the last 24 hours and, by your own admission, you were one of the last ones to see him."
"My sister hurts to see me hurt, so why did she leave?" Siofra asks the officers with a little girl's wilting voice. The door slams shut for a moment, and on the other side, is a horrific wail of agony. It is a sound that gives this haunted manor its credibility.
And then the door opens again, tears still streaming from Siofra's face, "L-listen peelers, have ye' ever have folk what ye've done everything fer, but don't come to ye' when ye' need them most?"
This seems to take the detectives off guard as they both squint at Siofra's antics. "I suppose so," Hawthorn asks, the most unsettled of the two before looking to Duarte, "Is she on the dust maybe? Is everyone in this town high on something?" The both look back to Siofra and ask, "What does your sister have to do with Mr. Merritt?"
"I'm sorry, I'm scared o'glasses and I canne s-s-s-peak me mind." Siofra shivers, glancing between each officer with a tearful, pained gaze- eyes downcast and flinching the moment a pair of aviators sneer back at her.
"Answer the question please, Miss Black," Duate asks with a frown as Siofra looks around and anywhere else but them. "What happened with Mister Merritt last night. How did he come from your house to the basement of the Nymph's Rest with enough drugs in him to kill a small horse?"
Siofra peeks out palming her cheek with the heel of her hand to look at Duate in the eyes. The woman might see the two black pupils in their white iris begin to move.. To spin around in a tight, dancing circle until they move so fast and it seems a black ring has taken to her eye. She may not remember who Mister Merritt is.
Glancing at the other officer, she sobs, "Officer, shouldn't you use more wisely yer precious life to see the people you love right now?" This comes with a touch of persuasion. A lingering plea to the subconscious to wrench its focus on the things that matter more than an awkward conversation with a tearful dame.
Duarte blinks a few times after making eye contact before shaking her head slowly, pinching her nose, fighting off a sudden headache. "Sorry, Danny can you take over?" she motions to Siofra as she steps back trying to clear her thoughts.
Hawthorn shifts his weight and steps forward, "You are dancing around a lot of topics here, Miss Black. What happened last night and we will get out of your hair, yeah?"
"So-so many folk go missing in this town.." Siofra whispers, setting a knuckle against her lip to wipe off a stream of tears. "I dunno why Eli does so much drugs, but I don't want t'see me sister with someone like him. It's dangerous t'be out here so often. So many wolves. So many horrible rapists who'll find those ye' love at home just t'spite ye." The fears come out in a fit of natural tears, and if one followed the logic, probably just as hysterically threaded together. Wolves and rapists? A strange connection, to be certain, but the analytics of this town are here. And the five foot three Greek woman with a beautiful, torn dress seems to be worn by the world all the way to the bone. "..Is that all? I want t'see me sister."
"Right, so what you are saying is he showed up at your house to see your sister and then when he fell asleep in her bed you acted out and dragged her away from here and dumped him in the basement of the Nymph's Rest because you were jealous?" Hawthorn asks as Duarte pulls out her cellphone and starts texting someone behind him. It is her personal phone not her work phone so she is thinking about something else for the same time.
Siofra sniffles, shaking here head. When a look of utter disgust and contempt, she hisses "..Why would I be jealous o'him sleeping with her? She's me sister, not me mot! We have different rooms, officer!" She swallows down some natural bile. "Keep yer incestuous thoughts to yerself!"
"Just give us an account of last night," Hawthorn reiterates trying to get to the bottom of this before reaching behind him and pulling out some silver bracelets. "Or we can have this conversation down at the office. Hold you until we can get the answer out of you. I am feeling like charging you with obstruction."
The door slams shut, punting her head back through the door. The cold waft of ghostly presence just puffing for a moment out the cracks of the door. Meanwhile, Siofra cradles her head and hisses, "Stewards! Ye're NOT supposed to slam the door on ME-hee-hee!" She swipes at the air as her breaths rattles back into sobs, but no ghosts are harmed. Rather than making a call, she makes a text. 'Plumber' is all that's written under the context.
I have a case from local PD that I want on Malcolm's desk instead. I don't care if he knows. While you're at it, have a visit with an 'Officer Hawkthorne's' family. Be seen. Give greetings. And give him Miss Black's regards.
Hawthorn frowns as the door is slammed in his face again. he really doesn't have anything to charge the woman with but he does look around the outside of the property and at the bike. "Come one Izzy," he says squinting. "We'll be back. Best get out of here before the HSD comes round. They are pains in my ass."
Duarte, for her part, is busy talking to a kid on the phone that she doesn't see often enough. Probably because of the divorce or something one way or the other. "Yeah yeah, Danny just drive back to the office. I am going to take an early day."