Encounterlogs
Takeshis Odd Encounter Sr Edith 250409
In a bizarre and charged evening at The Lodge, a sanctuary for Haven's supernatural community, Takeshi and his frenemy Ruprecht find themselves amidst tension and brewing conflict involving a pack of werewolves acting erratically due to a missing powerful artifact. As they chill in the bar, unknowingly primed for the trouble they've been seeking, the tension becomes palpable with the arrival of the werewolves, desperate for answers and on the edge of violence. Takeshi's initial enthusiasm for a heroic confrontation quickly turns complicated as the conversation reveals the werewolves are in search of an amulet, a detail that catches Takeshi off guard and piques his erratic curiosity amidst his poor attempt to provoke a fight.
As the situation unfolds with the undercurrents of supernatural politics and threats barely kept in check by the sanctuary's peace-making magic, Rin, a character previously unmentioned, makes her presence known, adding another layer of complexity to the gathering. Meanwhile, Ruprecht battles his own demons, figuratively and quite possibly literally, as he grapples with reality, hallucinations, and a heavy dose of medication, all of which culminate in a scene fraught with tension, miscommunication, and the ever-looming threat of chaos. Despite Takeshi's belligerent desires and Ruprecht's mental chaos, violence remains at bay, largely due to the sanctuary's rules and the mysterious implications of the mumbled conversations about the amulet. The story climaxes in an anti-confrontational tension, leaving characters and readers alike teetering on the edge of an unseen precipice, waiting for a resolution that remains just beyond the grasp of the night's encounters.
(Takeshi's odd encounter(SREdith):SREdith)
[Wed Apr 2 2025]
In the foyer
Entrance to the Lodge is gained by stepping off the street into this
space, large enough to fit several people without being cramped, but
obviously not meant for more than foot traffic. A couple benches rest
against the walls for seating, spaced out at attractive distances, and a
coat rack sits near the door, though it goes largely unused. A large rack
of stag antlers hangs over the entrance to the dining room, counting eleven
points.
It is before dawn, about 22F(-5C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. Waist high mist flows through the area. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(A werewolf pack in Haven is acting out of character, causing havoc and terrorizing the local population. The characters must investigate the cause of this erratic behavior. It turns out that a powerful artifact has been stolen from the pack, causing the werewolves to lose control. The characters must track down the thief, a desperate and naive human who didn't understand the consequences of their actions, and return the artifact before more damage is done.)
Takeshi is chilling at the lodge, getting ready to head out and hit the streets looking for trouble. He's been chilling with friend Ruprecht ( Takeshi is the only one who considers them friends) and even though they'd been searching a while, neither of them had yet managed to find the trouble they were looking for ...
Ruprecht is absolutely soaked. He's been rambling on about the Japanese menace in a caricature accent for about an hour, and it's almost as if Takeshi is somehow none the wiser. He has this sad, limp cigarette in his lip as a symbol of active futility -- only the thirtieth to waste since this storm began. "What the fuck are we even doing, Kakashi?"
Ruprecht has to restart device, apologizes. Keyboard fritz.
"WE LOOKING FOR MONSTERS!" Takeshi calls over his shoulder at Ruprecht, quite tragically, completely unfettered by the rain, a shit eating grin on the demon's face as if he didn't even feel it as he continues to stomp at a pace uncomfortably just above walking speed down the road. "Or, like, damsels in distress" Takeshi adds to his first sentence "We gunna be HEROES"
"Why are WE LOOKING?!" Ruprecht gestures at himself, Takeshi, then the sky, all as if to suggest some greater sense of futility in seeking what's within themselves. "The only interest I'd have in being the hero is to survive long enough for proper villainy!" Comes exclaimed loudly with a certain obstinance implied. A little water gets tossed Takeshi's way with a particularly hissy bare foot.
Takeshi 's head snaps up to the sky as Ruprecht gestures up at it, Takeshi narrowing his eyes as if searching for a Pheonix or a Roc, or maybe if he was lucky even that Dragon he kept hearing about. "Eh?!" Takeshi is combat ready! Tensed up and ready to move! But, as he keeps looking his body slowly deflates with disappointment.
"Man, why you get me excited like that" Takeshi bitterly snips at Ruprecht , kicking a bootful of water back at the man "And you not monster, monsters strong. I can kick your ass too easily for you to be a monster" Takeshi tells Ruprecht in a particularly condescending tone of voice as he stops his march and looks around with a sigh "Why you not have shoes on anyway?"
As Takeshi and Ruprecht sit here, dry against the flood, they find that the bar is surprisingly quiet. Normally, it is far more active, even in the early hours, where the supernaturals of Haven are most active. The air inside The Lodge itself is thick with a mixture of tension and intrigue this morning however, this concoction of wild emotions punctuated by the contrasting warm glow of rustic wooden beams and flickering mood lighting lining the bar, where the scents and sounds of food prep can be heard as the harried server serves drinks to those waiding in out of the torrential floods, drentched to the bone. The crackling fireplace casts dancing shadows across the walls, its warmth a reprieve from the chill of the air, while the faint scent of aged whiskey and woodsmoke lingers in the air, mingling with the low voices of today's patrons as they socialize in the safety of the improved sanctuary offered-- The lodge of course being a haven within the town of Haven, where the supernatural community can gather without the cold war of factional conflict bursting through the relitive silence-- That is, most of the time. Outside, this bastion of protective ananimity, the unseasonable winter temperature wind howls against the windows, rattling the panes, lashed with inclement rains as drips from the patron's cloathing leaves a glittering dampness across the floor, one which the "Wet floor!" sign is not quite able to improve, as it reminds all within of the unseasonable weather that blankets the township of Haven from coastline to inner forest where the monsters break through the Gates. The murmur of conversations fills the room, a low hum of voices around Takeshi and Ruprecht in the northeastern booths, blending into an almost melodic backdrop. Laughter erupts sporadically, but its tinged with an edge of unease, as if the patrons are trying to maintain a sense of normalcy amid the growing chaos outside, the punctuating gusts of spiritual activity, haunting cries and unusual motion that should, by all right remain within the Arkwright cemetery off of Hanging Hill. Glasses clink, ice cubes jingle, and the bartender's voice is a low rumble as he serves drinks, his expression betraying a hint of worry as a small group of leather clad biker types step upto the bar-- Obviously werewolves. They show all the stereotypes-- hairy, powerful, badass-- the kinds of peoplt Takeshi might want to pick a fight with. They have come from a table in the far corner, where a group of locals huddle together, their voices growing louder as they discuss the recent upheavals. "Did you hear about the Darkmoon pack. You know, those werewolves?" one whispers urgently, glancing around as if the very mention could summon the creatures who had been sitting with them only moments before. "Its like theyve gone mad since the flooding started!" Another voice, deeper and gravelly, replies, the man pointing over to the men as they demand drinks from the bar tender. "Theyre not just acting out. Theyre searching for something... or someone." A third chips in, a woman and she adds, "They're usually quiet. It's not like them." The relitive quiet then is broken by the rhythmic pulse of a classic rock tune as it begins to play softly from the hidden speakers, providing a stark contrast to the tension brewing over by the bar as the drink request turns violent. Occasionally, the sound of a chair scraping or a sigh punctuates the atmosphere as patrons shift restlessly, their eyes darting towards the group at the nearby table, though most attention is now on the bar, where the bartender steps back, hands held up. "I don't want trouble." he tells the biker wolves. "Just take your drinks." The werewolves are intimidating, their rugged appearances and wild eyes drawing attention more than they should-- The kind of thing Ritsuka has warned Takeshi against. They lean in close, their conversation growing hushed but intense, revealing sharp canines as they speak to the bartender. Their presence exudes a sense of primal energy, and it becomes clear that their restlessness is more than mere mischief. It's madness. Not lunicy, but barely restrained violence of the kind Takeshi and Ruprecht are all too aware of. Outside the window, the dense mist creeps in, rising and swirling like a living entity itself, shrouding the street in an eerie blanket that heralds much in this cursed town. Shadows flicker and dance among the streetlights, and the chilling sound of distant howls sends a shiver down the spine of anyone who dares to listen. An undercurrent of fear and curiosity grips the patrons at this baying-- It's not late eough in the month for the pack lunicy. Whispers of the supernatural mix with the mundane, and the very atmosphere feels charged with anticipation. As the clock ticks closer to day propper, a sense of foreboding settles over The Lodge, wrapping around each individual like the chilling mist outside. People are unsure whether they should stay hidden within the warmth of the bar or venture out into the flood, but what they do know is that Takeshi and Ruprecht will likely get their wanted trouble soon if nothing changes...
Ruprecht seems to zone out, unable to contain all the different bouncing balls of his mind. Sight, sound, and scent most of all, but taste and touch, even then, all compound into some kind of dissociated drug-addled synesthesia. Unable to keep up with Takeshi, seemingly unable to even move or speak, he settles into a cross-eyed, bare-footed synesthesia of unawareness. Like a conscious catatonia. He doesn't know what he hears. He doesn't know what time's on the clock. He doesn't even remember where he is.
Finally! Some assholes to fuck up! Takeshi grins as he sees the werewolves enter into the room. Takeshi shakes Ruprecht awake and points at the gang of obvious Werewolves gripped with some kind of madness threatening the bar keep and talking way too loud about supernatural matters
"Hey" Takeshi barks at Ruprecht, loud enough that the biker gang of Werewolves might hear "We going to go pick a fight with those guys!" Takeshi tells the man, pointing directly at the pack before turning around and marching up to them with a smug grin.
"Oi, assholes." Takeshi barks out as he approaches them "You all look ugly as fucking and I want to kick your ass. Meet me in nightmare."
"Where the fuck..." Ruprecht starts muttering some more of that deranged bullshit that loops around in there, shaking his head profusely and ultimately producing a slurry of drool. "Is this the lodge? There's no fighting in the lodge." It doesn't dawn on him yet that they might be somewhere else, he may's'well be completely blind. A step goes to try to follow Takeshi, and he nearly falls over. Is he having a mini-stroke?
The dimly lit bar at the Lodge now exudes an air of tension that you could cut with a knife as the rising aggrettion begins to draw more and more attention, the flicker of old lights adding to that violent impending ambiance, casting a ghostly glow on the weathered wooden surfaces like an early two thousands action movie set, though one with far more potential danger for Takeshi and Ruprecht right now. The scent of spilled beer and something earthier-- like damp fur-- lingers in the air as Takeshi and Ruprecht gets closer to the wolves, mingling with the faint trace of cigarette smoke that clings to the wild-looking biker types. The speakers in the corner changes from that classical rock, now changing to play a slow, haunting tune from the ineteen fifties, the notes curling around the patrons like a wisp of smoke, barely masking the charged atmosphere and transitioning the general peace of the Lodge into something impending-- A Martial arts masterpiece, or shitty shlock movie, if nothing more charged with the supernatural and the danger endemic there in. At the bar, the bartender-- Takeshi and Ruprecht notice him for the first time to be a rugged figure with a five o'clock shadow and weary eyes from his night shift-- leans in closer to the trio of werewolves with a sigh that says clearly "I don't get payed enough for this shit." Takeshi and Ruprecht note that their leather jackets gleam under the flickering lights, each adorned with patches that speak of telegraphed, over dramatised rebellion and that special kind of brotherhood and loyalty to their pack. The tension is palpable as their voices drop to hushed tones-- They've noticed the attention from the on-lookers-- their words sharp and urgent amidst the low hum of murmured conversations and clinking glasses that are now curiously growing quiet; Of course the patrons are ready to get involved, this is Haven and tentions are always high here. The bartenders voice is steady yet laced with an edge of what-the-actual=-fuck as he warns them about the Moores, a one of the founding familys whose reputation looms large over the south side of Haven like a storm cloud-- or the mists themselves, with their territory stretching from their self-titled woods to Franklen bridge and beyond. Outside, the day creeps ever so closer, still, but inside the bar, the air crackles with those unspoken threats from the bar tender, Takeshi's own, and that of the werewolf packs, and a sense of impending conflict, though halted by the very nature of sanctuary, even stretching into the nightmare of the Lodge, which Takeshi may learn very quickly if not explained to him outright. A few patrons glance over-- The ones from the table Takeshi and Ruprecht heard earlier, their interest piqued as Takeshi begins to march over, but they quickly look away as they are spotted by the wolves, sensing the danger brewing-- A danger they want nothing to do with. As the werewolves exchange glances, their eyes glinting with a violent, predatory hunger, the atmosphere shifts. Takeshi steps forward, cutting through the tension like a katana through a paper dragon, Takeshi's even being there commanding immediate attention-- A third party involving itself in werewolf politics, and Takeshi isn't that big. He doesn't look that intimidating, though that swaggering confidence speaks volumes. The bar seems to hold its breath, the low murmurs fading into silence as all eyes turn to Takeshi, Ruprecht, the wolves and the bar tender. The bartenders warning hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of those unspoken supernatural alliances and rivalries that will burst into a snake's nest of trouble with the slightest hint that a change is to come. The werewolves' gazes sharpen, Takeshi's and the bar tender's challenges igniting a fire in their eyes that is a threat of violence of its own. The bartenders unease deepens, and Takeshi and Ruprecht can feel the room tightening around them; the stakes rising higher with each heartbeat. "We need that amulet back, now," one of the werewolves growls to the bar tender, his voice low and dangerous. "Just tell us where the guy lives and we can fucking drop it, okay." For now, Takeshi is ignored, but a hint at provocation and things might shift, even if the Lodge's magic will not allow any kind of conflict. Takeshi will have to take this outside if he wants to throw hands.
Rin would end up making an attempt to sneak up on the current action happening, having had a hard time tracking Takeshi and Ruprecht in the first place. But even for her stealth she does try to retain proper postures of her own along the way. She has no actual haste to anything she does, but does have a sense of urgency in her expression. The last she'd heard, wolves were causing some ruckus.
Disappointed that things hadn't immediately degraded into a fight, Takeshi is left just kind of standing there. It was a good thing too, since cocky as he was, Takeshi wasn't winning vs an entire pack of werewolves and Ruprecht would almost certainly ditch his ass if things went south.
Seeing he was going to have to at least think about this situation for more than two seconds in order to turn it into a fight, he unhappily takes note of the conversation between the bartender and the gang "Eh? Amulet?" Takeshi inquires in a confused tone "What that?" Takeshi asks in his horribly broken english. Too sneaky for Takeshi , he's not even noticed Rin yet!
Rin clears her throat very softly as she arrives near Takeshi and Ruprecht, facing a trio of biker types that the men have parlayed with apparently. She turns her head to each man in the room, including the pair she's come to back up, though she says nothing just yet. But she's not trying to hide herself anymore at least. The slender object in its blanket is held horizontally before her thighs, in both hands, with arms relaxed.
Ruprecht rummages with a certain desperation through a great many pockets - all six, as a matter of fact, before heaving his case up on the table and producing a bottle of crazy meds. He hasn't been taking them, obviously, but today's the day, and this is the moment. He pops the cap, downs like four white tablets, crunches them up like candy, and... squints. Real hard. Nope. The visions aren't going anywhere. Nor the auditory hallucinations -- wait, wait... yeah, earth to Cat Man, earth to Dobbson. It's all real. He's actually here. Takeshi is actually trying to figure it all out. He doesn't notice Rin coming in, but he does settle down from hyperventilation. Stumbles on his own two bare big boy feet to go hassle the bartender at the pool hall for a free drink, and clambers on back.
As the situation unfolds with the undercurrents of supernatural politics and threats barely kept in check by the sanctuary's peace-making magic, Rin, a character previously unmentioned, makes her presence known, adding another layer of complexity to the gathering. Meanwhile, Ruprecht battles his own demons, figuratively and quite possibly literally, as he grapples with reality, hallucinations, and a heavy dose of medication, all of which culminate in a scene fraught with tension, miscommunication, and the ever-looming threat of chaos. Despite Takeshi's belligerent desires and Ruprecht's mental chaos, violence remains at bay, largely due to the sanctuary's rules and the mysterious implications of the mumbled conversations about the amulet. The story climaxes in an anti-confrontational tension, leaving characters and readers alike teetering on the edge of an unseen precipice, waiting for a resolution that remains just beyond the grasp of the night's encounters.
(Takeshi's odd encounter(SREdith):SREdith)
[Wed Apr 2 2025]
In the foyer
Entrance to the Lodge is gained by stepping off the street into this
space, large enough to fit several people without being cramped, but
obviously not meant for more than foot traffic. A couple benches rest
against the walls for seating, spaced out at attractive distances, and a
coat rack sits near the door, though it goes largely unused. A large rack
of stag antlers hangs over the entrance to the dining room, counting eleven
points.
It is before dawn, about 22F(-5C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. Waist high mist flows through the area. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(A werewolf pack in Haven is acting out of character, causing havoc and terrorizing the local population. The characters must investigate the cause of this erratic behavior. It turns out that a powerful artifact has been stolen from the pack, causing the werewolves to lose control. The characters must track down the thief, a desperate and naive human who didn't understand the consequences of their actions, and return the artifact before more damage is done.)
Takeshi is chilling at the lodge, getting ready to head out and hit the streets looking for trouble. He's been chilling with friend Ruprecht ( Takeshi is the only one who considers them friends) and even though they'd been searching a while, neither of them had yet managed to find the trouble they were looking for ...
Ruprecht is absolutely soaked. He's been rambling on about the Japanese menace in a caricature accent for about an hour, and it's almost as if Takeshi is somehow none the wiser. He has this sad, limp cigarette in his lip as a symbol of active futility -- only the thirtieth to waste since this storm began. "What the fuck are we even doing, Kakashi?"
Ruprecht has to restart device, apologizes. Keyboard fritz.
"WE LOOKING FOR MONSTERS!" Takeshi calls over his shoulder at Ruprecht, quite tragically, completely unfettered by the rain, a shit eating grin on the demon's face as if he didn't even feel it as he continues to stomp at a pace uncomfortably just above walking speed down the road. "Or, like, damsels in distress" Takeshi adds to his first sentence "We gunna be HEROES"
"Why are WE LOOKING?!" Ruprecht gestures at himself, Takeshi, then the sky, all as if to suggest some greater sense of futility in seeking what's within themselves. "The only interest I'd have in being the hero is to survive long enough for proper villainy!" Comes exclaimed loudly with a certain obstinance implied. A little water gets tossed Takeshi's way with a particularly hissy bare foot.
Takeshi 's head snaps up to the sky as Ruprecht gestures up at it, Takeshi narrowing his eyes as if searching for a Pheonix or a Roc, or maybe if he was lucky even that Dragon he kept hearing about. "Eh?!" Takeshi is combat ready! Tensed up and ready to move! But, as he keeps looking his body slowly deflates with disappointment.
"Man, why you get me excited like that" Takeshi bitterly snips at Ruprecht , kicking a bootful of water back at the man "And you not monster, monsters strong. I can kick your ass too easily for you to be a monster" Takeshi tells Ruprecht in a particularly condescending tone of voice as he stops his march and looks around with a sigh "Why you not have shoes on anyway?"
As Takeshi and Ruprecht sit here, dry against the flood, they find that the bar is surprisingly quiet. Normally, it is far more active, even in the early hours, where the supernaturals of Haven are most active. The air inside The Lodge itself is thick with a mixture of tension and intrigue this morning however, this concoction of wild emotions punctuated by the contrasting warm glow of rustic wooden beams and flickering mood lighting lining the bar, where the scents and sounds of food prep can be heard as the harried server serves drinks to those waiding in out of the torrential floods, drentched to the bone. The crackling fireplace casts dancing shadows across the walls, its warmth a reprieve from the chill of the air, while the faint scent of aged whiskey and woodsmoke lingers in the air, mingling with the low voices of today's patrons as they socialize in the safety of the improved sanctuary offered-- The lodge of course being a haven within the town of Haven, where the supernatural community can gather without the cold war of factional conflict bursting through the relitive silence-- That is, most of the time. Outside, this bastion of protective ananimity, the unseasonable winter temperature wind howls against the windows, rattling the panes, lashed with inclement rains as drips from the patron's cloathing leaves a glittering dampness across the floor, one which the "Wet floor!" sign is not quite able to improve, as it reminds all within of the unseasonable weather that blankets the township of Haven from coastline to inner forest where the monsters break through the Gates. The murmur of conversations fills the room, a low hum of voices around Takeshi and Ruprecht in the northeastern booths, blending into an almost melodic backdrop. Laughter erupts sporadically, but its tinged with an edge of unease, as if the patrons are trying to maintain a sense of normalcy amid the growing chaos outside, the punctuating gusts of spiritual activity, haunting cries and unusual motion that should, by all right remain within the Arkwright cemetery off of Hanging Hill. Glasses clink, ice cubes jingle, and the bartender's voice is a low rumble as he serves drinks, his expression betraying a hint of worry as a small group of leather clad biker types step upto the bar-- Obviously werewolves. They show all the stereotypes-- hairy, powerful, badass-- the kinds of peoplt Takeshi might want to pick a fight with. They have come from a table in the far corner, where a group of locals huddle together, their voices growing louder as they discuss the recent upheavals. "Did you hear about the Darkmoon pack. You know, those werewolves?" one whispers urgently, glancing around as if the very mention could summon the creatures who had been sitting with them only moments before. "Its like theyve gone mad since the flooding started!" Another voice, deeper and gravelly, replies, the man pointing over to the men as they demand drinks from the bar tender. "Theyre not just acting out. Theyre searching for something... or someone." A third chips in, a woman and she adds, "They're usually quiet. It's not like them." The relitive quiet then is broken by the rhythmic pulse of a classic rock tune as it begins to play softly from the hidden speakers, providing a stark contrast to the tension brewing over by the bar as the drink request turns violent. Occasionally, the sound of a chair scraping or a sigh punctuates the atmosphere as patrons shift restlessly, their eyes darting towards the group at the nearby table, though most attention is now on the bar, where the bartender steps back, hands held up. "I don't want trouble." he tells the biker wolves. "Just take your drinks." The werewolves are intimidating, their rugged appearances and wild eyes drawing attention more than they should-- The kind of thing Ritsuka has warned Takeshi against. They lean in close, their conversation growing hushed but intense, revealing sharp canines as they speak to the bartender. Their presence exudes a sense of primal energy, and it becomes clear that their restlessness is more than mere mischief. It's madness. Not lunicy, but barely restrained violence of the kind Takeshi and Ruprecht are all too aware of. Outside the window, the dense mist creeps in, rising and swirling like a living entity itself, shrouding the street in an eerie blanket that heralds much in this cursed town. Shadows flicker and dance among the streetlights, and the chilling sound of distant howls sends a shiver down the spine of anyone who dares to listen. An undercurrent of fear and curiosity grips the patrons at this baying-- It's not late eough in the month for the pack lunicy. Whispers of the supernatural mix with the mundane, and the very atmosphere feels charged with anticipation. As the clock ticks closer to day propper, a sense of foreboding settles over The Lodge, wrapping around each individual like the chilling mist outside. People are unsure whether they should stay hidden within the warmth of the bar or venture out into the flood, but what they do know is that Takeshi and Ruprecht will likely get their wanted trouble soon if nothing changes...
Ruprecht seems to zone out, unable to contain all the different bouncing balls of his mind. Sight, sound, and scent most of all, but taste and touch, even then, all compound into some kind of dissociated drug-addled synesthesia. Unable to keep up with Takeshi, seemingly unable to even move or speak, he settles into a cross-eyed, bare-footed synesthesia of unawareness. Like a conscious catatonia. He doesn't know what he hears. He doesn't know what time's on the clock. He doesn't even remember where he is.
Finally! Some assholes to fuck up! Takeshi grins as he sees the werewolves enter into the room. Takeshi shakes Ruprecht awake and points at the gang of obvious Werewolves gripped with some kind of madness threatening the bar keep and talking way too loud about supernatural matters
"Hey" Takeshi barks at Ruprecht, loud enough that the biker gang of Werewolves might hear "We going to go pick a fight with those guys!" Takeshi tells the man, pointing directly at the pack before turning around and marching up to them with a smug grin.
"Oi, assholes." Takeshi barks out as he approaches them "You all look ugly as fucking and I want to kick your ass. Meet me in nightmare."
"Where the fuck..." Ruprecht starts muttering some more of that deranged bullshit that loops around in there, shaking his head profusely and ultimately producing a slurry of drool. "Is this the lodge? There's no fighting in the lodge." It doesn't dawn on him yet that they might be somewhere else, he may's'well be completely blind. A step goes to try to follow Takeshi, and he nearly falls over. Is he having a mini-stroke?
The dimly lit bar at the Lodge now exudes an air of tension that you could cut with a knife as the rising aggrettion begins to draw more and more attention, the flicker of old lights adding to that violent impending ambiance, casting a ghostly glow on the weathered wooden surfaces like an early two thousands action movie set, though one with far more potential danger for Takeshi and Ruprecht right now. The scent of spilled beer and something earthier-- like damp fur-- lingers in the air as Takeshi and Ruprecht gets closer to the wolves, mingling with the faint trace of cigarette smoke that clings to the wild-looking biker types. The speakers in the corner changes from that classical rock, now changing to play a slow, haunting tune from the ineteen fifties, the notes curling around the patrons like a wisp of smoke, barely masking the charged atmosphere and transitioning the general peace of the Lodge into something impending-- A Martial arts masterpiece, or shitty shlock movie, if nothing more charged with the supernatural and the danger endemic there in. At the bar, the bartender-- Takeshi and Ruprecht notice him for the first time to be a rugged figure with a five o'clock shadow and weary eyes from his night shift-- leans in closer to the trio of werewolves with a sigh that says clearly "I don't get payed enough for this shit." Takeshi and Ruprecht note that their leather jackets gleam under the flickering lights, each adorned with patches that speak of telegraphed, over dramatised rebellion and that special kind of brotherhood and loyalty to their pack. The tension is palpable as their voices drop to hushed tones-- They've noticed the attention from the on-lookers-- their words sharp and urgent amidst the low hum of murmured conversations and clinking glasses that are now curiously growing quiet; Of course the patrons are ready to get involved, this is Haven and tentions are always high here. The bartenders voice is steady yet laced with an edge of what-the-actual=-fuck as he warns them about the Moores, a one of the founding familys whose reputation looms large over the south side of Haven like a storm cloud-- or the mists themselves, with their territory stretching from their self-titled woods to Franklen bridge and beyond. Outside, the day creeps ever so closer, still, but inside the bar, the air crackles with those unspoken threats from the bar tender, Takeshi's own, and that of the werewolf packs, and a sense of impending conflict, though halted by the very nature of sanctuary, even stretching into the nightmare of the Lodge, which Takeshi may learn very quickly if not explained to him outright. A few patrons glance over-- The ones from the table Takeshi and Ruprecht heard earlier, their interest piqued as Takeshi begins to march over, but they quickly look away as they are spotted by the wolves, sensing the danger brewing-- A danger they want nothing to do with. As the werewolves exchange glances, their eyes glinting with a violent, predatory hunger, the atmosphere shifts. Takeshi steps forward, cutting through the tension like a katana through a paper dragon, Takeshi's even being there commanding immediate attention-- A third party involving itself in werewolf politics, and Takeshi isn't that big. He doesn't look that intimidating, though that swaggering confidence speaks volumes. The bar seems to hold its breath, the low murmurs fading into silence as all eyes turn to Takeshi, Ruprecht, the wolves and the bar tender. The bartenders warning hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of those unspoken supernatural alliances and rivalries that will burst into a snake's nest of trouble with the slightest hint that a change is to come. The werewolves' gazes sharpen, Takeshi's and the bar tender's challenges igniting a fire in their eyes that is a threat of violence of its own. The bartenders unease deepens, and Takeshi and Ruprecht can feel the room tightening around them; the stakes rising higher with each heartbeat. "We need that amulet back, now," one of the werewolves growls to the bar tender, his voice low and dangerous. "Just tell us where the guy lives and we can fucking drop it, okay." For now, Takeshi is ignored, but a hint at provocation and things might shift, even if the Lodge's magic will not allow any kind of conflict. Takeshi will have to take this outside if he wants to throw hands.
Rin would end up making an attempt to sneak up on the current action happening, having had a hard time tracking Takeshi and Ruprecht in the first place. But even for her stealth she does try to retain proper postures of her own along the way. She has no actual haste to anything she does, but does have a sense of urgency in her expression. The last she'd heard, wolves were causing some ruckus.
Disappointed that things hadn't immediately degraded into a fight, Takeshi is left just kind of standing there. It was a good thing too, since cocky as he was, Takeshi wasn't winning vs an entire pack of werewolves and Ruprecht would almost certainly ditch his ass if things went south.
Seeing he was going to have to at least think about this situation for more than two seconds in order to turn it into a fight, he unhappily takes note of the conversation between the bartender and the gang "Eh? Amulet?" Takeshi inquires in a confused tone "What that?" Takeshi asks in his horribly broken english. Too sneaky for Takeshi , he's not even noticed Rin yet!
Rin clears her throat very softly as she arrives near Takeshi and Ruprecht, facing a trio of biker types that the men have parlayed with apparently. She turns her head to each man in the room, including the pair she's come to back up, though she says nothing just yet. But she's not trying to hide herself anymore at least. The slender object in its blanket is held horizontally before her thighs, in both hands, with arms relaxed.
Ruprecht rummages with a certain desperation through a great many pockets - all six, as a matter of fact, before heaving his case up on the table and producing a bottle of crazy meds. He hasn't been taking them, obviously, but today's the day, and this is the moment. He pops the cap, downs like four white tablets, crunches them up like candy, and... squints. Real hard. Nope. The visions aren't going anywhere. Nor the auditory hallucinations -- wait, wait... yeah, earth to Cat Man, earth to Dobbson. It's all real. He's actually here. Takeshi is actually trying to figure it all out. He doesn't notice Rin coming in, but he does settle down from hyperventilation. Stumbles on his own two bare big boy feet to go hassle the bartender at the pool hall for a free drink, and clambers on back.