Encounterlogs
Tomass Odd Encounter Sr Yasmin 240308
In the bustling atmosphere of Pulse Fitness Center, adorned with motivation and vibrancy, an odd confrontation unfolds between Tomas, a regular gym-goer, and a seemingly aggrieved newcomer. The morning, cold and snow-laden outside, bears witness to this encounter that starts with an uncomfortable stare and escalates to a heated exchange. This woman, claiming to have been wronged by Tomas days prior over a spilled smoothie and lack of an apology, approaches him mid-workout to seek redress. Tomas, irked and dismissive, offers money instead of the apology she seeks, leading to a sharp rebuke from the woman about the value of consideration over monetary compensation. Her exit marks a brief return to normalcy for Tomas, who resumes his workout, unaware of the peculiar turn his day is about to take.
Moments later, Tomas experiences a sudden and inexplicable transformation. Initially believing it to be a reaction to perfume or perhaps the strain of his workout, he attempts to alleviate his discomfort with a smoothie and some aspirin. However, the situation rapidly escalates as he finds himself unable to breathe properly, leading to a distressing metamorphosis right in the gym’s smoothie bar area. From a human to an animal, amidst confusion and a literal coughing up of a hairball, Tomas is confronted with the stark reality of his new form. The narrative closes on a note of humor and irony, as Tomas, now devoid of his human guise and unable to articulate his frustration, contemplates the bizarre and unsettling reality of his situation — transformed, confused, and clad only in his animal form, alongside his clothes and ID, revealing a truth harder to deny.
(Tomas's odd encounter(SRYasmin):SRYasmin)
[Thu Mar 7 2024]
In the Pulse Fitness Center
The walls of this spacious, well-lit gym are adorned with motivational quotes and vibrant teal accents, igniting a sense of determination. The dark gray floor boasts a resilient rubberized surface, absorbing each footfall with a slight rebound. Mirrored walls stretch across the left side, offering a reflection of dedication and progress. The air is filled with the energizing hum of people pushing themselves to new heights, while upbeat music provides the perfect rhythm for intense workouts.
It is morning, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside.
(Your target has been hexed and transformed into an animal against their will. Unable to turn back they need to try to find allies who can understand their problem and find a way to undo the curse.
)
It's a rather ordinary morning for Haven, all things considered. The sun is not-quite-shining, the birds are chirping, and the gym is rather empty other than an occasional early morning fitness junkie or two, most of them having given up on their new years resolutions three months into the year. Outside, snow drifts lazily down, though those inside are relatively well-protected from the cold, the temperature kept at a pleasant, just-right level and the music upbeat enough to let one drift off into thoughts while working out.
Across the gym, ever since Tomas entered, there's been a leggy brunette staring at him from where she seems to just be finishing her workout. Not a usual face he sees here, or in town, really - maybe someone new around these parts? Whatever the case may be, she's been staring long enough for it to be considered impolite, and then, once she's finished her cooling down, she walks over to Tomas to commit the biggest gym taboo and strike up conversation, opening up with a little, "Hey." She seems expectant, somehow.
Lowering himself into a steady, even squat, Tomas blows out a steady breath as he glances up at the brunette, seeming rankled. "Hello," he grunts, then lifts himself back up to a full standing position. He's only using a normal, human amount of weight - counting reps more than pushing the limits of his muscle. "I'm in the middle of a set, so make it quick. What's up?" In through the nose, and then he lowers himself back down with an unusual grace. Still, that doesn't mean he keeps the prickle of irritation out of his voice. "An' please tell me you're not askin' me to come stare at your ass on Tiktok so you can tell me off for a fuckin' social justice bit."
There's a scoff. She seems affronted to say the very least, all but clutching her pearls, really, and the look she shoots Tomas is nothing short of disdainful. "I thought I recognized you from somewhere," comes the explanation in due time. "You bumped into me a couple days ago and made me spill my smoothie, and didn't even stop to apologize." An apology. She's looking for an apology, and if she was unsure before, she's definitely certain it's Tomas now, given his reaction to her greeting.
There's a slight pause then, before she continues, "And I don't need to /ask/ anyone to stare at my ass. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know?" It's a nice ass, admittedly.
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, the Inigo straightens back up and rests his barbell over a shoulder, stuffing a gloved hand into his pocket to pull out a less-than-crisp ten dollar note. "Here," he says, thrusting it out to the smoothieless woman. "Smoothie money. Get the bongberry." It's an interesting thing, how obviously one can tell Tomas's eyes are wandering the woman's silhouette, even when they're out of sight. Alas - his eyes' wandering is truncated with an unimpressed sniff. "Just let me get back to my work out, thanks."
That was the wrong option. All of those, objectively, were the wrong choices. The woman accepts the ten-dollar note just out of reflex, then stares down at it and back up at Tomas with a sudden burst of anger. "I can buy myself smoothies," she snarks back, shoving the bill back Tomas's way and crossing her arms over her chest. "'Sorry', you ever heard that word? Sor-ree," she enunciates it with both syllables stretched, then throws up her arms in exasperation, already beginning to storm off in a fit of fury. "Not everything is solved by money, you know? It wouldn't kill you to be /considerate/, or /nice/. Forget it, I don't need your shit."
She's still rambling by the time she stalks out of eye- and ear-shot, ranting off something about men being worse than animals and whatnot. Blessed, blessed silence.
Tomas is free to return to his workout, for the next few minutes. It's only when he's getting right back into the groove of it, some fifteen odd minutes later or so, that he feels the next oddity: a tightening in his throat.
'Christ, is this from her perfume?' The thought occurs to Tomas as he sets the barbell back on its rack - though he doesn't quite put the weights away. There hadn't been so much on there anyway, someone else would handle it. He stalks over from the weight room over to the smoothie bar. He'd have a damn smoothie himself, then. "Mango, please," he grumbles. "And a fuckin' aspirin, if you've got one back there. Got a headache building up." He slides over the crumpled tenner.
"Sure thing, Mister Inigo," the cheery girl behind the counter, at least, is used to Tomas's usual demeanor and language, and she slips the note away and out of view. "Might be some in the back left, I'll take a look for ya." She moves away to look for the requested aspirin before getting started on the smoothie, the door to the backroom closing behind her, and Tomas is left with his burgeoning headache for the time being - there were few people in the gym proper, and even fewer here. He's all alone.
The tightening in his throat seems to be growing uncomfortably, as though there's something stuck in it that no amount of clearing his throat nor coughing seems to be dislodging. It moves on in the span of a few seconds from uncomfortable to distressing, until Tomas feels as though he can't quite take a proper, full breath, much less get enough air in his lungs to attempt to call out for the smoothie somellier's attention. The urge to cough only rises and rises and rises...
Between one retching, hacking cough and the next, there's a sudden, disorienting shifting of perspective. Tomas was tall enough to be looking /down/ at the bar - it's now a few feet higher than the top of his head. His voice shifts from his usual, deep baritone to a higher-pitched yowling with the next of his attempts at clearing his throat, and then - finally - there it is. The source of his problems: a hairball, hacked out onto the previously-pristine floor.
'For fuck's sake,' Tomas complains loudly - only, his words don't emerge as words, but as something twisted and animal, without the lips and throat to form them correctly. And there was the pile of his clothing, too. That'd be really fucking hard to explain. Hard to deny it was his, too - his ID was right there. God /damnit/. He circles around widely, wanting to get a good look at himself, but not particularly wanting to rush into the gym area to use the mirrors there. Maybe the ghost of Marcus had come to get his revenge? Tomas didn't know much about ghosts. Or magic. Or turning into animals, really, other than that werewolves were assholes.
Moments later, Tomas experiences a sudden and inexplicable transformation. Initially believing it to be a reaction to perfume or perhaps the strain of his workout, he attempts to alleviate his discomfort with a smoothie and some aspirin. However, the situation rapidly escalates as he finds himself unable to breathe properly, leading to a distressing metamorphosis right in the gym’s smoothie bar area. From a human to an animal, amidst confusion and a literal coughing up of a hairball, Tomas is confronted with the stark reality of his new form. The narrative closes on a note of humor and irony, as Tomas, now devoid of his human guise and unable to articulate his frustration, contemplates the bizarre and unsettling reality of his situation — transformed, confused, and clad only in his animal form, alongside his clothes and ID, revealing a truth harder to deny.
(Tomas's odd encounter(SRYasmin):SRYasmin)
[Thu Mar 7 2024]
In the Pulse Fitness Center
The walls of this spacious, well-lit gym are adorned with motivational quotes and vibrant teal accents, igniting a sense of determination. The dark gray floor boasts a resilient rubberized surface, absorbing each footfall with a slight rebound. Mirrored walls stretch across the left side, offering a reflection of dedication and progress. The air is filled with the energizing hum of people pushing themselves to new heights, while upbeat music provides the perfect rhythm for intense workouts.
It is morning, about 20F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing outside.
(Your target has been hexed and transformed into an animal against their will. Unable to turn back they need to try to find allies who can understand their problem and find a way to undo the curse.
)
It's a rather ordinary morning for Haven, all things considered. The sun is not-quite-shining, the birds are chirping, and the gym is rather empty other than an occasional early morning fitness junkie or two, most of them having given up on their new years resolutions three months into the year. Outside, snow drifts lazily down, though those inside are relatively well-protected from the cold, the temperature kept at a pleasant, just-right level and the music upbeat enough to let one drift off into thoughts while working out.
Across the gym, ever since Tomas entered, there's been a leggy brunette staring at him from where she seems to just be finishing her workout. Not a usual face he sees here, or in town, really - maybe someone new around these parts? Whatever the case may be, she's been staring long enough for it to be considered impolite, and then, once she's finished her cooling down, she walks over to Tomas to commit the biggest gym taboo and strike up conversation, opening up with a little, "Hey." She seems expectant, somehow.
Lowering himself into a steady, even squat, Tomas blows out a steady breath as he glances up at the brunette, seeming rankled. "Hello," he grunts, then lifts himself back up to a full standing position. He's only using a normal, human amount of weight - counting reps more than pushing the limits of his muscle. "I'm in the middle of a set, so make it quick. What's up?" In through the nose, and then he lowers himself back down with an unusual grace. Still, that doesn't mean he keeps the prickle of irritation out of his voice. "An' please tell me you're not askin' me to come stare at your ass on Tiktok so you can tell me off for a fuckin' social justice bit."
There's a scoff. She seems affronted to say the very least, all but clutching her pearls, really, and the look she shoots Tomas is nothing short of disdainful. "I thought I recognized you from somewhere," comes the explanation in due time. "You bumped into me a couple days ago and made me spill my smoothie, and didn't even stop to apologize." An apology. She's looking for an apology, and if she was unsure before, she's definitely certain it's Tomas now, given his reaction to her greeting.
There's a slight pause then, before she continues, "And I don't need to /ask/ anyone to stare at my ass. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know?" It's a nice ass, admittedly.
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, the Inigo straightens back up and rests his barbell over a shoulder, stuffing a gloved hand into his pocket to pull out a less-than-crisp ten dollar note. "Here," he says, thrusting it out to the smoothieless woman. "Smoothie money. Get the bongberry." It's an interesting thing, how obviously one can tell Tomas's eyes are wandering the woman's silhouette, even when they're out of sight. Alas - his eyes' wandering is truncated with an unimpressed sniff. "Just let me get back to my work out, thanks."
That was the wrong option. All of those, objectively, were the wrong choices. The woman accepts the ten-dollar note just out of reflex, then stares down at it and back up at Tomas with a sudden burst of anger. "I can buy myself smoothies," she snarks back, shoving the bill back Tomas's way and crossing her arms over her chest. "'Sorry', you ever heard that word? Sor-ree," she enunciates it with both syllables stretched, then throws up her arms in exasperation, already beginning to storm off in a fit of fury. "Not everything is solved by money, you know? It wouldn't kill you to be /considerate/, or /nice/. Forget it, I don't need your shit."
She's still rambling by the time she stalks out of eye- and ear-shot, ranting off something about men being worse than animals and whatnot. Blessed, blessed silence.
Tomas is free to return to his workout, for the next few minutes. It's only when he's getting right back into the groove of it, some fifteen odd minutes later or so, that he feels the next oddity: a tightening in his throat.
'Christ, is this from her perfume?' The thought occurs to Tomas as he sets the barbell back on its rack - though he doesn't quite put the weights away. There hadn't been so much on there anyway, someone else would handle it. He stalks over from the weight room over to the smoothie bar. He'd have a damn smoothie himself, then. "Mango, please," he grumbles. "And a fuckin' aspirin, if you've got one back there. Got a headache building up." He slides over the crumpled tenner.
"Sure thing, Mister Inigo," the cheery girl behind the counter, at least, is used to Tomas's usual demeanor and language, and she slips the note away and out of view. "Might be some in the back left, I'll take a look for ya." She moves away to look for the requested aspirin before getting started on the smoothie, the door to the backroom closing behind her, and Tomas is left with his burgeoning headache for the time being - there were few people in the gym proper, and even fewer here. He's all alone.
The tightening in his throat seems to be growing uncomfortably, as though there's something stuck in it that no amount of clearing his throat nor coughing seems to be dislodging. It moves on in the span of a few seconds from uncomfortable to distressing, until Tomas feels as though he can't quite take a proper, full breath, much less get enough air in his lungs to attempt to call out for the smoothie somellier's attention. The urge to cough only rises and rises and rises...
Between one retching, hacking cough and the next, there's a sudden, disorienting shifting of perspective. Tomas was tall enough to be looking /down/ at the bar - it's now a few feet higher than the top of his head. His voice shifts from his usual, deep baritone to a higher-pitched yowling with the next of his attempts at clearing his throat, and then - finally - there it is. The source of his problems: a hairball, hacked out onto the previously-pristine floor.
'For fuck's sake,' Tomas complains loudly - only, his words don't emerge as words, but as something twisted and animal, without the lips and throat to form them correctly. And there was the pile of his clothing, too. That'd be really fucking hard to explain. Hard to deny it was his, too - his ID was right there. God /damnit/. He circles around widely, wanting to get a good look at himself, but not particularly wanting to rush into the gym area to use the mirrors there. Maybe the ghost of Marcus had come to get his revenge? Tomas didn't know much about ghosts. Or magic. Or turning into animals, really, other than that werewolves were assholes.