Encounterlogs
Toms Odd Encounter Sr Lorenzo 240801
The serene ambiance of a well-appointed studio dining area is suddenly disrupted by an odd encounter between Tom, a man who asserts his innocence, and a police officer convinced of Tom's guilt based on a mysteriously empty piece of paper. In a bid to prove his identity and possibly defuse the situation, Tom engages with the officer, suggesting they verify his identification documents upstairs. Despite Tom's compliance and attempts at reason, the officer, driven by an unclear motive and displaying symptoms of possible enchantment or delusion, insists on Tom's immediate compliance without further verification. Tom's empathetic approach momentarily softens the officer's stance, but the situation remains tense and uncertain.
As the encounter unfolds, Tom's suggestions that they seek verification of his identity or contact the officer's superior only deepen the mystery, prompting an unsettling realization that the officer himself might be under the influence of an external force or prank. The situation escalates when the officer, unable to recall his superior's name and exhibiting physical distress, collapses in a state of confusion and illness. Tom, now more concerned for the officer than his own predicament, debates his next move. Recognizing the bizarre and unexplained nature of the officer's condition and the potential risks involved, Tom decides to distance himself from the situation, securing himself within his home and seeking advice from his peers, leaving the unresolved and peculiar incident behind him.
(Tom's odd encounter(SRLorenzo):SRLorenzo)
[Wed Jul 31 2024]
In the dining area of a generous studio space
The dining area is designed with both functionality and elegance in mind. Bathed in natural light from expansive skylights along with high ceilings, give the space a feel of being open and airy. A sleek, modern dining table made of polished wood stands at the center, surrounded by comfortable high-backed chairs upholstered in neutral tones. Minimalist pendant lights provide focused illumination, casting a warm glow over the table. The polished wooden floors are complemented by a stylish rug beneath the table, while a sideboard offers additional storage and a touch of greenery with potted plants. The open layout allows for seamless flow between the dining area, the kitchen, and the rest of the studio, making it an inviting place to share meals and entertain company.
It is night, about 80F(26C) degrees, There is a waning crescent moon.
"Sir, there must be some kind of misunderstanding." Tom keeps his hands up in that same placating gesture whilst he continues to speak, "I've got my identification documents, upstairs. Could we verify my idenity?"
The placating gesture at least seems to calm the officer down a smidge or two, though it's a small thing. He reaches into his duty belt, producing a crumpled up piece of paper and glancing down at it, before looking back up at Tom, "Oh, it's you, alright, Lockhart. I've never been so sure of anything." He drawls out confidently, and then twists the paper to show the apparent profile to Tom.
The paper is blank.
This poor man appears to be suffering some sort of delusion, or enchantment.
Tom stares at the blank piece of paper, his mouth growing thin with a seriousness as he considers the rammifications of the reveal. Unsure of how to proceed the large man empathetically states, "Ah gosh, the likeness is quite undeniable. Yep that's me. Got my moustache and everything. Who was it that asked you over here officer to detain me? You reckon you could get your supervisor on your radio there and just get them to verify this. And then you can go ahead and take me in."
"Moustache and everything," The officer echoes in agreement, between quick little chews of his gum. Though, there's a further narrowing of his eyes at the polite request from the apparent criminal. Like most American officers of the law, this particular fellow seems to consider non-compliance, or questions as an act of aggression. "Hands." He commands Tom, reaching for his waist, and pausing as he mulled over the question. Who was it that sent him?
This question seems to stump the man for several seconds before he just shakes his head, "I ain't calling about this, Tommy boy. Hands on the wall."
"Hands on the wall." Tom repeats and does in fact begin to comply, turning very slowly and placing those big broad hands onto the flat of the wall. The corridor is a little narrow which provokes Tom to ask the officer, "I could come out onto the street, if it is easier for you. I'm not going to be trouble Sir, just wouldn't want any of this coming back on you. If there has been some kind of mistake, it would be good to check in with a superior real quick and just verify. I know you're just doing your job Sir." He grows quiet, turning his face to the wall and leaning his forehead against it.
The compliant giant seems to soothe the officers jagged, and inconsistent irritation. There's an approving nod as Tom adopts the requested pose, and he begins to pluck his handcuffs from his belt. A minute sort of pause follows as the officer digests his words, "My superior? He.. he asked me to do this personally, Tom. Came up to my door in the middle of the night, that's just how important this was. Hell, I wasn't even rostered on." The officer overshares, and there's the slightest hint of doubt, or pause in his tone. That doesn't sound right, does it?
"You know, that is a bit weird. You don't happen to have his name do you? I wonder if this whole thing is a prank or misunderstanding." Tom keeps his hands on the wall, squinting for a moment in consideration before looking across at the officer who's hesitating and then asking. "You know, you've got that profile for me. It got my social security number on it? You said, it says I'm from Boston? My accent is fake? I have documentation upstairs, showing my working visa permit. We could just see if things match up. Maybe you're being pranked."
"Pranked? You think I could be pranked?" The man seems to take offense at this, and starts reaching toward his cuffs again, apparently intending to lock Tom right back up. Though there's a pause then, as he tries to produce the name of his superior. "It was.." A beat, "Uh, it was.." This particular break lasts for a handful of seconds of silence. "You're trying to confuse me, or something, aren't you? Tom Lochha.. Lockled.. Lo.. Tom.." The officer sways, this way and that, as a stream of blood oozes free of his nose, and down his face. He staggers back a few steps, leaning against the other wall for support.
"Yeah, I reckon you should call somebody, just someone who-" Tom is trying rather desperately to implore some other course of action than being arrested, though the confusion blabbering from the officer's mouth has him look over and watch as he stumbles away. "Oh shit, you don't look okay officer, where was you supposed to take me? Officer, who gave you the job?" He looks more concerned for the officer now than anything as he asks these questions, trying to provide some support for the officer if allowed.
"It was.. it was..-" The words tumble from SRLorenzo's lips like sailors diving from a sinking ship, with desperation and fear. He takes a step away from Tom, toward his vehicle where it remains parked on the street, toward safety. All the while the bleeding grows with strength and severity, "They.. wanted you.. to go to-" The words stop, and so does the police officer as he tumbles forward, onto his knees, and then flat out on the pavement.
Tom looks around the street, one way and then the other. Looking spooked and unsure of what he should do, he approaches the officer's body and peers down at him.
Well, the fellow isn't in a great state, judging by the bloody nose and apparent unconsciousness, but there's also nothing really tying Tom to him. Given that the man was operating from a blank piece of paper. It seems like he may've been resisting whatever enchantment had befallen himself. No doubt some concerned citizen would be along soon enough to clean up the mess, as it were.
Tom stares for a moment, looking as if he was weighing up some choice of what he could do. Though the large man takes a step back away from the police officer and then another and turns to walk back to his door, he closes it with a click, fastens a bolt and a chain. He starts to stride back up the steps two at a time, then closes the second door. He leans against it, frowning in uncertainty. Before reaching for his phone, seeming keen to seek out the counsel from his peers.
As the encounter unfolds, Tom's suggestions that they seek verification of his identity or contact the officer's superior only deepen the mystery, prompting an unsettling realization that the officer himself might be under the influence of an external force or prank. The situation escalates when the officer, unable to recall his superior's name and exhibiting physical distress, collapses in a state of confusion and illness. Tom, now more concerned for the officer than his own predicament, debates his next move. Recognizing the bizarre and unexplained nature of the officer's condition and the potential risks involved, Tom decides to distance himself from the situation, securing himself within his home and seeking advice from his peers, leaving the unresolved and peculiar incident behind him.
(Tom's odd encounter(SRLorenzo):SRLorenzo)
[Wed Jul 31 2024]
In the dining area of a generous studio space
The dining area is designed with both functionality and elegance in mind. Bathed in natural light from expansive skylights along with high ceilings, give the space a feel of being open and airy. A sleek, modern dining table made of polished wood stands at the center, surrounded by comfortable high-backed chairs upholstered in neutral tones. Minimalist pendant lights provide focused illumination, casting a warm glow over the table. The polished wooden floors are complemented by a stylish rug beneath the table, while a sideboard offers additional storage and a touch of greenery with potted plants. The open layout allows for seamless flow between the dining area, the kitchen, and the rest of the studio, making it an inviting place to share meals and entertain company.
It is night, about 80F(26C) degrees, There is a waning crescent moon.
"Sir, there must be some kind of misunderstanding." Tom keeps his hands up in that same placating gesture whilst he continues to speak, "I've got my identification documents, upstairs. Could we verify my idenity?"
The placating gesture at least seems to calm the officer down a smidge or two, though it's a small thing. He reaches into his duty belt, producing a crumpled up piece of paper and glancing down at it, before looking back up at Tom, "Oh, it's you, alright, Lockhart. I've never been so sure of anything." He drawls out confidently, and then twists the paper to show the apparent profile to Tom.
The paper is blank.
This poor man appears to be suffering some sort of delusion, or enchantment.
Tom stares at the blank piece of paper, his mouth growing thin with a seriousness as he considers the rammifications of the reveal. Unsure of how to proceed the large man empathetically states, "Ah gosh, the likeness is quite undeniable. Yep that's me. Got my moustache and everything. Who was it that asked you over here officer to detain me? You reckon you could get your supervisor on your radio there and just get them to verify this. And then you can go ahead and take me in."
"Moustache and everything," The officer echoes in agreement, between quick little chews of his gum. Though, there's a further narrowing of his eyes at the polite request from the apparent criminal. Like most American officers of the law, this particular fellow seems to consider non-compliance, or questions as an act of aggression. "Hands." He commands Tom, reaching for his waist, and pausing as he mulled over the question. Who was it that sent him?
This question seems to stump the man for several seconds before he just shakes his head, "I ain't calling about this, Tommy boy. Hands on the wall."
"Hands on the wall." Tom repeats and does in fact begin to comply, turning very slowly and placing those big broad hands onto the flat of the wall. The corridor is a little narrow which provokes Tom to ask the officer, "I could come out onto the street, if it is easier for you. I'm not going to be trouble Sir, just wouldn't want any of this coming back on you. If there has been some kind of mistake, it would be good to check in with a superior real quick and just verify. I know you're just doing your job Sir." He grows quiet, turning his face to the wall and leaning his forehead against it.
The compliant giant seems to soothe the officers jagged, and inconsistent irritation. There's an approving nod as Tom adopts the requested pose, and he begins to pluck his handcuffs from his belt. A minute sort of pause follows as the officer digests his words, "My superior? He.. he asked me to do this personally, Tom. Came up to my door in the middle of the night, that's just how important this was. Hell, I wasn't even rostered on." The officer overshares, and there's the slightest hint of doubt, or pause in his tone. That doesn't sound right, does it?
"You know, that is a bit weird. You don't happen to have his name do you? I wonder if this whole thing is a prank or misunderstanding." Tom keeps his hands on the wall, squinting for a moment in consideration before looking across at the officer who's hesitating and then asking. "You know, you've got that profile for me. It got my social security number on it? You said, it says I'm from Boston? My accent is fake? I have documentation upstairs, showing my working visa permit. We could just see if things match up. Maybe you're being pranked."
"Pranked? You think I could be pranked?" The man seems to take offense at this, and starts reaching toward his cuffs again, apparently intending to lock Tom right back up. Though there's a pause then, as he tries to produce the name of his superior. "It was.." A beat, "Uh, it was.." This particular break lasts for a handful of seconds of silence. "You're trying to confuse me, or something, aren't you? Tom Lochha.. Lockled.. Lo.. Tom.." The officer sways, this way and that, as a stream of blood oozes free of his nose, and down his face. He staggers back a few steps, leaning against the other wall for support.
"Yeah, I reckon you should call somebody, just someone who-" Tom is trying rather desperately to implore some other course of action than being arrested, though the confusion blabbering from the officer's mouth has him look over and watch as he stumbles away. "Oh shit, you don't look okay officer, where was you supposed to take me? Officer, who gave you the job?" He looks more concerned for the officer now than anything as he asks these questions, trying to provide some support for the officer if allowed.
"It was.. it was..-" The words tumble from SRLorenzo's lips like sailors diving from a sinking ship, with desperation and fear. He takes a step away from Tom, toward his vehicle where it remains parked on the street, toward safety. All the while the bleeding grows with strength and severity, "They.. wanted you.. to go to-" The words stop, and so does the police officer as he tumbles forward, onto his knees, and then flat out on the pavement.
Tom looks around the street, one way and then the other. Looking spooked and unsure of what he should do, he approaches the officer's body and peers down at him.
Well, the fellow isn't in a great state, judging by the bloody nose and apparent unconsciousness, but there's also nothing really tying Tom to him. Given that the man was operating from a blank piece of paper. It seems like he may've been resisting whatever enchantment had befallen himself. No doubt some concerned citizen would be along soon enough to clean up the mess, as it were.
Tom stares for a moment, looking as if he was weighing up some choice of what he could do. Though the large man takes a step back away from the police officer and then another and turns to walk back to his door, he closes it with a click, fastens a bolt and a chain. He starts to stride back up the steps two at a time, then closes the second door. He leans against it, frowning in uncertainty. Before reaching for his phone, seeming keen to seek out the counsel from his peers.