Encounterlogs
Victors Odd Encounter Sr Vindicta 241116
In a grim and unsettling investigation within the confines of room 124B, Forensics, Victor, a forensic scientist, delves into the mysteries surrounding a deceased woman whose body presents a conundrum far beyond the pale of his usual work. The woman, referred to endearingly as 'mi corazone' by an unseen specter, harbors a chest cavity crudely stitched together, harboring wounds inflicted while she was yet alive. Victor, though initially disdainful and resistant, finds himself compelled to examine the corpse meticulously, scouring for clues in the bruised and battered body that sits before him. His examination reveals harrowing details of her demise: shattered wrists, puncture wounds, and a disturbing absence of blood, suggesting a supernatural assailant.
The most chilling discovery lies within the victim's heart, where Victor finds a wedding ring hidden inside, suggesting a twisted token or perhaps an emblem of love turned grotesque. This revelation, coupled with further investigations hinting at a love triangle gone awry, propels the narrative towards a macabre conclusion. The specter, perhaps the victim's own spirit, leaves Victor with a soft whisper of gratitude as he prepares the body for a more dignified rest. Despite solving the immediate mysteries of her death, Victor is left with the task of documentation, his encounter leaving him with a somber reminder of the darker facets of humanity and the monstrous deeds born of passion and betrayal. As he resigns to his paperwork, Victor embodies the weary resignation of one who has glimpsed the abyss and must now carry on, burdened by knowledge and the melancholy of unresolved justice.
(Victor's odd encounter(SRVindicta):SRVindicta)
[Fri Nov 15 2024]
In room 124B, Forensics
It is afternoon, about 41F(5C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey clouds.
Mi corazone, she said. 'my heart' in Spanish. It could mean literal, as in her own heart in her chest, but there is also the metaphorical sense- 'my love'. Regardless, it seems as good a place to start as any, and the scalpel in Victor's hand quivers with anticipation. Perhaps the spirit notes his disdain and has chosen to give him some form of agency over his own actions- or perhaps it itself knows not what it should do. So, it waits, that strange haphazard stitching keeping the chest cavity barely sealed below Victor's expert hand.
He is a forensic scientist now, after all- it's his job to get to the bottom of these things, even if this is far beyond normal protocol. Even with his disgust, the cruel words leveled upon her, the corpse seems at peace, a strange level of trust levied upon the Italiano as he comes to rest before her and her sad state. She's human- at least that's what the blood tests said, and by all means with her job history, her life as a whole, married with a child, she was also unaware. What cruel monster could have, if such is the case, torn her chest cavity open like this and then been cruel enough to staple it back closed again? What's worse is that the wound is premortum- someone, or something, did this while she was still alive.
Be it post or premortum, Victor doesn't care much in the slightest of the current situation. He assumes that level of silence again, levies it upon the puppetereed corpse with a critical eye. But she's kept from the scalpel for now. Victor's inspection is first on another fashion. He's, nonetheless, relieved to let the metal drop on the autopsy table for later use. First, he takes her hands. Checks them for bruises, purpling, any signs of restraint or struggle, and his gloved hand seeks out a swab to take samples underneath her nails, deposit whatever he finds into a small case, then moves.
In his slow circle, Victor glides a hand over her knees, turns them whichever way to inspect any further abrasion, a sign of collapse, broken bones, skin - she's given a thoroguh inspection while he avoids what she desperately tries to convey. That, or the likely blood that would spurt out of an unprepared body and ruin his whole office. By the time he's on the oppossite end, he checks her teeth, under her gums- her tongue and her cheeks to see if there is any strees related self-injury. When behind her, her head is held with both hands to be twisted slowly to check spinal damage, further injury, as well as any sign of bludgeoning on her scalp.
With her head dropped, finally, Victor sighs out as he returns to his initial position, and takes his only available tool. The scalpel is brough low to her chest with another hand keeping the body stable on her shoulder- and he digs under the staples. Unhinges them one by one before rising up to enlarge the incision with the sharp end of the blade, draw a long line from clavicle to rib. When the hole in her chest is enough to fit a fist- Victor's hand extends without looking to grab a sternal retractor and wedge it in, to splay open the cavity and see the internal damage, in spite of all the blood spilling off the table. "Damn woman couldn't wait for me to drain her.."
Both wrists are not only broken, but shattered with masculine hand-shaped bruises on each that indicate it was pure superhuman strength that caused the damage, bare-fisted. The flesh beneath her nails collected, perhaps examined now or later, too, would prove to be the skin of a corpse- strange, unless you're a forensic scientist in Haven. That in itself is a clue. Her knees are fine, save for two puncture wounds in its crease, slightly up the thigh that dig down past the muscle. Similar wounds are found when Victor examines the neck, twisting her head to find her spinal cord in tact, and yet at the nape when her hair slips away, there are several of those similarly-sized holes scattered around on both sides of the throat.
No bludgeoning to the scalp, though one shoulder does show that familiar hand-shaped bruising on top of a fractured collarbone. She was pinned down, and judging by the evidence, bitten several times by what could only be a vampire- which means that when Victor carves that chest cavity back open, there is no blood that spills out. Her innards are all but shriveled, near mummified but not quite- still slick and fleshy, not completely exsanguinated. But the heart- the heart is the strangest piece of this puzzle. There's something hard inside of it. Something round, maybe smooth, and stitching with fabric thread keeps a well-concealed incision together.
Pulling this open reveals a cavity, and inside? A wedding ring in silver with a heart-shaped diamond affixed.
The revelation is grim. It shows in Victor's countenance. Kept just the same, yet quietly arduous, toiling through the bone and crunching open to see exactly what he expected to find after his thorough examination. It's an open and shut case, at least the manner with which she died. 'Heart failure', they'd label it, because that's truly what it was. Without blood to circulate oxygen, anemia followed by the heart unable to beat. His surgically gloved hand reaches inside and beneath the lungs for further inspection, cups the heart within his palm, and rubs along the surface with his thumb.
Further worry creases Victor's brow, and when he finds the seams, they're undone with the scalpel in his other hand. Even in the absence of any sanguine spill, it'd be a difficult thing to explain if anyone decided to wander into his office now. Thankfully, no one does, and he's free to desecrate the heart to split it open, and set aside his scalpel to extract his prize with his fingers. Icy eyes stare at it for a long minute until he wills the power to separate, draw his hands out of the cavity and chuck the ring into a metal basin by the head of the autopsy table with a clink. "You got done in by a monster, sorella. There, if that tells you anything." His words are to the ether while he casts a glance at the ring, but otherwise, the macabre artwork of a deranged vampire is left to mend. Victor doesn't leave her as she is, and the retractor is tugged out and free so Victor can stitch her back up properly, in even, seamless and see-through threads. The end of it sees Victor slip off his gloves, leave them inside-out and ball them up to dispose of so he can reach under the table and retrieve a lengthy cloth from a drawer under the table, and stretch it over the deceased for her modesty. Not that she needs it. "We'll put you to rest," He promises, even if his expression remains levied with a stern one that despises her of what she's become. "Don't worry now, you're going to be alright."
Further investigation, if Victor so chose, would reveal the woman to be married, but with the husband having hired a gum shoe private investigator by name of John Baker to track her when suspicious that she may be unfaithful. He did, and caught her after several long, sleepless nights with a paramour. With photo evidence brought back to the husband (ultimately confiscated by the HSD), and this information returned to the police, they may discover that either the husband, or the piece on the side, is the vampire in question that did this to the poor woman. Possibly both.
But Victor has done his duty here, at the very least, and with the woman's mystery mostly solved and her body being prepared for a more proper burial, that ghostly presence seems to fade somewhat, only a soft whisper of: "Thank you..." echoing in the enclosure of the office. Now it's just up to the police to figure out who dunnit.
"Don't thank me." Victor utters grimly, through a short-lived grimace as he retreats to the edge of his desk. Now that it seems like he'll have no more distractions from the carcass of a woman, he takes hold of his clipboard again and collapses in his chair. Pen in hand, sinking where he sits, he's scribbling down his notes out of habit. He seems like he's about to say more, maybe even make some snide remark about the specter- but his mouth shuts with a tense jaw, and that's how he stays. No more words left to speak, with only the paperwork to deal with so the HSD can either handle it, or transfer it to another aware department aligned to the government.
The most chilling discovery lies within the victim's heart, where Victor finds a wedding ring hidden inside, suggesting a twisted token or perhaps an emblem of love turned grotesque. This revelation, coupled with further investigations hinting at a love triangle gone awry, propels the narrative towards a macabre conclusion. The specter, perhaps the victim's own spirit, leaves Victor with a soft whisper of gratitude as he prepares the body for a more dignified rest. Despite solving the immediate mysteries of her death, Victor is left with the task of documentation, his encounter leaving him with a somber reminder of the darker facets of humanity and the monstrous deeds born of passion and betrayal. As he resigns to his paperwork, Victor embodies the weary resignation of one who has glimpsed the abyss and must now carry on, burdened by knowledge and the melancholy of unresolved justice.
(Victor's odd encounter(SRVindicta):SRVindicta)
[Fri Nov 15 2024]
In room 124B, Forensics
It is afternoon, about 41F(5C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey clouds.
Mi corazone, she said. 'my heart' in Spanish. It could mean literal, as in her own heart in her chest, but there is also the metaphorical sense- 'my love'. Regardless, it seems as good a place to start as any, and the scalpel in Victor's hand quivers with anticipation. Perhaps the spirit notes his disdain and has chosen to give him some form of agency over his own actions- or perhaps it itself knows not what it should do. So, it waits, that strange haphazard stitching keeping the chest cavity barely sealed below Victor's expert hand.
He is a forensic scientist now, after all- it's his job to get to the bottom of these things, even if this is far beyond normal protocol. Even with his disgust, the cruel words leveled upon her, the corpse seems at peace, a strange level of trust levied upon the Italiano as he comes to rest before her and her sad state. She's human- at least that's what the blood tests said, and by all means with her job history, her life as a whole, married with a child, she was also unaware. What cruel monster could have, if such is the case, torn her chest cavity open like this and then been cruel enough to staple it back closed again? What's worse is that the wound is premortum- someone, or something, did this while she was still alive.
Be it post or premortum, Victor doesn't care much in the slightest of the current situation. He assumes that level of silence again, levies it upon the puppetereed corpse with a critical eye. But she's kept from the scalpel for now. Victor's inspection is first on another fashion. He's, nonetheless, relieved to let the metal drop on the autopsy table for later use. First, he takes her hands. Checks them for bruises, purpling, any signs of restraint or struggle, and his gloved hand seeks out a swab to take samples underneath her nails, deposit whatever he finds into a small case, then moves.
In his slow circle, Victor glides a hand over her knees, turns them whichever way to inspect any further abrasion, a sign of collapse, broken bones, skin - she's given a thoroguh inspection while he avoids what she desperately tries to convey. That, or the likely blood that would spurt out of an unprepared body and ruin his whole office. By the time he's on the oppossite end, he checks her teeth, under her gums- her tongue and her cheeks to see if there is any strees related self-injury. When behind her, her head is held with both hands to be twisted slowly to check spinal damage, further injury, as well as any sign of bludgeoning on her scalp.
With her head dropped, finally, Victor sighs out as he returns to his initial position, and takes his only available tool. The scalpel is brough low to her chest with another hand keeping the body stable on her shoulder- and he digs under the staples. Unhinges them one by one before rising up to enlarge the incision with the sharp end of the blade, draw a long line from clavicle to rib. When the hole in her chest is enough to fit a fist- Victor's hand extends without looking to grab a sternal retractor and wedge it in, to splay open the cavity and see the internal damage, in spite of all the blood spilling off the table. "Damn woman couldn't wait for me to drain her.."
Both wrists are not only broken, but shattered with masculine hand-shaped bruises on each that indicate it was pure superhuman strength that caused the damage, bare-fisted. The flesh beneath her nails collected, perhaps examined now or later, too, would prove to be the skin of a corpse- strange, unless you're a forensic scientist in Haven. That in itself is a clue. Her knees are fine, save for two puncture wounds in its crease, slightly up the thigh that dig down past the muscle. Similar wounds are found when Victor examines the neck, twisting her head to find her spinal cord in tact, and yet at the nape when her hair slips away, there are several of those similarly-sized holes scattered around on both sides of the throat.
No bludgeoning to the scalp, though one shoulder does show that familiar hand-shaped bruising on top of a fractured collarbone. She was pinned down, and judging by the evidence, bitten several times by what could only be a vampire- which means that when Victor carves that chest cavity back open, there is no blood that spills out. Her innards are all but shriveled, near mummified but not quite- still slick and fleshy, not completely exsanguinated. But the heart- the heart is the strangest piece of this puzzle. There's something hard inside of it. Something round, maybe smooth, and stitching with fabric thread keeps a well-concealed incision together.
Pulling this open reveals a cavity, and inside? A wedding ring in silver with a heart-shaped diamond affixed.
The revelation is grim. It shows in Victor's countenance. Kept just the same, yet quietly arduous, toiling through the bone and crunching open to see exactly what he expected to find after his thorough examination. It's an open and shut case, at least the manner with which she died. 'Heart failure', they'd label it, because that's truly what it was. Without blood to circulate oxygen, anemia followed by the heart unable to beat. His surgically gloved hand reaches inside and beneath the lungs for further inspection, cups the heart within his palm, and rubs along the surface with his thumb.
Further worry creases Victor's brow, and when he finds the seams, they're undone with the scalpel in his other hand. Even in the absence of any sanguine spill, it'd be a difficult thing to explain if anyone decided to wander into his office now. Thankfully, no one does, and he's free to desecrate the heart to split it open, and set aside his scalpel to extract his prize with his fingers. Icy eyes stare at it for a long minute until he wills the power to separate, draw his hands out of the cavity and chuck the ring into a metal basin by the head of the autopsy table with a clink. "You got done in by a monster, sorella. There, if that tells you anything." His words are to the ether while he casts a glance at the ring, but otherwise, the macabre artwork of a deranged vampire is left to mend. Victor doesn't leave her as she is, and the retractor is tugged out and free so Victor can stitch her back up properly, in even, seamless and see-through threads. The end of it sees Victor slip off his gloves, leave them inside-out and ball them up to dispose of so he can reach under the table and retrieve a lengthy cloth from a drawer under the table, and stretch it over the deceased for her modesty. Not that she needs it. "We'll put you to rest," He promises, even if his expression remains levied with a stern one that despises her of what she's become. "Don't worry now, you're going to be alright."
Further investigation, if Victor so chose, would reveal the woman to be married, but with the husband having hired a gum shoe private investigator by name of John Baker to track her when suspicious that she may be unfaithful. He did, and caught her after several long, sleepless nights with a paramour. With photo evidence brought back to the husband (ultimately confiscated by the HSD), and this information returned to the police, they may discover that either the husband, or the piece on the side, is the vampire in question that did this to the poor woman. Possibly both.
But Victor has done his duty here, at the very least, and with the woman's mystery mostly solved and her body being prepared for a more proper burial, that ghostly presence seems to fade somewhat, only a soft whisper of: "Thank you..." echoing in the enclosure of the office. Now it's just up to the police to figure out who dunnit.
"Don't thank me." Victor utters grimly, through a short-lived grimace as he retreats to the edge of his desk. Now that it seems like he'll have no more distractions from the carcass of a woman, he takes hold of his clipboard again and collapses in his chair. Pen in hand, sinking where he sits, he's scribbling down his notes out of habit. He seems like he's about to say more, maybe even make some snide remark about the specter- but his mouth shuts with a tense jaw, and that's how he stays. No more words left to speak, with only the paperwork to deal with so the HSD can either handle it, or transfer it to another aware department aligned to the government.