Log:Distress in Downtown
GM: Yelmalio
Players: Simone, Janie, Gilead
Synopsis: A distressed woman storms the Lunar Nocturne looking for assistance.
Date: Thu Feb 11 2070

Janie for her part ignores the cloaked Elf's grandstanding in favor of savoring her bourbon. The quality stuff is hard to come by in these parts.

Gilead gets his wine and stares at it for a moment. Eventually, he nods and lifts it, taking a delicate sniff… and then a sip. "Ah. Better. Thank you." He pauses, and looks directly at the redhead. "It is often difficult to find good wine outside of Tir. I am pleased that this place at least makes an effort."

A lady who appears to be in her midtwenties makes her way into the Nocturne, leaving her figure-hugging peacoat at the coat check before making the trek to the softly glowing bar. Her hair is a bright candy-apple red, the bangs covering her eyes entirely, and she makes no motions to change that.

Janie looks up at the elf, regarding him calmly for a moment, then nods. "Th'Nocturne prides itself on caterin' mainly to people who prefer quality over quantity," she agrees.

A woman steams into the bar behind the red haired chick at full speed, almost bashing into her from behind she screeches hysterically, "Somebody please help me, oh my gosh! He's going to die I just know it!" Why she decided to run into a magical bar is anyone's guess but this is how she continues unless people interrupt her.

Gilead says "Yes." He pauses. "People. Of all sorts, it appears." He takes another sip. "You were recognized by the bartender. Logic would dictate, then, you are a local. Pray tell me, where would an elf go for cheap, clean living near here?" He pauses, watching the midtwenties woman enter, staring at her hair for a moment before looking back at Janie. "I need somewhere to stay while I get myself… situated."

Then the woman's rushing in, and he's turned, raising a perfect eyebrow. "Oh my. Enter the dame."
Simone settles in at the bar, shyly tucking her dress under her. Given just enough time to order a German lager in her evident German accent, she then turns slightly, beer in hand, to take a look at the screaming woman.
Janie's Samaritan reflexes are strong as ever, but lately she's had cause to be just a tad more cautious and suspicious of 'random' screams for help. Still, if it's legitimate… She turns to Gilead and murmurs "Excuse me f'r a moment," before leaving her bar seat and heading over to the hysterical woman, focusing her Sight to cut through the ever-present mana haze and get a clear look at her aura.

Even the albino octopus turns to watch the woman screaming bloody murder.

+ Janie assenses.

The woman pulls at her hair and looks around through unseeing eyes, the tears streaming down her face prevent her from being to focus on anything. That's not to mention the evident distress in her voice, "Oh my gosh, he's going to dieee, I just know it!"

You paged Janie with 'Unaugmented mundane person, she has a case of auto-immune hepatitis that is being treated with drugs. Her emotional response is currently triggered bya loved one in mrtal danger. Her current emotional response is distressed.'.

Gilead sighs as Janie moves towards the woman, and takes this chance to open his metaphorical third eye- not on the hysterical woman, no, but at the far-more-interesting (to him) woman with the unlikely hair colour. He raises his glass to his lips, and his air and robes move ever so slightly, as if in a breeze as his eyes briefly glow.

+ Simone assenses.

You paged Simone with 'She's mundane and distressed, she also has an illness, not mental, just ill.'.

Simone, the mysterious young girl with the German accent observes the scene through her flowing red bangs. Her dark-cherry stained lips are pursed, and she arranges herself on her barstool to watch things unfold beyond elegant fish tank.

Gilead's eyes return to the frackas, and he glides off his chair with stately ease, approaching the women. "Who is to be killed, and by whom?" He asks, his voice precise and with just the slightest of english accents.

The hysterical woman is also a red-head, ironic how that happens huh? She screams and almost drowns out Gileads question and then turns to look outside and points, "My Malcolm, he's going to dieeeee!"
Janie takes the woman by the shoulders. "Calm down," she orders in her best command voice. "Tell us what's goin' on an' we'll try t'help."

The woman moves to pull away from Janie, towards the doorway, though she wouldn't escape a mean Janie grip. "Outside, outside! No tiiiiime!" The sobs start to rack her petite chest heavily.
Gilead turns and, without another word, begins the walk outside. Curiosity is a bitch, isn't it?

Simone takes a hurried swig of her drink, a fine doppelbock, and sets the pint down with a satisfying clink. She stands then, and makes hasty steps to the bathroom and slides the lock shut with a metallic rasping sound.
I'm gonna project from the john and follow astrally.

Janie sighs inwardly and starts walking. "Lead th'way," she tells the woman, mentally calling on Athena to get her feathered tail down here and scout ahead. So much for a quiet evening's relaxation…

The red-headed distressed waoman heads out the door uhrriedly, right into the street taking a sharp right and running along the sidewalk, about a hundred paces. Not very far at all.

Anybody outside would scout out showing, nothing out of the ordinary, oh except for the chick with tears streaming down her face.

Gilead looks around as the woman leads them out, letting his gaze shift to the astral as he walks, power crackling in his hands in bits of lighting and tails of smoke.

Janie follows the running woman about six paces behind while centering her thoughts and calling on a little extra help from the genus loci.

To anyone viewing the astral plane, a form would be evident, following the group of three as they head toward their destination. This astral figure expresses concern and curiosity, and is surrounded by a totemic presence in the form of a murder of crows.

+ Janie summons greatform spirit.

Gilead says "Where is your Malcom?" As he turns towards the woman. "I see nothing out of the ordinary."

As a few random passers by scream at Gilead for having lightning crackle around his hands the oblivious distressed woman screams and points upwards, the tears still blurring her vision, she doesn't bother to look, like it might be too hard for her.
For the runners, who look up, they might spot Malcolm, a fat ginger tom stuck on the top of the telephone pole. On the astral it expresses a certain distress itself, manifesting in an angry cat hiss.

Gilead stares. "A cat. You brought us out here for a cat." He looks at the woman. "I thought there would be danger! A disaster, perhaps, or a nightmare off phenominal proportions." He looks back up. "A cat! And I am being followed by crows…"

There is a ripple of… Power. There's no other word for it, as something primal answers Janie's call for assistance, currently only present on the Astral but potent nonetheless, no mere Spirit of Man but the quintessential nature of the city itself given form and purpose…

"… Ye've got t'be kiddin'," Janie murmurs in exasperation as she sees 'Malcolm'.

The woman screams and cries and stamps her feet in desperation, "He's going fall off and dieeeeee. I know iiiit. Waaaah."

+ Gilead casts magic fingers.

Gilead mutters a little, but he acts nonetheless, the smoke and lightning fading from his hands as he raises them in arcane gestures, directing pyschokinetic fingers to try and get the cat from the pole and carry it down to safety. Safety? The look on his face indicates he'd be happy to -skin- it. He mutters a few key phrases- really just curses in ancient greek, ancient egyptian, and sperethiel… and lets his magic do its work.

The cat hangs onto the pole for dear life as invisible hands drag it up, it finally pops off into Gileads magic hands as he withdraws it down. It struggled and writhes but he has a decent grip on it. Depositing it on the gorund it snarls and flees at top speed.

The spirit form of the German girl takes a perch directly above Gilead; a larger, central bird-like form surrounded by many smaller forms that carry the totemic impressions.

The crying woman is suddenly so happy and grateful again, "Oh thank you, thank you so much. You saved my Malcolm! Thank you!" She gives Gilead a quick hug and turns to run off after Malcolm.

Simone perches on the edge of the building with her flock, watching the rescue…

Gilead lowers his hands, muttering about foolish women, and then turns to stare at all the bird-spirits. "Well?" He demands of them. "Are you enjoying the show? Do you wish us to dance? Sing? Art Thou an omen of my damnation?"

Janie pinches the bridge of her nose as she watches the woman go, then mentally apologizes to the Great Form spirit for wasting its time before releasing it and turns to head back into the bar to finish that drink.

The bird-spirit(s) emanate nothing more than a friendly, curious vibe. After peering quizzically at the frustrated elven sorceror, they merge with the night, disappearing as quickly as they appeared.

Gilead turns around and mutters, letting his gaze leave the astral and stomping off into the night to find a motel, muttering something about finding an apartment on the morrow.
page revision: 5, last edited: 12 Feb 2010 16:47
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