Event Post: Ghosts That We Know

[hadrielmods]

Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for the Ghosts That We Know event
Where: All over the city!
When: June 21st-29th
Warnings: Emotional trauma, ghost murder, long slow deaths

It's been awhile since something really awful happened. Or maybe it hasn't - maybe you had a really awful day just yesterday. Don't worry! Things can always get worse. And they sure will, because when you awaken on June 21st, you'll find yourself haunted.

Maybe it's a relative, someone who raised you and loved you deeply. Maybe it's a friend, someone close to your heart. Maybe it's a former - or current - lover, someone you've given your affection to. Maybe a mentor, a coworker, a person who doesn't even know you love them. Whoever they are, they're someone who matters very much to you - and now you're seeing them where you shouldn't. They're haunting you, taking each step alongside you, and they're exactly like the one you love.

Over time, you'll feel yourself growing weaker as the ghost gains strength. Being able to see your loved ones again is a double-edged sword, because they're sucking the life from you. What are you going to do? Die, so that they can live? Or kill them to preserve your own life? And what do they want you to do?

By the 26th, the ghosts will have taken enough energy from you to be solid. That means you won't be the only one who can interact with them anymore - and maybe your friends here have opinions of their own about what should happen to that ghost draining your life away. But hopefully someone will do something, or else you'll die along with your ghost on the final day of the event.

Hey, didn't we get a few psychologists here in our cave city? Man, you guys are gonna be booked up after this one.

► This log covers June 21st-29th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you can't bring yourself to murder someone you love, no one else is around to lend a hand, and you die - please let us know here.

Comments

Maketh Tua | ota

[mismanagement]

21st - Speakeasy

This is not happening. It is not happening and Maketh is going to drink until it stops happening. She's working her way through a bottle of spiced wine with fierce determination and very carefully not looking at the ghosts sitting at her side. Nope. She's not doing this. She's not going crazy.

Besides, it doesn't count as binge drinking if it's wine.

The ghosts are two young cadets, nineteen years old, each in flight suits. They're twins, smiling and watchful.

Maketh isn't looking at them. If she looks, she fears she'll start weeping.

26th - various

Somehow, the gods have done a good thing. And Maketh is smiling often and easily. Wherever she goes, she's accompanied by two grinning fight cadets, a brother and sister with dark hair and matching grins. Itani is the smaller of the two, quiet and graceful, always watching. Kareem is taller, louder; into everything. He moves with easy grace and inserts himself into everything, looking for a different angle. Trying to get his hands on things. And while his sister does the same - nothing is safe if it catches their eye - she does her observations from a distance, gathering data before approaching.

Kareem is that kid you knew growing up who was physically incapable of not poking everything and anything with a stick. Itani is his smarter counterpart.

All the while they stick close to Maketh, throwing their arms around her and messing up her hair even as she swats them away. There's a casual intimacy with them. They don't look a thing alike but it's clear that they're family in some deeper way.

You'll find them hanging out in the Guardpost and the speakeasy, playing cards with Maketh and sticking their noses into everything that looks interesting. Just don't ask how they died.

28th - apartment

Kareem is standing guard at the door. Itani hovers somewhere closer, combing her fingers through Maketh's hair. And for her part, Maketh drifts in and out of sleep, her head on Itani's lap. She's so tired lately, can barely think or lift her head. Itani sighs.

"It can't go on like this, kitten."

Maketh shakes her head.

"You're dying, my friend." Kareem's voice is soft and kind. Like his sister's.

"I've already died," she murmurs.

"No, kitten. Not like this. You know it's time to stop. Maketh. Hey. You need to stay awake."

Wildcard

[Hit me.]

21st

[therewillbeorder]

He wasn't in the habit of drinking but his hands were still shaking slightly as he pulled his gloves back on. He had faced his father and as much as he wanted to claim that it hadn't affected him, he wasn't ready to face anyone at the moment.

He paused when he saw Maketh as he stepped into the speakeasy but decided that he needed something to drink more than he cared about her being there.

"A surprise seeing you here," he remarked in a neutral tone, carefully attempting to conceal what emotions threatened to well up. He wouldn't get emotional. He got whiskey, deciding to keep the bottle with him. Even though he wouldn't mention Brendol, that alone was a sign that everything was not alright.

Dr. Lee Rosen / OTA

[drabsolutelynot]

23rd-28th: Around Town

At first Rosen had thought the specter of his daughter standing there, her long auburn hair and naturally melancholic eyes just as they were when he last saw her before being brought to Hadriel, was another symptom of his fever. She seemed to simply linger just out of reach of his bed, until at last she come all the way to his bedside, ghosting her transparent hand over his sweating brow and asked "Well, aren't you going to say something, Dad?" And when no words seemed to come to him, she had rolled her eyes and shook her head, sighing, "You look pretty awful. Its kind of embarrassing for a doctor to let himself get this way, dad."

Then quietly with a weak laugh he had responded, "I don't need you to tell me that, Danielle," before adding, "I've missed you."

As her presence becomes stronger, Rosen seems to put a more concentrated effort into getting out of bed. He wants to show her things if only to simply be beside her, even if this primarily means him trudging along at her side quietly as neither of them can think of something to say aside from a quiet acknowledgement about something in the cave, a storefront perhaps or the park. Now and again when he seems to grow faint or dazedly stumbles, she reaches for his hand, a gesture that becomes more and more tangible as the days pass. It is evident that things are tense between them. But still they are reluctant to part with one another, and Danielle's face more than once betrays her concern for his weakness. Though neither of them mentions it.

They can be found around town, sitting in the grass beside the lake, and on one occasion the clinic so that Rosen might show her where he works now. Though they mostly remain in a hesitant quiet, there is no resistance to attempts at conversation. If she speaks, he engages as best he can, but like a stream trying to course across heavy stones, the flow of the conversation tends to quickly go its natural course of petering out back to silence. However whenever he tries to show her something she puts in her efforts to look interested, to perhaps even ask a question, like a mother trying to show interest in a child's newfound interest.

29th Park

By the 29th Rosen is pale and gaunt, eyes glazed over and lips cracked from dehydration. Everything feels heavy, but he makes no attempt to struggle against it. Nor does Danielle make any attempt to urge him to. Instead she keeps his head resting on her knee and keeps a comforting hand on his head as he lays sprawled across the grass. Her face, however, betrays a heavy sadness. Her eyes wet. "I want to take this one from you, dad."

She is an empath deep into her core. Despite everything, she does not want him to know this suffering.

But Rosen quietly protests, breathing shakily that it will be ok and hand squeezing hers feebly until, after several hours, his eyes do not open again and his body draws no more breath.

And she disappears with the last of his life, leaving his body alone in the park.

XXIX.

[kingslight]

There's an awkward sense of gloom that clings within the air of this city. One that threatens to choke the very life from everyone far and near. Regis isn't ignorant of the happenings in Hadriel despite his forced seclusion. He had turned into a hermit these last few weeks and with that has battled his own inner demons into submission while waging war with the melancholy that threatens him. However, he still isn't ignorant of the happenings of this city. News of this latest bit of insanity reached him quickly enough to spur him to action. Regis ventured out from his dwellings in search of a trusted few who won his respect. That is why when he finds Rosen there within the park looking like a mere skeleton of his former self, Regis moves with haste. He moves quickly without much sound as he tries to assess the situation beyond what his eyes tell him.

"Rosen...?" His voice is gentle but rough with worry. "Can you hear me?" He kneels beside the man and checks for a pulse. Whatever evil has caused such a blight may have already claimed the life of this mild-mannered doctor. Just the thought of Rosen wasting away like this in this park makes Regis' grief all the more heavy. Has he arrived too late? He is disgusted with all the woe thrust upon them by those feckless fiends but what can he do to ease the suffering? Like a crow, Regis lingers there as he watches Rosen slowly fade into death.

"If there's still life within you, then speak." He coaxes with a gentle whisper. "What...sort of ailment has claimed you?"

sans | ota

[skelebro]

[[ooc: I'll match prose or brackets! Let me know if you want a closed starter.]]

21st - 25th; everyone i love is going to die and i will die as well

[skelebro]

There's an ease to it, to the predictability of certain patterns. A sliver of something painful jabbing into his SOUL, an icy patina sheathed over the parts of himself that don't merit mentioning.

The day starts easily. Eyesockets slit open. He's dropped off on his little shitty beanbag chair in the corner of the room that used to be Papyrus's. The racecar bed, thank god, remained untouched for the duration of the storm; sheets a little more ruffled, the paint on the frame a little worn, but the rest of it - the rest of it just fine.

Only today, there's someone lying on top of it.

A couple hard blinks, but the faded, monochrome image of Papyrus doesn't fade.

"SANS!" he pipes up, immediately, unfurling from the bed in an overenthusiastic sprawl of long, bony limbs. "HAVE YOU BEEN SLEEPING HERE THIS WHOLE TIME?"

It's for the best that skeletons don't have tear ducts. He ain't real; he can't be. He knows he can't be, 'cause there's someone else in the room, unfolding that stupid sweater vest with the skulls imprinted upon it. Looks better than he did when Sans saw him last. Every line of him crisp and pulled taut together in that unfalteringly stern look. And beside him, beside - of course, yeah? They always came in a pair. Tattoos gloving his arms, peaked from undernourishment but still grinning like he ain't been gone for months.

Translucent, all three of them, like faded ridges of Sans's memory. But there. Chattering like they're there. They'd all dissipated together. They'd all dispersed at the same time. Can't be real, of that Sans is bitingly well-aware, but that don't make the sight of them any easier to ear. That don't make the stiff pronouncement of Hermann's "Mr. Sans" coupled with Newt's easy, even grin any easier.

Fuck.

Sans rolls over. Tries to bury his face in the rancid, unwashed smell of his stupid beanbag chair.

The days crawl onward. It's both obvious and immediate that something about this isn't right, 'cause when you got 1 HP, any loss is SOUL-deep. Should be nipping him in the bud right here and now, but seems there's a slowness, an inexorable creeping into his marrow, to prolong what's already gonna happen. Exhaustion starts to sap at him a little bit more than what might be standard. He sits down abruptly at periodic intervals, fiercely and intensely dizzy as his magic slips from his bones by increments. He sleeps, nestled beneath trees in the orchard. Papyrus wraps a hand around the bones of Sans's wrist, urging him to get up. Newt drags him into an awkward hug, the very same sort that he'd pulled him into after he'd broken the news about Arya and the leaden weight of grief buckled atop their shoulders. They aren't real, he knows. They aren't real, he thinks, even as the blurred edges of their silhouettes start to sharpen, resolving into something slightly more solid.

"SANS," says Papyrus, as he lies beside the lake, still swollen with rainwater, and lets the exhaustion seep through bone and into the trio of ghosts behind him. "I'M WORRIED ABOUT YOU."

"Don't worry about me, pal," Sans drones. The words slur together into a toneless smear, barely audible. "'M fine."

"YOU ARE NOT FINE!" Papyrus stamps his foot. It doesn't leave any indentation into the rumpled grass beneath. "CAN'T YOU SEE THAT YOU'RE - YOU'RE - "

"You're dying." He can't tell if it's one or both of the ghosts behind him that say it, and he doesn't care to exert the strength necessary to crane his neck around and see for himself. His sockets simply list shut.

"Yeah," he rumbles. "I kinda figured."

Papyrus looks stricken.

"YOU MUST GET UP, SANS!"

Sans begins to laugh.

Armitage Hux

[therewillbeorder]

21st

Still weak, I see.

The last time he had seen his father he had been a scared child, alone and surrounded by those who would have ripped him to shreds. But now he was stronger, he had used the power of the stars to tear down a regime. There was no reason that his father should still strike fear through him now.

But the sight and sound of Brendol Hux' still made him feel a familiar jolt of fear before he could control himself. Even as a translucent ghost, his father seemed to still have some power over him. It was pathetic, he hated himself for having that weakness he had thought he had gotten ridden of but this time he wouldn't hesitate.

He wouldn't allow Brendol to have any power over him, not anymore. He was a general of the First Order, the destroyer of stars. He was the man who would restore the Empire and make it stronger than ever- he would have a legacy that rivaled if not surpassed the Emperor's.

He had no intention of failing this time.

His hands were only slightly shaking as he peeled off his gloves and raised his blaster.]

[darthvaderfanboy]

[Kylo dashed into the room when he heard the blaster shot, lightsaber out, ready to take on whatever was attacking. When he saw only Hux there, he scowled.]

Why the hell did you just decide to shoot the wall?

[That's what it seemed like had happened to Kylo. Was everyone around here losing their minds? (The answer was definitely yes.]

inquisitor trevelyan ; open

[closerift]

june 21st

[ Her vanished husband appears and she nearly drops the glass she'd been wiping. She doesn't. Cecily thinks, this must be a dream, but has a very keen sense of reality. The anchor feels to her a way that it does not within her dreams or anywhere else. Its pain and pulse are real and constant, reminders of the fact that she is awake and in her temporary home in Hadriel. Its pulse does not explain him, lingering in the doorway as if this isn't - wasn't - his home, too, for a time. ]

Cullen. [ She breathes, heart quickening. The glass is forgotten, but not fallen, or broken. Cecily stares with wide, dark eyes, tracing over every inch of his form that had become fuzzy in the time she'd spent without him. Certain features, marks, lines. He offers a silent, but sheepish smile, rubbing at the back of the neck, stepping out from the threshold and outside. She follows like a sleepwalker, still not releasing the half-cleaned glass. ]

I had not thought I would ever... [ He begins, speaking finally, and the cadence of his voice is like a music from an instrument long gone from the world. The Inquisitor stares openly, daring not to touch him, because she's seen visions before, of loved ones, and none of them have been real. Cullen came and left and she couldn't believe easily that this was a true return. Maker knows she wants to, but -

And the sign comes as Pup wanders out, to see what she's up to. Cecily turns mechanically to watch the dog, and he watches her, and not for a second does his gaze fall on his real master, standing near her.

That settles it, then. Despite herself, though, her spirits sink in a way that she feels very sickeningly. ]



june 26th

[ Cullen is still here, more solid than ever, and he is killing her. Cecily breathes, labored, sitting at the base of a tree that she's come to favor over the past year and a half. The Inquisition's Commander stands nearby, but he is no longer quiet and sheepish. He is serious, voice... trying to be firm, but faltering with hitches of emotion. ]

You and I both know what has to be done. [ He insists, and not for the first time. Today is just the first day that everyone else can see and hear him. ] Don't risk your getting well again out of this - stubbornness.

I've always said you think too much of me. [ She breathes, speaking from a memory. An old fight they'd had when he was real and he was here. The phantom-Cullen, then, drops his head, hand planted on his hip, trying hard to think of something that might convince her to take a weapon to him, to end the existence that is as surely draining her of her life as it's passing that energy on to him. Cecily doesn't know how permanent it would be if he could be real, but Hope can surely revive her, and even Pup recognizes Cullen, now, and chases around after the man with renewed vigor. If there is danger in this Cullen, then even the dog doesn't sense it. ]

I'm not going to kill you. [ She informs him, looking past him. His lips mouth as he tries to piece together what he needs to say to change her mind, but nothing is spoken. ]



june 28th

[ They say the ghosts are only temporary, that nothing will keep them in Hadriel. Cecily can barely muster the energy to move, but she's heard that, even if the cave's residents are killed, their guests don't benefit. She thinks of leeches and laughs, voice dry and cracked. The shade of her husband is a leech, however unwilling, and she is nearly bled dry.

He pleads with her in gentler tones, since both talking and yelling haven't worked. They're by the river today, and she thinks (through his quiet begging) that it would be very easy to slip into the water and drift off. Surely the gods would have no trouble in reviving her a second time, and, if not...

There is a dagger in her hand, her dagger, but her grip is loose. ]

You know better than this. This - This helps no one. [ He would give his life in an instant for anyone else, but criticizes her for doing the same. Cecily spends hours with him at her ear, and he never ceases. If he is only a copy, then he is a good one. More convincing than other visions. Pup is not here today because Cullen feared his hound might attack anyone, including Cecily, should they try and do him harm. She has no intention of that, but he continues anyway, curling her fingers around the knife for her. ]

It would hurt. [ She informs him, and he knows, and neither of them are talking about the physical action of taking a knife to his throat. All the same, before the day ends, he wins her over, as he nearly always does. Her resolution is weak from the effects of his being there, and he says everything that he knows might sway her, and she caves to him with a desperate cry and a loud of yelling with the strength that she has left.

He makes it easy; he shed his armor. Cecily feels like a wisp of a thing herself as they prepare, and the action of drawing the blade against the skin of his throat she feels as if far, far removed. Instinctively, she tries to press her hands into the wound, to stop the flow of blood as if she hadn't opened it in the first place. He goes still and she holds him against her as they are on the riverbank, both coated in his blood.

He isn't real and now he's definitively gone again, but it's still hot, and wet, and raw. ]

28th :v

[pocketspa]

[This whole event is a disaster. He's stomped his way out of his own apartment, after the worst confrontation of his life, for once not even bringing his staff with him. He just wants to go somewhere quiet, and not full of death, and--

Well, this is exactly the opposite of that. Motherfucker. Can't even make it to the riverside without more people sobbing at corpses. He's emotionally spent, but there's no way she hasn't noticed him, and just making a slow retreat would probably be worse than saying something by now.]

... So, uh. Really wish I had a good opener for this one, but it sorta doesn't seem like you'd appreciate it.

[He really debates just running the hell away. He can't deal with emotions don't make him, Hadriel, meet him in the pit.]

Prussia | open

[occupiesvitalregions]

[July 21-23; apartment]
[Right off the bat, Prussia's having a hard time dealing with. It's a good thing he's got a lot of bullshit machismo to lean into when his ghost shows up, so he can wave it off and act like everything is fine. Just another Hadriel trick! Just another goof-up from the gods! It's nothing he can't handle.

Prussia is usually seen around town a lot, doing anything from supply scavenging, heading to the caves to fight some monsters, or just jogging or doing sword exercises by the lake. But once ol' Fritz shows up, he stays inside his apartment. It is, however, wearing on him, slowly sapping his energy and his emotions, to have his beloved former leader right here, interacting with him, seeming so real.]


[July 26-28; in town]
[Prussia can't sit inside anymore with Frederick's ghost anymore. But now, other people can see the stately man in fine 18th century clothes following Prussia, concern on his face for his nation who is looking very ill. Prussia can no longer ignore him, but he's still not sure what to make of his presence. Frederick the Great has been dead for well over 200 years. It's hard to fight it after awhile, though. He doesn't have the energy too, he's not strong enough to ignore the man who made him into who he was. He's missed him every day of those last 200 years.

Prussia is trying to make it to the speakeasy - maybe a beer would help with all of this - but he's having a hard time, needing to stop to catch his breath or to keep standing. The ghost of Fritz reaches out a gentle hand on Prussia's shoulder, as the nation holds on to a wall and breathes laboriously. Fritz is more than accustomed to Prussia's tough guy attitude, but this was pushing it.]

Please, Gilbert. We have to get you to a doctor.

No, it's not-- I'm okay. I'll be fine once I can sit down.

[Prussia shoots him a weak grin and a thumb's up. Everything is fine, right?]

22nd.

[whip_poor_will]

[There's something off; Ravine immediately senses it the instant people start talking to phantoms that clearly aren't there -- and yet are.

[Well, they're hardly visible to those who only have to see what's on the surface. Ravine, on the other hand, notices the little ripples between the layers. Rather than intervene right away, she watches. No ghosts of her own past come back to haunt her, but it seems that many others have different stories to tell.

[After a while, it'll become more obvious that these entities are drawing something from their hosts. But for now, Ravine is just a creeping asshole hanging out outside of Prussia's window.

[In the highest one-bedroom apartment of that spire, no less.

[She just gives a casual knock-knock. Anybody home? Yes you are.]

magnus burnsides | ota

[armcollector]

june 21-25

It's shaping up to be a normal day in Hadriel. Magnus wakes up late, rolls out of bed and struggles with the toaster for a few minutes before giving up and just opting for the classic milk and cereal. Halfway through pouring the milk in, he sees something that causes him to drop the entire half-gallon suddenly into the bowl, knocking soggy frosted flakes everywhere.

The instant he sees Julia, Magnus' heart feels like it jumps up into his throat. He might have forced a cough if he could think straight, but his mind is completely blank. He never even considered the possibility that she might come to Hadriel, and he idly realizes his mouth is hanging wide open, so he forces it to close and he bites his tongue because he doesn't know what to say.

She's here. She's actually here. And she seems as stricken as he does, as she covers her mouth with both of her hands, as if she's got no way to explain her presence either and doesn't know how to even begin. There's silence for a while as the milk empties its own contents in a steady stream on the hardwood floor.

Magnus suddenly realizes that those are tears he feels streaming down his face and he gasps for air and, jerked out of her trance, Julia crosses the kitchen and leans on her tip toes to scoop him into her arms, holding his face against her shoulder. He takes a shuddering breath and just cries in her arms for an hour or so, saying nothing.

Following that, the next few days are the happiest of Magnus' life. He can often be found around town, showing some invisible figure around Hadriel, constantly distracted, smiling wide into thin air, wiping the tears that occasionally form without warning in his eyes.

He's realized that he's the only one that can see her. He wishes he could really introduce her to his friends, but he's happy enough like this. She really is just like she always was, right up until she was gone.

He might be found laughing suddenly at nothing, then just smiling and explaining, "Jules just made the funniest joke. Sorry." He introduces his roommates and various people he's met here to the thin air, explaining with a small laugh, "Jules says 'nice to haunt you', heh." Sometimes, when talking to someone else, his gaze will wander and he'll just stare at the air beside him, snapping out of it only when she seems to remind him that he should be listening to his friend with a guilty laugh and an apology.

Maybe Hadriel isn't so bad.

June 26-28 (mostly open; June 28 closed to Taako and Merle)

When Julia is solid, Magnus is full of excitement. He's feeling sluggish these days, but he ignores it, and he excitedly goes through a second round of introductions. Julia is in high spirits, and can be found either with Magnus or wandered off on her own. Dark skin and curly hair, she looks at home in pants and a tunic moreso than a dress or skirt.

That only lasts about a day.

Julia pulls Magnus aside on the 27th to talk to him privately and Magnus is not the same after that. Both of them seem unable to speak to each other for very long at a time, Magnus taking shuddering breaths when he looks at her.

Eventually, she says to him, "Magnus. I can't do this anymore."

"I don't want to talk about it, Jules," he says.

"We have to do something about this. I can't just keep..."

"Jules," he warns.

She sighs and drops it. It's an unspoken horror that hangs between the both of them for the next few days. Magnus just grows weaker and weaker until, on the 28th, he's just stuck in bed with her at his side.

Julia approaches Merle and Taako, away from Magnus, who's sleeping.

"Magnus just passed out in the middle of talking about a dog he met once," she says, measured and uncertain. She bites her lip. She seems to want one of them to broach the topic before she does. But it's gone on too long like this; Magnus isn't going to make it at this rate. And she can't let that happen.

[adventure zone announcer voice] IT'S THE DEATH ZONE

[pocketspa]

Taako doesn't like this.

Frankly, 'doesn't like' is the understatement of the century, but even among the people who are arguably his closest friends, Taako showing any sincerity is incredibly few and far between. But this city is getting more taxing by the minute, and this-- whatever the hell this is, whatever the hell this has been, is grating on him almost worse than Wonderland. That's the thing with Taako- if there's a problem, he'll fix it as quickly as possible, and most people will think it's because he just doesn't want to deal with it longer than he has to. The underlying problem that he'll never talk about is that he can't. The grating worry in his chest, the churning feeling in his stomach.

He hates what fear feels like. And he won't acknowledge, as she approaches them, that it's all he's been feeling for nearly a week.

He eyes her cautiously; they both know she's not real, even if Magnus won't say a damn thing to the contrary. He's stubborn. Too attached. The worry continues to churn in his gut, motivating him into anger, and action.

"Yeah, well, you know how excited he gets about dogs." There's a flatness to his voice that almost betrays what's going on in his head, but he pushes forward, more serious than he wants to be, and he clenches his jaw silently, eyes darting to Merle for just a second as if looking for backup. "Y'know. Barkingly mad."

At this point, he's hoping Merle will just blurt it out senselessly, and he'll be able to go from there.

jack wynand | ota | will match prose or brackets

[wynand]

june 21st - 25th; in the deepest ocean, the bottom of the sea

Son, you're special.

She's there when he wakes: a candyfloss nest of whitening hair and thick-rimmed glasses perched atop her nose, a smile darkening laughter lines into crow's feet as one hand hooks through a lock of his hair, pushing it gently back. Behind her looms his father, a man with just as impressive a build as his son, straight-backed and broad-shouldered despite the thinning hair and the fading of his features. He's so faint as to be translucent, the same way Jack's mother is, but when her hand rests gently against his cheek, cupping his head with unmistakable tenderness, he can't pretend this is simply some ADAM-hazed ghost.

A recorded message rings dully in his ears, a man calmly ordering a child to break that sweet puppy's neck. A flicker of memory backed in red as a woman screamed that she loved Andrew Ryan as he left her, bloodied and splayed, lifeless across an elaborate four-poster. A wall of photographs with red thread stretched between portraits, and scrawled across the mess of them in vibrant red -

"You're real," Jack whispers. The word breaks, a quavering plea. They're real. They're real because they're here. Of course they existed. A farm. A family. He can smell the flour on his mother's hands, the warm scent of straw and dust clinging to his father's. A farmhouse. The slippery bleat of a baby goat as it toppled from its mother's womb, coaxed out by clumsy, elementary fingers. The hot slick of sweat plastering his hair to his forehead as he swiped it from his eyes, peering at the wavering beams of the sun. His mother pressing lips to the top of his head, smoothing one hand down the back of his neck as he buried his face in the front of her skirts, having discovered for the first time the swelling, stabbing pain of a bee's sting.

"Of course we're real, son," says his father. His smile looks tired, but it's still the same face, the same peaceful look. Jack reaches out, desperate, needy, fingers catching around his and clutching at that faded hand. It's solid, even if it looks faint.

"Come on," says Jack.

He leads them into the city. His smile is wide, blissful, relieved, as he lets them draw him back to those early days that must have existed. He laughs, high and clear. He clutches at his mother's hand and shows his father how he can light candles with a snap of his fingers. They beam at him, earnest, proud.

You were born to do great things.

And you know what?

They were right.

june 26th - 29th; turn me on to phantoms i follow to the edge of the earth

[He was always a strong boy, growing up, sturdy and solid as an ox. His father's genes, no doubt, imbuing him with an endurance that enabled him to run for hours, unfaltering.

And so when his limbs start to wobble, vertigo claiming his ordinarily firm stance and forcing him to sit, nausea churning at his guts, Jack has to blink away startled tears.]

"Please get some rest, Jack," [his mother pleads, beseeching. He clutches at her hands feebly, clasping them. The blue veins stand out stark and clean, the skin no longer ghostly and transparent like the visions of splicers before their minds died in the throes and ecstasy of ADAM's pull.

He starts to cry.

His father's hands close around his shoulders.]

"Please, Jack," [he says, solemn.] "Don't let this be the end of you. You're stronger than that."

[But he's not. He never has been. The heat burns down his cheeks and he can't watch them dim and fade like fireworks again. He only just got them back. He only just got to see them again. They're real. There's no puppy, there's no Suchong, and there's no embryo, purchased off a long-dead woman. There's the proof, right here, that he's real.

Don't make him lose them again.]

wildcard; i'll hit the bottom and escape

[Want a closed starter? PM me or smack me over at arrpee if you like!]

29th.

[circumitus]

Undine's gone.

Rey tries not to think about it much, but it's difficult to ignore. One minute the woman was there, and the next... there's no longer an Undine Stransky in this world. Rey doesn't know what to make of that. That it's just her again, alive in place of a good woman.

After what happened there, she can't be at home anymore. Can't be reminded of what happened, or the memory of blood and faded whispers. She's gone; been taken away again. She wasn't real, but she was here. That's all that mattered. The woman who loved Rey so much that she gave up her life not once, but twice...

Others had to feel the same. Not just in Rey's place, but also in the phantoms of their own pasts.

Jack is not so different, it seems. The last she saw this newcomer, she was less inclined to help; she had enough problems of her own at the time. It isn't about altruistism right now, so much as...

Well, she needs a distraction. People are going to die if everyone just does nothing, lets themselves waste away as Rey had been so willing to. As she still is willing, and unable to succeed.

"Should listen to them," Rey says in agreement with the ghosts of Jack's false memories. Not that she knows that, having that little bit in common with this man.

Anne of Austria | ota

[souveraine]

21st- around the city/apartment

[It was Louis she saw first, reaching out to her. Guilt threatened to choke her and there was Aramis, even with a ghostly appearance her heart still skipped a beat when he smiled at her.

There is no escape, they follow her even when she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to shut them out.

They aren't real. This was a punishment from God for her sins but prayer brings no relief.]

26th- around the city

[Now there is the King of France and a Musketeer accompanying Anne. Louis XIII made no secret of what he thought of the cave and its inhabitants while Aramis has an easy smile for anyone, tipping his hat with a flourish. But it's clear that neither man likes the other, Louis gives Aramis hostile looks, making sure that he keeps between him and Anne.

Anne tries to keep the peace but she doesn't have the energy, often having to stop to lean against the side of a building or lay down whenever she could.]


29th- apartment

Anne, open your eyes.

[She could feel Aramis's hand against her cheek brushing away the tear which slipped down her cheek. She could barely open her eyes to look at her lover. Louis stands behind him, silent.

This is her punishment for breaking her marriage vows, for loving a man other than her husband. For wanting to escape.]

Anne, you have to find the strength. It's the only way.

[But she knows she's not strong enough as she feels the darkness threatening to overwhelm her once more.]

I can't...I ...

[Her eyes slipped shut slowly as she fell unconscious once more.]

duck | open

[quacked]

a. 21st; shops + around

[ When he sees his dad - a man called Kenny, bearded and one-eyed, rough around the edges - for the first time, Duck doesn't hesitate at all. He's running. ] Dad... DAD!

[ Those nearby might find themselves pushed out the way as a small boy runs past and into his father's arms. Or - he tries to run into his father's arms. His arms don't make any contact with Duck, though they're holding out for him, and Duck falls straight through him instead, onto the ground below and squashing his nose a little on the hard surface. Duck looks up from the floor and his dad is still there, not a vision like those monsters that popped out of nowhere for a couple of seconds a while back, though also not quite visible either, almost see through.

Duck, his dad chokes, sounding confused, shocked, and he looks like he might fall down too, his eyes wet in a way Duck has seen once before, the last time they shared a reunion like this one. ]

Dad? [ Duck stares at him, watches as his knees give way and he's looking at Duck like he can't believe what he's seeing. Duck tries to hug him again, but fails, beginning to cry now. This - This isn't fair-

Then as he blinks and turns away, struggling to keep his breathing even, he sees somebody else standing by his dad's shoulder. ] Clem- [ She looks the same as the last time he saw her. Around his age, clad with a baseball cap and very alive. He reaches out to touch her arm, but stops just short, now not daring. She's frowning, clearly as confused he is, a hand placed gently on Kenny's shoulder.

Of course, to onlookers this will only look like an eleven year old boy kneeling on the ground and crying quietly by himself. ]

b. 26th - 28th

[ So focused on his dad and his friend, Duck chooses not to notice how drained he's feeling, deciding he must just be getting a bit ill, nothing serious. He's sleeping longer, and moving around to show his dad and Clementine the sights less. He's not so weak as to not notice that now they're becoming much less see through now. They're real people he can touch, and when they first realise this his dad holds him tight enough that it's a little hard to breath, though even when his dad pulls back Duck's chest still feels tight.

If he spots someone around that he knows now, he'll wave them over, obviously in a much more chipper mood than usual, despite how tired and weak he's been feeling. ] Look, look! This is my dad, and my friend Clem! They're here now too.

c. 28th - 29th

[ Things have gotten bad. Duck wants to move. There's still things he wants to show Clem and tell his dad and he's afraid every time he sleeps that when he wakes up it will all have been a dream, that his dad and Clementine will both be gone. He can't though. Whenever he tries to get up a wave of tiredness seems to overcome him, begging him to sleep. He can hear the two of them talking, trying to decide what to do, but it's hard to concentrate on what they're saying.

Soon Kenny has decided enough is enough, and is gathering Duck up in his arms, carrying him out of Duck's apartment in the Spire, with Clementine following close behind. ]

I ain't sitting around waitin' for- for- [ Duck's dad doesn't finish, hurrying over to the first person he sees around town. Duck tries to keep his eyes open. ]

Hey! Hey! Please, you gotta help my boy. There's something really wrong with him. Ain't there a doctor round here?



(ooc: If you'd like your character to end up killing Kenny and Clem in prompt c, please let me know first!)

27th Pls!

[drabsolutelynot]

[Danielle's ghost is trying to keep her father awake as best she can. Rosen has grown thin and has obviously given up any and all attempts to treat his high fever, instead devoting any of his remaining energy to following Danielle as best he can. Each day his answers get weaker, his eyes seem to stare off into the distance more frequently, so she tugs at his arm gently and tries to distract him. To keep his mind within the moment.

And thus when she sees the little boy gleefully showing off his own father, she makes an attempt to use this moment to keep Lee engaged. Putting on a gentle smile she approaches Duck and his group, leading Rosen by the hand just a few steps behind her]

Hello there. Is that your father? [She nods between them before looking back at Lee] This is my father. We're here together too.

[Lee blinks a few times before smiling tiredly, he doesn't seem to entirely comprehend what is going on but he knows this child.]

Hello, Duck. [And his eyes trail over to Duck's father and friend] Hello

Henry Percy | OTA

[hotspurred]

21st ✠ GUARD HQ
Henry's expression is terse and his eyes dark as he sees to paperwork at his desk. Every few minutes he glances to his side, to the vision of Iamarl that has been following him since he woke. It's growing harder and harder to ignore her. She is waiting for him to engage her, he knows.

He raps the fingers of his left hand restlessly against the tabletop.

The worst part of this haunting is how much he wants to answer her when she speaks to him and reach for her when she draws near. He swears that her hand truly brushed him earlier, and that split second of contact has shaken him. The impulse to take hold of her itches under his skin.

It is but a trick of the gods, he tells himself over and over, his patience fraying.

He snaps out a hand and grabs the arm of the next person to pass by his desk, in order to stop them and win their attention.

“Have you noticed aught strange this morrow?”


23rd-25th ✠ PARK
After two days his wariness over Iamarl's ghost-like form fades as her mere presence, so achingly like how he remember her, soothes the lonely, homesick part of him. Though he feels increasingly less well physically, and has forgone his 5-7am training for the extra rest before his guard duties begin, he finds himself happier than he has been for a long time.

Though he is down to two training sessions a day, they are nonetheless fulfilling, for now he has a skilled training partner he knows intimately. Their sparring is intense, and no doubt strange to watch when only one side is visible. And yet it makes for quite a performance: a deadly and unpredictable display of honed technique and exquisite skill executed under pressure.

Henry is thrilled; there is joy in his laugh as he barely parries her latest quick strike with his sword and attempts to grapple her with his free hand — he has chosen to go without his shield for this bout — while she is in range.


26th - 27th ✠ HADRIEL'S STREETS
patrol;
It is much slower going than usual, but despite the tiredness he cannot shake Henry is in good spirits as he patrols. Why is evident: Iamarl now visibly patrols with him. She wears a mixture of cloth in dusky blue and rust and black leather, trimmed with gold. She moves with smooth elegance and soundless steps, her body lithe and yet strong with lean muscle. Her stark white hair, worn in a myriad of braids ending in gold beads contrasts with her fair brown skin. Her lips are painted white and large gold hoops dangle from her ears. A red tattoo marks her forehead and cheeks, more vibrant in shade than the red of the japanese fan ornament crowning her head. Her large eyes are a rare and bright violet; her gaze is steady and watchful.

If they are friendly, Henry even stops so that he might properly introduce her.


exploration;
For longer than she can remember, Iamarl has possessed what she calls her shadowwalk — the ability to turn herself invisible and make no noise for a time. Once, she was an assassin sent to kill princes. That was her first life, before she met Edward and he gave her a new one, better in every way. Still, it honed her skills to perfection, and that is why Hadriel's residents may all of a sudden find Iamarl on her own, standing where once there was nothing a small distance away.

She walks over at an almost meandering pace, as if to suggest that she means no harm. The natural pitch of her voice is deep, and her words are accented.

“I feel young again, walking a strange city.”


28th ✠ GUARD HQ
Henry, with his hands braced on his desk, looks exhausted, even as he shoots an impatient look over his shoulder at Iamarl, who is working to undo the trickier to reach buckles on his breastplate.

“You barely cope,” she remarks with disapproval, at which Henry scoffs.

Once she is done he pulls it off, and in quick succession he then removes his gorget and all the plate covering his arms, torso and waist.

“'Tis naught.”

Yet a simple patrol should not exhaust more than a long battle, and he knows it.

After that, with Iamarl's help, he strips off his jupon and mail haubergeon. She sighs, and there is something melancholy in her expression as they pile his discarded armour on his desk. That melancholy grows more potent as she watches him collapse into his seat, only his legs still armoured. Immediately his eyes half-close, as though he is on the verge of falling into a light doze.

As soon as they are aware of company, they both move. Henry straightens up, as if to present himself as stronger and more alert than he is at present. Iamarl gracefully steps beside Henry's seat and shifts into a waiting stance, cautious. She remains silent.

It is Henry who speaks. “What did you want?”


29th ✠ APARTMENT
It means nothing that he slept through his early morning training and most of his first patrol and shift at headquarters. His difficulty in staying on his feet without support will pass; surely it is but lingering remnants of his heavy sleep.

His armour, though.

When he drops his armour because he is to weak to bear its weight, the loud clutter shatters not merely the peace, but his denials too. Henry feels it like a physical blow and grits his teeth, his shoulder pressed to the wall and his body trembling from exertion. He's never felt weariness as deeply as this, even after Otterburn, even after Normandy.

Iamarl picks up the carefully shaped steel and sets it aside. She moves to him and takes his weight.

“You are dying,” she protests, her accented voice low and urgent.

Though he leans into her and lets her take his weight, he shakes his head, ignoring the way it makes the room spin.

“There is... yet time,” he argues, likewise ignoring the strain in his weak voice.

“Stubborn man. There is no more to spare.”

She leads them out of his room and into the wider space. He staggers more than walks, and it is painstaking work. The worst part is that Henry knows Iamarl is right. He cannot stand this — he is losing her all over again.

His life, in his eyes, was not worth the price of hers. He feels the same way now, but only one of them remains alive in their world. Only one of them has oaths left to fulfil, and a house to continue. That is how they spent their last night together, in the stretches in which Henry managed to cling to consciousness: arguing in harsh whispers about the value of their respective lives.

He almost drops to his knees when she extracts herself and takes a small step back, barely managing to grab her shoulder to keep himself upright. He is surprised when though his faintly hazy vision he watches her hands wrap his sword belt around his hips and buckle it in place. He lurches a half-step at the pull of his sheathed blade's weight.

He squeezes his eyes shut. With his eyes closed, he sees the ruined, corrupted lands of Champagne, and he can almost taste ash, ozone and the metallic tang of blood. The press of Iamarl's body now is a reversal of their role in his memory, and eyes closed, he feels the ghost of each of her laboured breaths and struggling steps as though they are his own.

God help him, perhaps they are.

He knows exactly what it is like to hold in her arms as she dies. He has relived the memory countless times in his mind. Was once in the flesh not enough?

What harm is another minute, another ten, another half an hour?

Iamarl takes his right hand and closes his fingers around the grip of his sword.

“It must be done.”

Though her tone is gentle, her determination is unyielding.

“I... said not... yet!”

He snarls his retort, his eyes snapping open. His grief, a rising and inexorable tide, empowers his anger. The flash of his temper is a brief, bright spark of life in a body close to death's door.

Henry tears his hand from his weapon and instead cups Iamarl's face. He can feel her shudder. His eyes grow wet as she deliberately speaks her last words again, the same argument that won their last debate.

“You must watch the Prince.”

21st

[sheathes]

There's something in his eyes. Normally Saber would brush the question off; it's too personal a thing to tell to just anyone. But Henry is a knight, and a fellow countryman, no less, and the fact she hesitates at all gives her away. She looks bothered, a shadow hanging over her expression as she nods.

"There is... a presence. I do not know if it— if she— is real, for that should be impossible." If Guinevere was a Servant, then perhaps, but she is not. She is exactly the person Saber remembers; no more, no less. "These gods may seek to jest, but it is most unamusing."

After the party (and aftermath), maybe she shouldn't be surprised, but she'd avoided their influence then. This is the first time she's doubted her own mind, her own eyes, and she doesn't know if it's better or worse that others might be enduring the same thing.

Dr. Lance Sweets | OTA and Closed

[lifetothefullest]

[Speakeasy, 21st | Closed to Hux]

[Lance, typically, tries to limit his drinking to social outings or celebrations, at least for the most part. Being a psychologist, and having had a few phases of less than stellar decision making during his university years, he knows better than to turn to alcohol to solve problems; that said, he does occasionally break his own rules, although he tries not to overdo it during those times.

So he's at the Speakeasy for once, still on his first drink of whatever-it-is that he'd been given, lost in thought as he seemingly stares through the surface of the bar. Given the event going on, it'd be an easy guess to assume that's what's on his mind, but it isn't; he's not even really aware there's something going on, because he's--very fortunately--completely unaffected. But he has enough to think about even without the event, and is paying very little attention to his surrounding while idly swirling his glass of whatever.]


[Clinic, 26th-29th | OTA]

[Okay, this is a mess.

He's still not completely sure exactly what's going on with the event, but he's figuring out more and more as it goes on and has decided to stay at the Clinic as much as possible; people seem not to be feeling very well, and this entire situation is probably more than a little stressful for a lot of them.

So he's available if anyone needs to talk, as well as trying to handle any minor medical problems; hopefully no one's going to get seriously hurt though, right?]

[therewillbeorder]

[Drinking in the middle of the day was not something that an officer of the First Order would do, and he expected better of himself. But here he was, he was more shaken by Brendol's appearance than he would admit even to himself and he hoped some whiskey would take the edge off.

He still head his blaster in one hand, his glove was off this time but he didn't raise the weapon when he saw Lance.]

I'm surprised to see you here, doctor. [he remarked in an amused tone, though it sounded slightly strained.]

Marian Tenebris | OTA

[einselective]

21st:

It's too early for either of them to know what's going on. What Marian and Ella do both know, no longer in a life-and-death time crunch of mere hours, is that things are not okay between them any more. What had devolved into sullen silence the last time they'd spoken had now erupted into a full-blown argument that had spilled from the lab out into the street, with Marian standing blocking the doorway. To those able to perceive ghosts, they might see a shorter woman in more stylish clothing, with darker skin and long wavy hair, a few yards away just as deeply involved in the dispute as Marian is -- or rather, more so, as Marian herself seems more tired and frustrated than actually irate.

And if they can't see ghosts... well, she looks like a crazy person, yelling at thin air.

'So what's your solution? Just ruin this place like you did our world? I don't want to hear anything about any gates or Doors or anything like that, I told you I'm done!'

Marian's lips are pressed together in a thin line before her snapped, "Then get out of here. I don't need to hear any of this while I'm trying to do something productive to help all of us."

'That's rich, coming from someone who only ever looked out for herself. How many people did you actually help? One little good deed here or there doesn't make up for a worldwide disaster!'

"Do you think I don't already know that? What else do you -- no, just go."


24th:

Ella leaves and explores the city, poking through the shops nearby, but most people can't seem to see her. And there's something that compels her to come back -- be it familiarity or simply the gods' influence. By this time though, once again, the arguments have passed, and there's nothing more to say.

Indeed, to Marian, by now it's clear what's going on, as her activity level drops, sleeping longer and deeper, even without Carlisle's sleeping potion. She's been out of the lab, and seen just how haunted others look by now. Is this what everyone on her world had felt like who'd survived at first? Trapped, drained... this wasn't Ella's fault. It was the gods again, no doubt.

But that still didn't mean she was going to let the other woman into the lab. The door is locked, leaving Ella outside each time she comes back to knock on the door... to no answer.


27th:


Marian spends most of her time lying on the couch in the lab now. She hasn't had much energy beyond that since she woke up, dozing fitfully and flickering between lethargic wakefulness and the terrors of dreams.

This draining is slow and insidious. She's not even sure how much more time she has left, but she knows that it can't go on for much longer. She needs to do something. But just what that is... she doesn't know yet.

Struggling to her feet, she staggers towards the door.


21-29th

[Wildcard for anywhere in between, either one.]

27th

[skelebro]

The world's still got shreds of color in it, even if they're pulsing in periodic tides and fading out again just as fast. Papyrus is less of a translucent specter and solidifying into something more apparent, both similar to Sans's skeletal appearance and the complete opposite: taller, bonier, with a taller, friendlier face, even if it's currently crumpled with worry.

But there's somebody he's gotta find. Multiple somebodies. Alphys, for one.

Knucklebones tap wearily against the door, and then he forgoes waiting for simply leaning up against the thing for support, shutting his eyesockets against the spike of vertigo to the center of his skull.

"Alph?" he drawls. "'M comin' in...y'in there?"

saber | open

[sheathes]

21st; king arthur's no good very bad day | guard hq/speakeasy

[ She's done her patrols, her duty for the day. It's one of the hardest thing she's ever had to do, feeling haunted the entire time, but she does it; even filling out her reports and doing her shift at the HQ. Her quietness isn't unusual, but she's jittery, constantly glancing over her shoulder both figuratively and literally.

Afterward, she wants nothing to do with the gods, Delight or otherwise. So she makes her way to the Speakeasy instead of the bar, slides into a seat, and—

—Arthur, listen to me—

—turns to the closest person, eyes shadowed. ]

What is the strongest drink here?

24th-27th; this is fine | around the city

[ For a few days, she's happy.

Saber knows it's a lie — knows it — and yet the last time she saw Guinevere she was giving the order to have her imprisoned. Yes, with the promise of rescue by Lancelot, with the knowledge her execution would never be carried out, but her duty as king had overshadowed all else, overshadowed her wife's happiness yet again. And yet here she is, shining like the sun with forgiveness in her eyes, and Saber never once stops wanting to cry.

She doesn't, though. She laughs when her wife does, and when she encounters someone else, her smile doesn't fade. Later, when Guinevere is finally visible to others, there's only one question on Saber's mind. ]

Forgive me, [ she says, her voice light, ] but what might you suggest as a gift for a beautiful woman?

[ Beside her, Guinevere laughs again. Saber tries to ignore the twist in her gut. ]

??? | wildcard

[ hmu with whatever, or let me know if you want a prompt. I'm cool with people who can see/feel the ghosts early doing so as well. ]

24th

[blessedmaiden]

"Flowers!"
"A Boar!"

Rydia and her mother just frown to each other when their replies come out of their mouths, they seem to have strongly different opinions on the matter. The older woman doesn't seem interested in putting up a fight, thought, while Rydia happily returns to the two other women.

"If not a boar, something big, nothing says I love you to another person like hunting a big animal down and dedicating them the kill. It's how one expresses her dedication, how one proves her worth and how you basically say I'd love to build a nest with you, look, I'd be able to provide food for both of us! So romantic..."

And Rydia's mother is just there, mentally facepalming while her daughter talks. Is that what the lad of monsters passes as romance? That explains why the green haired lady is still single and not looking...

"Oh, and if you'd rather avoid the hunter path I think I'd build something for her? Nothing is great as something handcrafted with love... but since your lady is here and it doesn't seem like it's going to be a surprise... maybe you should ask her?"

Chara | Open

[nothingleft]

21st, park - Gods watch from above and wonder what went wrong

[It only takes the sight of another green and yellow sweater for something within Chara to feel like someone grabbed and twisted it like their life depended on it. Asriel, whole and exactly like Chara remembered when they first met. Chatting about something that Chara absolutely cannot focus on because this alone clawed at the nothingness within that they swore they had scrubbed clean.

Chara slips out of the house as quietly as possible. Asriel follows and they can't bring themselves to tell him not to. It's nothing but a cruel joke on behalf of the Gods.

At least that's what they tell themselves. Over and over and over again. It's just a bad dream.

They're not sure where they walk, but eventually Chara winds up in the park. They forgo finding a park bench and instead opt to sit in the dirt under a tree. Bury their face in their hands. Try not to cry.

Asriel asks if it's okay to give them a hug. Chara nods, eventually but doesn't move.]

I killed you. I tore you to pieces. Over and over again.

[And Chara can be found in that spot for well into the evening, saying the exact same things over and over.]


26th, around the shops - The entropy of what once was strong

[Asriel is running around the shops, exploring this and that. Chara is following at a much slower pace. They're beyond tired and much more paler than normal. Even Chara's breathing is labored and their Determination is shrinking down. Soon they'll....

It's clear to them what will happen if Asriel continues to live. He was draining the Fallen Child of their life, for what it was worth, and will kill them. The idea of Asriel killing someone indirectly - despite knowing about Flowey - was far too horrifying to think of.

So. Chara needed to finish the job.

They intend for it to be quick and with 99 ATK it would be. The Real Knife glows red with its sick magic as Chara equips it and approaches quietly. Just treat this as another encounter. A job. Finish what you start. Confirm. It's --

Something they don't predict. Chara's foot catches on something and they trip, slamming against the ground. The Real Knife clatters somewhere and they feel Asriel's hands on them and the other child calling for help from anyone passing by.

...they can't, can they? But....this may be for the best, they think. Chara closes their eyes, listening to Asriel's voice.

This is what they deserve.]

26th hoo boy hoo boy

[save_theworld]

[They've had...a really nice day. Of course it wasn't going to last, but they've appreciated it, all the same. They know what's coming; Toriel doesn't, not yet, but they hope...

They hope they can keep that from her, until it's too late. One death really doesn't seem so bad, if it means they get to-

They've had a really nice day. That day has to end eventually. And it ends with a knife bouncing across the pavement and hitting their boots, a sharp inhale and the rustle of cloth as their mother rushes to her children's aid. A gentle hand on Asriel's shoulder, urging him to allow her the space in which to gather Chara up into her arms, speaking to the both of them softly.]

It will be alright, my children; I am here. Chara- oh. You have a fever...

Will Graham | OTA ( will match format)

[feelslikeimspilling]

21st - Lakeside: OTA

If ever you wished to find Will and he was not at home, you could always be sure to find him, down at the lakeside, be it knee-deep in the stream or sitting in contemplation on the bank.

Today? Today Will was fishing. He had made a promise and intended to make good on said promise. To provide the City with as much fish as he could catch.

It was peaceful, although this technically was a crime scene, that's right, the place he adored the most in this underworld, were the very waters he was murdered in. Sure, it hurt to return here but Will was fighting back the memories of that night. This was his sacred place, after all, the place he came to be alone, even from his own busy, haunted mind.

As a slight tug on the line of his rod was felt, Will remained calm. He was an expert fisherman, knew exactly when to and when not to reel his rod in. However, it wasn't just the fish it seemed, that was interested in his lure.

A faint voice on the wind whispered passed his ear from lips long since cooled by death. "What did you name your lure?" Will's eyes blinked open, taking a harsh breath and breaking his infallible stance. "A-Abigail?!" There was no mistaking it, that had been her voice alright. Will turned to look, the fish disturbed and uninterested in his lure now, all scattered from the break in silence and stillness.

Will was no stranger to ghosts, he had more than a few lurking and looming in the darkened corners of his mind. Taunting and teasing him, appearing from time to time but Abigail was different- He'd never actually seen her die... Yet he still felt so terribly responsible for her death.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Talking to you over the phone as he called, troubled and unsettled. "I just... I don't... I don't want to be alone right now." He felt like he was a burden, calling up out of the blue like that, but he just couldn't settle. The longer he was alone, the more he thought he could hear her voice. "We never fished, me and my Dad but we hunted. Why don't we go hunting, Will? You and me?" Her voice so clear as if she was right beside him. It made his heart heavy with guilt, regret, and longing.

24th - Around the City at night: OTA

Normally, it was the victims of bloody, gory, horrific crimes that Will converted and absorbed inside his mind, on occasion one more prominent ghost would take form for Will and Will alone to see. Making him think he was going insane, with the way it followed and talked, second guessed and patronized him. Mostly it was Abigail's Father he saw, however tonight it Abigail herself.

Sitting on an old, half-collapsed wall, canteen of water in one hand, his phone device in the other, subtly thumbing through the contacts as he held a conversation with the invisible girl beside him. He was checking to see if her name came up in the list, checking to see if he was really going mad or if she really was here, alive.

" I like it here. No one knows who I am here... What I did." She spoke softly and only to him. "You didn't do anything, Abigail. It was you or them... You survived in the only way he allowed you to." Will still refusing to believe that she had anything to do with the death of her Fathers victims. Taking her hand in his, giving a small, melancholy smile. Any onlookers would see Will sitting there, his hand opens as if cradling something, smiling at the nothingness beside him.

"I have to go... There's no place for me here." Her visage fading faint and fast beside him. "No! No, wait! Please, please don't go!"

26th - Lakeside: OTA

Will didn't care if she was just an image, she was here, with him and nothing was going to change how happy that made him feel. It might have been selfish but Will didn't care. Seeing her again consumed his every thought and every moment. He'd not bothered with the people who normally interact with him, not even Jill or Hannibal. It was all about Abigail and keeping her here. It was selfish.

Now that she seemed to have been able to take a solid form and Will found he could once more touch her, that was it. He wasn't willing to let her go again. Standing in the shallows of the lake, just behind with his arms wrapped around her, their joint hands holding the rod as they cast it into the slow rippling waters. Abigal turned her head, smiling at him and Will's heartfelt ten times lighter.

That wasn't the only part of Will that felt lighter, however. Puffing out a breath and shaking his head, he hadn't felt dizzy since he'd been revived, so why start now. Knees buckling a little and before he knew it, Will was doubling over and gently tumbling into the water. Abigail pulled away from him, just as he lowered down. The rod held solo now in her hands and all she did was continue to smile down at him as his vision blurred before turning to black.

Waking, a few hours later, washed up on the bank, such an unwelcomed, familiar feeling. Shooting up, yet found he was too weak to walk. " It's okay, Will. Just rest. You and I can sit here a while." Her smile made his chest burst and with each word she spoke, each movement she took, Will felt something akin to sickness festering inside him.

He was weak, yes, but more than that he was content. Knowing that you could see her too, could converse and touch her, it meant she was alive, she was real and not just a figment of his overactive imagination.

28th - Appartment: Closed to close CR (Hannibal)

As he lay there, on the cold hard floor of the kitchen, on his side with one arm stretched out, fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt, Will could bearly even breath let alone move. And there she sat beside him. Abigail Hobbs. A serene smile over her lips, the scar at her throat was raw and slowly it would bleed backward from time to time. Like the grains of sand in an hourglass, only in reverse. She'd look at Will from time to time, offer that same smile and stroke his tired head. " It's okay, you can sleep now. It's just us. Just family."

At first, Will wasn't sure what was wrong with him. He had a long history with strange and unusual illnesses, it was easy to assume this was just another of those. Though... something was slightly off about Abigail. It was as if she wanted him to drift off like she wanted to take his energy and use it to carry on living herself. After all, he did owe her. He was the one who had taken her Father from her, he was to blame and just perhaps, she didn't love her surrogate father as much as he cherished her?

It was hard to talk, yet still, he tried. "I used to wonder where you are- These days I can't find where you're not." Tapping his arm, a quick flash of a smile followed by a patronizing tone. "That's nice." It was as if she was waiting for him to just slip away as if his love and his words were static white noise she was waiting to tune out.

XXV. Lakeside

[kingslight]

What sort of madness has overtook Hadriel now? The city is being stripped of all life, it's unwilling citizens being coerced by ghouls who seek to steal the warmth of their hearts. Regis had met a few who have become entranced by these phantoms and he couldn't be anymore glad that he put his past to rest. The former king had given up on his past and memories of his previous life. While his love for his wife and son remains undying, Regis had to put them to rest in order to survive. His need for seclusion after Noctis' departure had left him feeling quite challenged. There's been many sleepless nights for this gentle old king, some of which were caused by the malice he has for this accursed city. However, now he finds himself playing the role of the spectator as he watches this villain writhe within the muck and mud.

His eyes narrow once he spots a figure by the lakeside. He approaches cautiously with his winged sword at his hand thinking this to be a fiend until he recognizes that human silhouette. It's then that Regis pauses once he spots the man's face. 'The Cannibal' He thinks bitterly as he dares to come nearer. How could he forget such a face after watching the horrors he bestowed upon the Network so long ago. Regis has hated this man ever since and that hatred has yet to be dull by time. Even with the truth known to him about William's shade being the true perpetrator behind those murders, Regis still views this man with great contempt.

"All manner of beasts lurks here and yet I find surprise in seeing you." He grumbles as he lowers his sword. There's no need for him to cut William down just yet but the thought certainly crosses his mind still. However, there's something malevolent afoot here, one that Regis cannot see.

"You whisper to nothing." The King remarks with a scowl. "What is it that entrances you? There's nothing there." He can't see her, Will. He can't see Abigail at all.

Zoe Baker | OTA

[telephoning]

A. June 21st. Just Open Your Window and Follow Your Memory Upstream...

[By the housing district, a bolt of lightning struck. Proverbially.

And it left Zoe standing, heart stopped and breath gone and a keen ringing in her bones from skull to spine, in front of an aging man.

Well-built. Round glasses, bald head. Yellow shirt. Her first instinct telling her to run with her active mind recognizing, with the resonant, deeply-shaking ringing of a gong.

She backed up.

Her breath started again at a quickening. She starts shaking her head --

And he saw that. Before her own thoughts could transcribe, he took a step closer that pushed her one more step back.

Spoke up in a warm, whispering old voice that sets off flashes of memories in Zoe's head, of outdoor trips, and the other end of the low-lit dinner table, and of cleaning guns and beer bottles on table and countertops. Held a hand out tentavtively.]

Shhh... Sh-sh-shh, Zoe, it's me.

It's your father.

[And her heart... plummeted.

Under the density of the memories, through three years of burning hell

She swallowed. Never took her eyes off him.

Eventually hesitantly, hushed-ly broke out a:]

...Daddy -- ...

[He stopped the approach there. He just... nodded. Somewhat solemnly, with sad eyes and a faint, appreciative smile. Gave it a moment.]

And it's not only me, either.

[He stepped aside, motioning next to and behind him in a movement like a slow-motion shrug.

Everything in Zoe froze once again.

Instant recognition, once and then twice, an icicle in her back -- an older woman with long black hair, red skirt. Looked up and stepped in a little closer herself, hand starting to lift over her chest. Mom. A thin young man in a green hoodie, shoulders slouched but with his head tilted back some as he waited for the geezers to be finished. Lucas.

-- All of them looking just the way they had on that last night, apart from Lucas, who still, apparently, retained some of the premature hair loss that had happened after then.

She didn't... accept it, no, no... She'd started backing up again, you were gone, you were gone, starting at a mumble to herself (only she was there) before rising into a shout as her brain screamed for explanations -- don't do this to me now, for god's sake, it's done...]

No... This isn't happening -- it's her. It's Eveline, i-i-it has -- to be Eveline...!

[But then -- she could feel them where they were standing, now.

Some of the emptiness and quiet in her consciousness was gone.

Hallucinations hadn't done that before, no -- and they had all one-by-one confirmed that they couldn't feel her, either, and so here and now, they were...

They were back.

And now, here she is, a tiny lady in a mutual embrace with a large (and invisible, unbeknownst to her) old man. Mom starting to come in with her arms open to join in, and Zoe's mind thrumming and pulsing in... absence of knowing what to feel.

She still manages something. Something quiet, and...

For the moment, across a burned bridge, just...

Wistful.

Faintly wistful.]

I've missed you guys.


B. June 22nd-25th. ...to the Mountain In the Valley Where We Counted Every Falling Star.

[They are fake.

Not even hallucinations - just fake.

Zoe's convinced they are. She can get a read on them while they're all here. But sometimes? They're not. Usually, Dad is there. Sometimes, it's Dad and Mom. Sometimes Lucas will turn up with one or both of them. Either way, when she can't see them, the connection dies. Sometimes none of them are around at all, and her mind goes quiet in that regard again.

It's the kind of practical pessimism one can take refuge in.

And you know what one nice thing to do when you're in... mmh, Zoe doesn't know if she'd call it a disappointed mood, but a resigned one, then?

Walk an animal.

Zoe happens to have a cat. One of the black, tooth-faced once that she'd initially trapped out of sheer, morbid curiosity.

She's in the park with him, now, watching 'im where she fails to keep him on course at the end of a makeshift leash, when.]

Zoe?

[A -- pause.

Turns to face the direction of a starting-off-light-and-then-resting-down:]

Zoe, my baby...

Mama...?

[And her mom, indeed, it is! On her own. Something politely apologetic about her smile.]

... -- Where's Dad?

[Marguerite laughs, sadly.]

I wouldn't know, sweetie... -- There are times I can't -- [She scrunches her brow, places to fingers to its joining point, speaks with effort, why would this be the case...] -- make head or heels of where those men are -- your father and your big brother, since we've been here with you....

[She says that with a melancholy lightness. Her head falls.

But her eyes fix quickly on the thing at the end of the leash.]

I see you got yourself a kitten, honey.

[Zoe... "mmh"s momentarily to herself, looks down at the face full of teeth that Marguerite can't see at this angle. Just short of dryly stammering out:]

-- His name's Orlando.

[Marguerite smiles brightly. She gives a soft laugh, repeats "Orlando", and then moves in and around Zoe, to get a look at the cat. She... responds to the sight of its face with a small reel back, her teeth slightly showing. And a breath as she... tries to dial on a little not-mean-spirited smile on for her little girl - all in a good, wryly lighthearted spirit!]

Poor little thing -- ... no disrespect to him -- [Or the lass who took him in, by proxy, ha, Zoe, what were ya precious one... Her voice stays soft.] -- but don't the poor thing look like he's come through the depths of Hell...

[And Zoe... briefly laughs at that, in an inward, huff-through-her-nose-first set of sounds, just as wryly amused, as Orlando looks over his shoulder to look at her.

Either she, he, or the intangible ghost lady will notice and react to anyone who happens by at this moment.]

C. June 22nd-25th. Trust Your Intuition, It's Just Like Going Fishin'.

[At this point? Zoe's nerves are frayed. They were frayed by the arrival of her family, and now they're additionally buzzing without them. Maybe in anticipation of the silence breaking when they reappear, maybe out of shock from being slammed with... the lack of being alone again. The quiet breaking and then coming back.

In this particular lull, all she wanted was a freaking smoke break. She leaned herself up against one of the city walls, near the area of the shops. Let her mind unfocus for a bit.

It snapped right back into place when she heard a couple of steps by her - lifted her eyes to the right and away from the tendrils of smoke creeping up from the tip of a cigarette - to rough to be Mom's, too light to be Dad's...

...Lucas is swaggering on up to her. Hands in his pockets, hood up, with a lick of an anti-grin.]

Sooo, Zoe!

[His voice is all grime and drawl and twang. She takes a deep, huffing breath.

Turns her eyes half-way lidded to look blankly out through the smoke. She takes a drag.

And he's looming over her like a bedraggled stork over a circling fish.]

If you wanted to run away so bad, why didn't you haul your ass out to cave-land sooner?

Bet you coulda come here any time!

[A dead, unhappy exhale. Smoke flows out of her mouth. She inhales a little of it back in, blinking.]

Don't gimme that, Lucas. [Watching herself turn the cigarette in her fingers . Don't give him the attention right now...] You and I both know.

[Footsteps again - she actually hopes for Chrissakes that it's Dad this time, but...

Nope!

It's just a passerby. For a moment of spite, she'll try to catch their eye, nod up at them with a smile and a gentle, little-louder-than-usual:]

...Hi!

[ -- And then she sucks in a gasp at a yank on the hair on the back of her head, and with her eyes burrrrning, she takes a swipe at an arm that's already pulled back -- ohh, no, you don't, for god's sakes she has been putting up with your bullshit for too long...

She lunges after Lucas while driving the cigarette like a two-finger dagger. It catches him on the sleeve --

-- and fails to burn, getting her nothing but the crack of a series of static-like giggles starting to shatter open into a wheezy, rising hhhhaaaaaa! and a look on down at her like "are you done?"

She narrows her eyes, Jesus, where did you go so wrong...]


D. June 26th. Network. You Cast Your Line and Hope You Get a Bite.

[A curt audio message. Faintly hoarse. Mostly even, but dragged down by hints of weariness and, well, defeat.]

I'm gonna need a gun.

[In the background is the sound of bickering - between two men, one frantic and heated, and the other one stern -- "I ain't gonna die, I don't wanna die, why do all the rest of us have to go for just -- " "That's enough. Boy, we don't belong here; think of your god-damn sister." A woman starts to join in, harder to hear.]

Where can I get ahold of one?

[Flat.]

D

[blessedmaiden]

[When Rydia joins the conversation she sounds really tired on the phone: she's already dealt with her ghost and understands what has to be done, so...]

I don't have one but I know other, painless and effective ways to kill someone if that can help...

Frisk | ota

[save_theworld]

June 21st || Come my child, stay with me

The child who greets the day on the 21st is happy. They eat breakfast, the corners of their eyes crinkling with mirth now and again, stealing glances at the occupants of their home and shaking their head, shrugging- as if in response to an unasked question. It's normal for them to go off on their own; to clean or wander. It's less normal for them to leave for the day, and not come back that evening. Or the next.

They're very determined, once their mind is made up. And so the days turn into a tour of the city for someone who can't be seen.

And yet, Frisk is smiling the entire time. Their pitch and tone changes with their level of excitement, and the further along the days go, the more they seem to talk and explain, the more of interest there is to show; even the people. Perhaps even you.

The whole world is so much more interesting and vibrant, when you have someone to share it with.



June 26th || I'll protect you and your dreams

[If Frisk could ask for one, perfect day, this would probably be it.

Toriel's laughter echoes through the orchard. There's no sun shining, or birds singing. No one's playing catch or going to hell. They'd found a picnic blanket in one of the shops; Toriel had insisted on taking over the kitchen in an abandoned apartment. There's still warm butterscotch pie, three slices already missing. She loves the flowers; when they find Sans, she's promised to let him know.

But right now, this is their first, perfect day. Seated in her lap, Frisk is in the midst of making a flower crown; not that they're any good at it, not yet. They only look up from the task when Toriel brushes their hair out of their eyes, smiling kindly down at them over the rim of her glasses.]

My child, I have just thought of another joke. Would you like to hear it?

[They nod with absolutely no hesitation, smiling from ear to ear. And Toriel laughs again, gently tapping their nose with one furry finger tip.]

Knock knock.

26th!

[wynand]

[Jack laughs. He feels like a child all over again, leading his parents eagerly about to show them the incredible world he's stepped into. A phone that isn't mounted to the wall; the ability to light lamps with sparks in his fingers; the way trees can grow and flourish underground. There's the strain of worry beneath his mother's gentle smile, a shadow to his father's gaze. But he smiles past it.

He smiles past it, and he doesn't need to say much, especially as he realizes he's come to recognize one of the small shapes parked beneath the trees. They're in the orchard - the same one they helped him protect.

He doesn't recognize the creature upon which they're nestled, but Frisk seems content. Happier than he's ever seen them. Which means that, surely, she can't be of any harm.

And so Jack grins broadly as he waves from across the orchard.]

Napstablook | ota

[soundtest]

[June 21st]

[Napstablook didn't understand it when they ran into the ghost form of his cousin, instead of the robot body he usually inhabited. Mettaton had showed them when he first arrived that he was no longer physically attached to his robot body, but he seemed to have a preference for it.

It was even stranger when their cousin began to ask them question after question, such as "Blooky darling! How in the world did you ever become human?" despite Napstablook having explained all of this to him before.

But despite their confusion, the ghostly form of Mettaton insisted on going back home with them. They seem distracted most of the day, their attention focused on something that doesn't seem to be there.

As Napstablook walks home, they seem to be holding a conversation with... someone. Anyone close enough will hear bits and pieces of it.]

but i thought you liked your body....? did you change your mind?

[Napstablook goes quiet for a moment, their attention entirely on something that very clearly isn't there.]

no that's not it... i've seen it though? do you not remember having it...? mettaton, are you sure you're ok?

[June 27th]

[By this point, Napstablook has learned that for some reason, there's more than one Mettaton. Their cousin, the robot celebrity who arrived several months ago. And their other cousin, the cheery pink specter that has stayed glued to their side for the past few days.

Napstablook didn't mind it. The ghost version of their cousin had questioned them relentlessly about why they were human now instead of a ghost, and maybe seemed a little envious at first. But after a while it felt a lot like old times.

But as each day passed, Napstablook seemed more exhausted than the previous day. Their ghostly companion seemed a lot less cheerful, and more concerned as Napstablook struggled to keep up with them.

And it seemed like more and more people were taking notice of the ghost following Napstablook around.

After a walk to the lake, Napstablook doesn't quite make it there and has to sit down. Their breathing is rough, like they've been walking for days. Mettaton stops what he's doing to turn back with a look of worry.

"Blooky dear, are you all right? You shouldn't overexert yourself in that new body..."

Napstablook shakes their head. They don't know the reason why it's so hard to walk from their home to the lake, but they don't want to just turn back. They just need a moment to catch their breath.

"i'm okay... i'll be okay in a few minutes..."

They lift a hand to their head, fighting off the urge to lay down right there. They try to smile weakly.

"maybe right here isn't a bad spot to lay down and feel like garbage...? haha..."

The ghost doesn't laugh.

the 27th

[ritualized]

She's tired, too. Irisviel can feel her body threatening to collapse at each moment, barely any sensation left beneath her knees when she walks. It's possible that her previous experience with deteriorating health makes this a little easier to bear. Or, at least, she can smile and pretend to bear it, both for the sake of keeping herself going and to not alarm her daughter, the young girl a spitting image of her and always attached to her, these days.

They're on their way to the lake, maybe with intentions of playing, or just enjoying what scenery there is underground, when they happen upon Napstablook's own travels. Irisviel arrived in time to see them sink down into their seat, and to hear their poor joke about lying down in a state of sickness.

"It won't be that comfortable." She smiles, the expression kindly but sad. Take it from someone who spent several days lying prone on the floor of a shed: It doesn't make anything better; it just makes things stay at a steady bad. "And out here, you might hurt your back."

The child at her side has other ideas, and turns to push the issue in a curious stage whisper.

"If they're tired, why don't they just lie down?" Ilya doesn't wait long enough for an answer. Instead, she turns to Napstablook and repeats herself, politely but with insistent curiosity. "Hey. If you're tired, why don't you just lie down?"

Kain | OTA

[dragonsgrasp]

21st, around wherever

[The moment Kain steps outside, he sees her. The beautiful but ghostly form of Rosa is right there with him, the same as he’s always remembered her. It’s been a while, though… he’s been away in the gods’ war without memories of her. He’s only realizing right now how badly his heart aches for her.]

Rosa…

[This lovestruck dragoon starts his usual wandering on patrol, except the whole time he can barely take his gaze off the pretty blonde ghost lady beside him. It’ll be painfully, painfully obvious to anyone watching that Kain is totally smitten with the woman.]

26th: Totally not a kidnapping!!, around wherever

[The moment Rosa became solid, Kain knew something was wrong. He tries to shake off the lethargy as best as he can at first. Gradually, he starts to hear from others what’s really going on. There are grave concerns about these ghosts and what they’re doing to people. Rosa herself doesn’t want to take away Kain’s life force at the expense of her own.]

[Rather than let anything happen to Rosa, Kain is taking matters into his own hands.]

Rosa, please forgive me.

[Rosa cries out, alarmed, as Kain knocks her over the head. She's not dead, but she's definitely knocked out for the time being. As she collapses, Kain picks her up and jumps. He eventually lands, looks around the area warily, then takes off fast, still holding Rosa. This isn’t as bad as it looks, really!!]

28th, clinic

[By now, unfortunately, the weariness has taken its toll. Kain is too weak overall to even get up out of bed anymore. He’s been brought to the clinic so they can keep an eye on him. He doesn’t even have his usual stubborn spark that makes him want to get up and keep going. He just feels so drained...]

Has no one found a solution to this yet? A better one, I mean…

[He’s stashed Rosa away for the time being. She’s safe. It means he isn’t, but he can’t bear to let her die, he refuses. So here he is… wasting away slowly.]

29th: For Shadow, death approaches

[Could it get any worse? Of course it can. Even compared to the day before, Kain has noticeably weakened, somehow gotten that much more drained of life. He’s angry about this, or should be, but doesn’t have the energy. At the same time, it’s… the only choice he has. They’re doing all they can at the clinic to keep him comfortable, but there’s really not much else that can be done at this point. Except the unthinkable. And that isn’t happening.]

[He moans a little, hearing someone approach. He can’t even turn his head to look.]

Who’s… who’s there…?

[blessedmaiden]

[Rydia has the red eyes of someone who cried far too much but she's there at the clinic and she only looks... angry right now. She almost snaps in Kain's direction when he asks the question she heard far too many times in the past few hours.]

There is a solution, yes, you kill it. Whatever that thing is because it's not the person we love.

[She's worried, Kain, really worried. And as crazy as it sounds she'd be happy to kill the ghost of Rosa if it meant saving her friend... the fact that he his his 'Rosa' and she has no idea where is almost driving her insane.]

alphys | ota, will match format

[sciencelizard]

june 22nd;; apartment/around the city

Frankly, considering how nervous Alphys looks at any given moment, people might not even pick out there's something wrong by her expression. She's going about her normal movements; checking the shops for food to restock the apartment, searching for appliances to take apart, parts she needs for the lab. But she's also constantly looking over her shoulder for someone who isn't there to everyone else- someone she's conversing with pretty regularly, and referring to as 'Mettaton'.

Mettaton, of course, being a person who's already here. But this is a different one.

And frankly, she seems pretty happy to see him, despite her obvious nervousness. As people get closer, they can even hear her talking to him, even though currently, it looks like there's absolutely no one there.

"No, well, I mean, we're s-still underground, but it's a different one? There's sun cycles, so, you can see it now..."

june 26th;; lab

Despite her exhaustion, Alphys is back to work in earnest, showing up early to the lab and brushing back the bags under her eyes. And trailing after her, chattering away, is... a box. A box on a wheel that's chattering away from the speaker on his front, pixels changing to form numbers, hearts, or even his signature "M" on his screen.

"Darling, how is it you've been here only a few months and this place is just as much of a mess as your old lab?" He chides her jokingly, and she rolls her eyes, obviously intent on getting some work done, but her smile betrays the fact that she's actually kind of enjoying this. "It's just-- there's a lot of stuff, o-okay! Like what I need to do today, just, uhm. Just wait there, or, h-hold stuff for me, I don't know--"

His displeasure is immediately evident, and a low whine emits from the speaker as the screen changes to a broken heart. "But Alphys! You promised you'd work on me, about all those upgrades, and new materials~?" He clasps his hands together, raising them to the side of his chassis. If he had eyes or eyelashes, they'd be blinking like he's intent on being the prettiest belle at the ball.

Alphys, as it stands, tries to ignore him. So he huffs, rolls over to her work desk, and pulls himself up onto it, scattering all the papers and other scraps atop it so he can lie on his side, arms supporting him in a seductive pose, wheel raised at the joint.

Despite herself, Alphys is smiling. He's ridiculous. They're both laughing, just outside the rest of the world.

june 28th;; apartment;; closed to mttbrandlegs

Alphys disappearing into her room for days at a time is nothing new. When she's feeling particularly down, sometimes it's just a can opener, cans of whatever's around, and a rewatch of Mew Mew for the seven thousandth time. Especially with her own personal Mettaton following her around, it's easy to ignore her responsibilities.

This... this is not that. It stopped being anything like that nearly 24 hours ago.

Alphys is lying in her bed, nearly motionless, as the box Mettaton wheels back and forth in front of her bed, talking to keep her awake.

"I'm not letting you do this, Alphys. You've given me enough. There's no chance--"

She dismisses him quickly with a wave of her hand and a few weak words. "No, it's-- it's better. If it's... l-like this. You... you wanted a body. I let you down, then, but it's... I can fix it."

Mettaton lets out a low, worried whine. "No, darling. Not like this." He can't do anything about this himself-- and if she won't, he knows who can. It's easy to get her phone from her as she drifts in and out; even easier to text a very, very familiar name to come over and check on her.

After all, he can always trust himself to get the job done.

time to die

[mttbrandlegs]

Mettaton had been keeping his distance. He'd been busied even, dealing with his own ghosts, and he was still laid pretty low himself. The only thing that keeps him functioning at this point is sheer stubbornness and the irrational thought that if he died, the apparitions would leave.

He didn't want them to leave.

Still, he can't ignore the beseeching text sent to him--Alphys was important, even if she had found herself a better Mettaton to spend time with. He didn't think she was lying, because the logic of it was too sound when compared to his own situation. And...well, he had decided that maybe it was better.

How wrong he was. Stupid Mettaton, why would you ever think that Alphys--that anyone--would benefit from contact with you, in any form? No, he was like a parasite, draining the vitality of others in order to support his habits and his utterly histrionic behavior.

...That being said, better him than a life-stealing specter, right? And who better to kill you than yourself, right?

As he draws closer to Alphys' apartment, he runs the numbers on this endeavor. 255 DEF is nothing to sneeze at, and the real Mettaton, as he is, couldn't tank any hits from a different version of himself.

But he didn't have to...not with over 70 ATK.

He knocks, because it's polite. Even if he's greeted with the pretender, he'll not lose face anymore than he already has just by existing.

irisviel | ota

[ritualized]

21st evening;

[It's taken her until now to be able to leave her apartment, taken her this long to reconcile the impossible appearance of her only child with the undeniable urge she has to care for her. Apparition, imagination, or projection, she is still her daughter, and she couldn't ignore her own daughter or treat her cruelly. Any mother, she imagines, would feel the same.

Staying inside made her stircrazy, though, especially with Ilya having more curiosity, as she always has. That's what brought Irisviel outside the library. Though she's been holding it together all afternoon, a pang of sudden, overwhelming emotion chokes her and she starts to cry. And Ilya, of course, is vocally worried, and Irisviel has to force out a quick explanation.]

No, I'm not sad at all! I'm just so happy to see you again. Sometimes that makes us cry, too.

[Hopefully no one's around, but it wouldn't be embarrassing if that was the case, would it?]

23-24th;

[Like some others, Irisviel experiences a few days of radiant happiness. These, two, she spends mostly around the city, trying to show her accompanying daughter things she never had the chance to show her.

From the outside, she surely looks crazy. She is always holding an invisible hand or placing her hand on an invisible head, carrying an invisible small body in her arms. And she is chatting frequently, explaining what something is or where she is with an animated joy.

Unless, on some rare occasion (some of the temples, the stores opposite the clinic, and other minor places like that) she has no idea. It really has only been a few weeks since she first came here, and almost a fortnight was spent in drunken revelry, rage, or unconsciousness. She's struggling for the right answers.]

Ah, well, we're... This is... We should find out together! We can make it a game.

[So fixated is she on her predicament here that she doesn't notice anyone else who might be around them.]

26th;

[She's familiar with this feeling. She's known it often enough. Exhausted as she is already, she can tell she's breaking down. She would try minimizing her functions, but how could she hold her hand if she couldn't feel it? No, that would be quite impossible.

Ilya, of course, has no such lack of energy. She's young, after all. Now visible, the little girl is getting bolder, too, and on their trip out into town she surges as far ahead as the spiritual leash between them will let her go, her silver hair everywhere, her read eyes sparkling.]

My! Hold on, hold on! Your Mama's a little tired... Stay near me! [Needing to sit, but not wanting to punish the much more energetic ghost, Irisviel turns in desperation to the person nearest her.]

Will you watch her, please? Just for a second, to make sure she doesn't go too far. I just need a moment. [Her eyes close for just a moment, and she breathes deeply.]

wildcard;

[Hit me with anything else, bring your ghosts to her, try to convince her to do a murder, or whatever! I will match prose/brackets! Also, I'm totally cool with anyone who can see the ghosts early noticing Ilya. Depending on how the event goes, I may add later toplevels. Also, my OOC comment is here!]

let's see how ugly this gets | 26th

[sheathes]

[ Saber's supportive hand is already on Irisviel's back before she can even speak. She, too, is feeling the negative effects; her Master's loss of energy affecting her as much as her own ghost. But she has enough stored magical energy, and enough pure stubbornness, to stay functional until she drops. ]

Of course, Irisviel. [ With one eye on both mother and child, she shoots Guinevere a pleading look, asking for help in the matter. The two of them have already spoken of the correlation between Saber's fatigue and Guinevere's tangibility — but even if Saber refused to follow that thread to its conclusion, she suspects Irisviel needs more than just 'a moment'. ] Perhaps we should return to the apartment. I can carry you, and Guinevere can handle your child.

Curufin Fëanorion | OTA

[so_dark_a_road]

June 21 -- the Orchard to start with, and later, anywhere in Hadriel

Curufin is just off his own shift, but in a few hours he is going to sub for somebody else who is taking sick leave. And thus tonight he is doing something unusual, catching a couple of hours of sleep in the orchard instead of at home or at Yukari's house. And it's all right, he has let his family and his lover know where he is. It is a rather fine place to sleep, in the cool grass under the faintly rustling branches of the fruit trees.

The hours slip by, and he dreams.

In his dream, he seems to awaken and find himself lying under the apple trees. He yawns, turns on his side, and tucks an arm under his head. To the west, there is a thin sliver of a moon just coming up over the horizon. The barest slice of a decrescent moon, a moon fading towards an invisible New Moon, also known as the Dark of the Moon, a time when ghosts walk.

He hears an Elven step, a twig breaking on the orchard floor, and then, alarmingly, the pad and thump of wolves' feet. He lifts his head and sees an approaching figure that seems to glimmer with light. The person's hair is the pale gold hue of the Arafinwean branch of Curufin's family, his eyes are light gray and bright with intelligence, and his hands lie on the backs of the huge, fierce-looking wolves that accompany him. The werewolves, all seven of them, weave in and out of the trees on either side of the orchard aisle and slide against the legs and sides of him whom they guard. Wait! -- werewolves are guarding Curufin's cousin, who slew and was slain by the boss wolf of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, under the authority of Sauron the Destroyer??

Curufin lurches to his feet, and as he does so, he tears through the veil of dream and is flung into the waking state. The moon is gone, of course it is, there has never been a moon inside the murdercave. Only the cave ceiling lights still shine faintly from far above. The werewolves, all seven of them, vanish. They were never there in the first place.

But Finrod is still here. He stands gazing at Curufin with his clear, shadowed eyes.

Curufin manages to choke out, "Why are you here?"

"I am here for you," the ghost answers, quietly. "Curufin, slayer of my kin and yours, betrayer of our childhood friendship, usurper of my kingdom."

Curufin has known since his own death that someday he would meet his cousin again. In fact, he has sought him. During that dim timeless interval after his own death, first he he refused the summons of Mandos, the Keeper of the Dead, and then he slipped in phantom form through the living world and the limbo worlds of dream and of death, hoping to find those whom he had loved and those he had wronged, but wary lest he be discovered by the Powers and locked forever in the death god's dim halls or flung into the Void forever. But he did not find Finrod.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. "Cousin," he says, "I would welcome you, but this is Hadriel, a place I wouldn't wish even on my enemies."

Finrod continues to look at him, and finally answers, with a small smile and a tone that falls just short of sarcasm. "Curufin the Crafty, rightly are you named." I do not believe a word you say.

Curufin can't think of a comeback. This is almost unheard of, for him. And because he doesn't know what else to do, he lets the ghost follow him. And follow him he does, through the last of the night into the morning, through Curufin's guard rounds, into Guard HQ where he goes to file a report, into the Speakeasy for a drink, and home for dinner. Finrod comes with him to the forge and plagues him while he's trying to concentrate on his weapons projects. And In the night, Finrod wakes him up, demanding tea and conversation, and he stands behind him when Curufin talks to his family or friends or coworkers, and even follows him to Yukari's house. All these people may notice how distracted Curufin is (especially if they have the same sort of problem themselves!), but he never speaks of it. He thinks, at first -- or hopes -- that this might be a hallucination, but he still fears that it is in some sense real.

As the days go by, Curufin begins to feel ill. This is odd. Elves don't get sick. But his eyes are fever-bright, and his face is deathly pale, and he is nervous as a cat. He starts to suffer from unreasonably fatigue, breaking into a sweat when he has to exert himself to perform ordinary tasks such as hammering hot iron at the forge or dragging scrap metal or wood back to the workshop. Finrod continues to accompany him everywhere he goes, sometimes looking at him with something that is almost pity.


June 26 -- Delight's Housing, #06. Also, anywhere else that seems fun.

The ghost suddenly achieves such a state of reality that other people can see him. Curufin is now faced with not only his own assigned ghost, but with those of his relatives, too! The house has become desperately and hilariously crowded with Finweans, alive and dead.

Furthermore, Finrod is now apt to go off on his own, vanishing into the city without telling Curufin where he is going. Needless to say, this causes cousinly discord. Curufin scolds him for being late for dinner. But Finrod has things to do and people to see, and will not be dissuaded.


June 29 -- Anywhere in the city

Curufin is now deathly ill. He can hardly drag himself out of the house to do his job, but he does it anyway. He comes of tough stock, and he is a Valinorean Elf, one who was born under the Light of the Two Trees; his strength is very great and he refuses to lie down and die. Finrod now follows him with a softer gaze, and when Curufin stumbles, it is his cousin who takes his arm. [ Not sure how this ends. TBA. ]

Early days? Maybe 24th if that is alright? :)

[whistlewhilstyouwork]

[Though spared any ghosts himself, Whistler has no doubt become aware of the uneasy goings on in the cave these past few days. People talking to newcomers, and people talking to others when at times he can only hear one set of footsteps. Its an unnerving concept, to say the least, that not everyone who is here at the moment is actually well and truly accounted for, not to mention the fact that as the days roll on, more and more people seem to grow unwell. He hears shuffling and stumbling all about him. Voices he heard the day before now much weaker, much more exhausted.

Almost everyone seems to be melting or crumpling in their own footsteps.

And this is the case with a stranger who passes particularly near to him. Leaning steadily on his cane, Whistler tries to call out]

Excuse me, are you alright? Uh..Sir? ...Madam?

[He lifts a hand off the cane and reaches in their general direction. He knows he heard them, not far off from his left shoulder.]

[blessedmaiden]

21st - Meeting mom

It takes her a long moment to recognize the ghost standing in the middle of her apartment's kitchen but as soon as the familiarity of the figure strikes in Rydia simply drops the canned food she warmed up for her own breakfast and brings her hands in front of her mouth to suffocate a scream. That simple yellow dress, the red hair she played with in countless dreams when she still was a child, the loving smile on the woman's face...

"Mom?"

This isn't fair, Hadriel, that memory is a weak spot of hers and toying with it is just... cruel. For a couples of seconds she even contemplates what it'd be to have her real mother in the city, after all some of the citizens died in their homeworlds, but that's a thought for another day and certainly not to be tied with a ghostly and silent vision that only bothered her. The summoner storms away, leaving her apartment and forcing tears back while not looking where she goes- she just wants to be as distant as possible from there. That's not her mother, that thing didn't even have a body, it'll go away as soon as the deity who decided on that poor joke is bored with it.


24th - Bonding

It's been days and the summoner slowly started to get used to the costant presence of her ghost's mother even if she tried to avoid her at first... but since her mother started to talk things went downhill pretty fast. Tears were shed, kisses shared, hugs given- and Rydia almost completely forgot how nothing in Hadriel is really good. Not for too long.

Holding her mother's hand for the first time in forever, watching her become more real day after day, it's an illusion too good to break for someone like her who always valued familiar bonds over anything else.

"And then Rosa told me, with her most serious face... "Rydia, did you really cook bugs for us?" and I replied that yes, I did, and that's when I discovered surfaces think that's the most disusting thing ever. I will never forget their face."

They're laughing together, now, walking between Hadriel's streets and enjoying their time together. Or, well, Rydia is the one talking about eidolons, lunarians how living underground affected her, how dwarven are 100% the best in everything they do... and the woman simply nods. The summoner is feeling strangely tired, let's admit it, yet she's living the time of her life and- it doesn't matter, does it?

-----

26th - Decisions

It did matter, apparently. What started with her being more and more sleepy ended up with Rydia realizing something was off: the worse she felt, the better her mother's figure was. One didn't have to be a genius to realize what was happening, nor to accept that there was just something wrong with the gosthly people everyone suddenly found in their lives.

"What's your name?"

"... honey?"

"It's been so long for me, I always called you mom but I'm sure you had a real name. So...Mom, what is your name?"

The silence that follows is enough of a reply: like Rydia doesn't remember the woman's name, neither do the ghost. She may be weak and tired, her brain may feel covered by veils but she can still understand what shes dealing with: it's an illusion that's feeding on her dreams and feelings. Rydia lets out a small, pained laugh as she gets up using the last big of her strenght to face the woman.

"I... thank you. It was fun as long as it lasted, mom."

21st - At the clinic

"If you can't do it, I will do it for you." Rydia is actually helping at the clinic or around the houses. Killing her mother hurt, the summoner doubts she'll ever forget how the ghost's corpse blankly stared at her before disappearing, the whispered why she managed to emit after being stabbed keeps echoing in her mind but... but she's trying really hard to walk past it and she's begging the peple in need to let her do the dirty job, sometimes she attempts to do it without even receiving a permission: it doesn't matter if someone will hate her, she just wants to save people.

"I know it can be hard but they're not real, they're just illusions and... how would this person feel, the real person, if they knew you died because of them?"

Wildcard - Write to her

24th

[dragonsgrasp]

Kain overhears the conversation and doesn’t yet approach, instead standing there listening to them for a moment. Rosa smiles, laughing lightly at Rydia’s story. It’s clear she remembers it, so she must be real, right? And she’s solid now, which is even better. The initial ghostly appearance had alarmed him. This is… the happiest thing that could have happened to any of them. He’s been pretty much preoccupied with Rosa the past couple days, but by now he’s realized that everyone is experiencing this appearance of their loved ones.

He’s… very wary of approaching Rydia with her mother there. There are some obvious reasons for that. Sure, he hadn’t driven a blade into the woman, but he’d still helped kill the dragon Eidolon bonded to her. He’s still responsible.

Rosa is beside Kain, of course. He’s been enjoying her company a great deal, even if he’s been feeling… pretty tired the last day or so. Maybe he’s coming down with something? Who knows. It’s not bad enough to hinder his regular routines just yet, even if it means taking a couple more breaks than usual.

“I hope everything is going well… for both of you.”

Ronan Lynch | open

[greywaren]

22nd - orchard

I've been calling that one a Razorfruit.

[He says it a little proudly- though the bush and fruit he's referring to have no such razorlike characteristics about them. Ronan still seems pleased with himself for the name though, even if nobody uses it, and he moves to pluck one of the ripe, blue fruits before offering it out to the empty space in front of him.

There's an awkward pause- like he's forgotten that the ghost in front of him can't hold anything- and he pulls it back, his face falling a little. That's alright though, he shakes his head and keeps moving, his fingers twisting at the top of the rind of the oddly-shaped fruit to open it up.

It's alright that she can't hold it, or touch it, or eat it- it's fine, because she's here and... well, not only is she alive, but she's alive and conscious, both of which have been rarities for Ronan in the past two years of his life. He pries the fruit out of the husk and sinks his teeth into the edge, juice dripping down his chin.]

It's... sweet, [he explains, after he's swallowed,] a little sour if it's not ripe enough. We've been working on getting it right.

[Whatever response he gets from her seems to be a positive one, and Ronan smiles, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand.]

C'mon, I'll show you the rest.

26th - streets

...hang on.

[Ronan's breathing is a little labored as he takes a quick break, leaning a shoulder up against one of the empty shops nearby. There's a woman with him this time- she's older than him, but breathtakingly beautiful in a willowy sort of way, dressed in a long skirt and light jacket, with blonde curls falling freely over her shoulders.

She seems concerned over his demeanor though and moves closer to him, lifting the back of her hand to his forehead. The movement is gentle, motherly, and despite everything that most people know about Ronan's surliness, he doesn't immediately bat her hand away.]

Are you sure you're feeling alright? [She asks him, her voice soft.

Ronan's brows furrow and he nods, sliding himself away from her hand and moving back to the road, his hands shoved in his pockets. Even with the way he carries himself- slouched, plodding, feet dragging against the dirt- it's clear that something is wrong. Ronan knows it, his mother knows it, but the obvious answer hasn't occurred to either of them yet- or maybe it has to Ronan, but he refuses to voice it.]

I just needed a break. I'll be fine.

[He takes a deep breath, glancing up toward the street in front of him. He should have insisted on the two of them staying home today. They could have talked more, spent more meaningful time together- but Aurora wanted to see the orchard again, and Ronan could never deny her anything.]

We're halfway there, anyway.

28th - closed to Adam

[It's obvious now, what needs to be done. Even after the terrible business with Adam's own mother, Ronan hadn't wanted to believe. He refused logic wherever it tried to be applied, yelled about it when it came up- and how could he not? He's lost his mother twice, now. He can't do it a third time.

But it's not like he's spending much quality time with her either. It's midafternoon and Ronan can be found sitting at the dining table, leaning forward in his chair with his arms folded at the table and his head nestled against them, fast asleep. He looks hollow, even like this- paler skin than usual, sunken eyes with dark circles under them. Even in this short time, it's clear to see that he's lost weight.

Aurora eases into the room with a blanket in her arms, unfolding it so it falls to the floor and leaning over her son, draping it around his shoulders so he won't be cold. Her hand lingers on his shoulder for a moment, soft and sad, before she pulls away and moves toward the boys' room.

She has no compunctions about knocking- she's a mother of three teenage boys, she's seen everything- and so she simply opens the door, knowing that Adam will be inside.]

He's asleep again, [she tells him, her voice firm, but soft, like wind rushing through the leaves of the orchard she found herself to love so much.] I think it's time, Adam.

26th - Streets!

[drabsolutelynot]

[Danielle had wandered into the store when she thought she saw paints and brushes and Rosen shuffled a few steps behind her, saying nothing as she ducked in and out of the aisles. The bags beneath his eyes have grown so dark they could almost be mistaken for bruises, and any of his normally warm, tan tone has long since drained away to a powdery white. He's stopped taking the pneumonia medications. He knows whats coming.

So he's dedicating his last bits of energy to being with Danielle, and where she goes he follows.

And this is how they come across Ronan and his mother, Danielle having stuck a load of paintbrushes beneath her arm and bursting out excitedly from the store as she announces to her father that she should paint a picture of him, after all she never has before. He manages to comment that thats probably for the best but before she can think of a protest Danielle is stopped mid-thought by the sight of Ronan leaning against the storefront.]

Are you alright?

[She knows its a pointless question, but still she asks and as she does, Lee edges up behind her, voice hoarse and a bit out of breath.]

A little slower please, Danielle, I can't seem to keep u-

[He also stops and looks at Ronan. The boy looks to be in bad shape. But he hesitates to comment on it.]

Hello, Ronan. Is this, um, is this a friend?

[A shaky, awkward nod towards the ghost beside him]