#chatzy: rebecca

[3starsquinn]

Lessons Learned || Orion & Rebecca

(Backdate to 3/28/2020)

Location: Abandoned Scribe Headquarters

Summary: Rebecca comes to the Scribe headquarters looking for some information on spirits; Rio uwu’s over another Professor that he can grow attached to.

Time was running out. And Rebecca’s desperation had brought her to a place she thought she’d never stoop to. The Scribe headquarters. Though long abandoned, it still stood, hid behind lock and key, like the cooped up knowledge keepers they were. Pretending they were the master’s of the supernatural world, hoarding information behind steely eyes and pretentious attitudes. She’d never really gotten along with them, but after they’d throw her under the bus for their own, she’d found that loath rising up every time she thought about it. Though it would have been easy to blame them for what happened to Theo, she could never bring herself to fully do that. She knew Theo’s death was her own fault, but the sting of it was still there, as she pushed the doors open and found her way in, surprised they were unlocked. Then again, the place was hidden by magic. Rebecca was just lucky that it was still in the same place, from the last time she’d tracked the headquarters down with some help from a local ex-Scribe.

The inside of the place was just as she’d remembered it, as if it hadn’t aged a day in three years, or however long she’d been gone. Keeping track of time was still difficult. She had to often use Theo’s headstone as reference for how long ago things happened. Ignoring the thought, she went about her way, finding the section they’d been to ages ago on demons, ghosts, and ancient rituals. And got to work. She hardly noticed someone approaching her, she was so hyper focused on her work, jotting down notes left and right and stacking piles of books around her.

Orion had mostly gotten over his panic attacks from people intruding in his safe space. He had his fair share of people inside of the Scribe headquarters at this point. He returned to the abandoned building from the store, an optimistic attempt at purchasing some lights and candles to make the place a bit more visible considering the lack of electricity and never-ending darkness that seemed to have befallen the town. It hadn’t made doing his job, or rather his hobby easy. But he planned on persisting. He swung the door open and made his way down the hallway, grocery bags in hand. He didn’t notice the noise until he got closer to the library. He could hear someone rummaging through books on the shelves. At this point, he didn’t think much of it outside of the initial jump in his heart rate. It could have been one of a few people that Orion had already met here. Professor Drake, Professor Beck or even Winston. All three knew about the vast library and all had expressed interest in returning. So he casually made his way into the library, bags in one hand and flashlight in the other, a dim flash illuminating a small portion of the path in front of him. But much to his surprise, when he finally found the culprit inside the library it wasn’t anybody that he knew of. “Uh. Hi.” He squeaked, his mouth immediately dry. He definitely hadn’t been expecting to see a new person in here, though maybe he should by now. Though the face wasn’t completely unfamiliar, as the woman turned to face Orion he recognized her from the campus. Probably a professor that Orion hadn’t met. “You’re uh- I didn’t expect anyone to be here.” He was not suddenly very self-conscious of the boxes of snacks, pillows and his laptop that laid on one of the tables around the corner. Had she seen it when she came in? “What are you doing here?”

Rebecca, so engrossed in her work, didn’t even register the tiny light coming her way. Or the initial squeaked hello. It was only when the boy moved closer, his light reflecting off one of her books, did she look up, startled. “Oh, I’m--” squinted through the light at him. “I’m sorry. I thought this place was abandoned. The--” she glanced around, then looked back at him, closing her notebook. Whoever he was, he definitely didn’t need to be involved with her mess. “I apologize. I came here a few years back for information and thought I’d see myself in. I’m looking for some more books on certain...topics. I’m Rebecca Rothbard,” she said, finally standing and holding out her hand. The boy couldn’t be any older than 21. “And who are you?”

Well the woman didn’t seem like she intended to hurt or kill Orion, which made him a bit more comfortable, though he still had no idea why she was here. Clearly she was looking for some kind of information. Mostly likely supernatural considering she mentioned that she had been here before. Anyone who knew anything about the Scribes knew they were more than just historical record keepers. “Well it was abandoned. I mean it is abandoned. Besides me right now. Well, and you. What are you looking for?” He definitely remembered her from the college campus. “I’m Orion. Or Rio. Whichever. You work at the college, right? I feel like I’ve seen you on the campus. I uh- I’m a college student.”

“Oh!” Rebecca said, straightening out. She gave her best ‘new student looks too anxious, time to calm them down’ smile and nodded. “I do! I just started about a month ago. I’m the new Anthropology professor. It’s lovely to meet you, Orion. Named after the hunter or the stars?” She asked, looking at him, before glancing back at her stack of books. “It’s related to a more personal matter. I was shown the place by an old ex-Scribe a few years ago. I figured all this knowledge was going to waste just being so...hidden out here. I didn’t think anyone would mind.” Besides, the Scribes owed her. She closed the book to show Orion the title. “I’m an exorcist. Just doing my thorough research before getting in too deep. What is that you’re doing out here? And in all this nighttime mess? It’s dangerous to be out alone.”

So she was a Professor. And of Anthropology too, a subject near and dear to Orion’s own passion. Anthropology may have had more focus on people and how they lived, but it had its roots in history. Which meant at some point, Orion may end up in one of the Professor’s classes. It also meant that all the Professors at that college apparently knew about the supernatural. Orion supposed that he couldn’t be surprised. “Nice to meet you too, Professor…?” He realized that he hadn’t gotten her name. “I uh- both actually. But my parents definitely had the hunter in mind when they named me. My sister’s name is Athena. So a lot of Greek influence.” An ex-scribe showed her this place a few years ago? That meant that there had been at least one person that still knew of the building’s existence in town. Assuming that scribe was still alive, Orion wondered why they had never shown up again. Instead leaving the legacy to a whiny twenty year old. “Yeah, uh. Well it is abandoned, but not completely going to waste. I kind of.. watch over the place. Unofficially.” He shined his light at the book title that the Professor was showing off. “An exorcist?” Orion asked, immediately excited. He had never met a real exorcist before. “That is way cool. Uh.. I wish I was anything that exciting. I’m just a college kid. Who comes here to read sometimes.” Not the whole truth, but he wasn’t lying either which seemed to be Orion’s modus operandi these days.

“Oh,” Rebecca said, giving a little wave, “forgive my manners. Rothbard. Rebecca Rothbard.” She held out her hand for him to shake, scooting some books out of the way so that he could take a seat at the table with her if he wanted to. She settled back into her own chair and shuffled some more stuff around, tidying up her mess of papers and notes. “Well, they’re both good names. Strong names. Greek history always fascinated me, much more than other Western European history.” She looked over to him, motioning for him to sit. He seemed nervous almost, or perhaps she had just startled him. This place was supposed to be abandoned. “It’s quite noble of you to decide to look over this place, even unofficially. The old Scribes sure did seem to leave this place in a hurry, huh? It makes you wonder what really happened to them all…” not that she entirely cared, but this kid already seemed leagues better than any Scribe she’d met. Most of them would have either immediately shooed her out or accused her of trespassing on knowledge. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the thought. “Oh, please, people don’t find shelving books exciting anymore? What has the world come to?” she half teased, giving a little grin. “So...how did you find this place? Because I doubt anyone who’s ‘just a college kid’ stumbled here on accident, hmm?”

“Really nice to meet you Professor Rothbard!” Orion shook the professor’s hand eagerly. “I really like anthropology. So uh, I will probably end up in one of your classes eventually. At least I hope so.” He grabbed a seat at one of the tables as the professor motioned and glanced at the stack of books and papers she had amassed. Did Orion need to say something? If she tried leaving with the books did he need to check them out, like some librarian? Professor Beck had taken a book when she came, but with the agreement that she would bring it back when she was done. Was that what Orion should be doing here? He had never considered the idea of people coming here to try to find books. “Same! I mean I love learning about any piece of history I can, but Greek mythology just has so much depth about it. And there’s so much we know about it to spread around, unlike some other civilizations that didn’t leave as much behind.” The Professor knew about the scribes and claimed to be an exorcist, and within the confines an abandoned building focused on the supernatural she didn’t seem to have much reason to lie. “There are uh- theories on what happened. I don’t know what exactly happened to this chapter though.” If they had, would journals have been left here to detail it? Or would the Scribe have taken it with them? “Guess not so much… It’s uh- just me.” Orion laughed nervously, moving back and forth on the chair that he was sitting in. He couldn’t seem to sit still. “My uncle was a Scribe,” Orion began explaining, happy to have something to focus in on, “He showed me this place when I was a kid. Before he left town. A few months ago I decided to come back and check the place out, see if any other Scribes had been here. Then I kept coming back I guess.” He trailed off, unsure where he was planning on taking that story. He didn’t like talking about his uncle much anyways. “What brings you here? Is there a specific.. uh demon that you’re searching for? Or something else?”

“I’ll look forward to having you in my class, then,” Rebecca said with a grin. She watched the boy sit, toddering back and forth in his seat anxiously. She could practically feel like waves of anxiety coming off of him. She hoped it wasn’t because of her. He almost reminded her of Blanche, just without the sass and the sarcasm. “It’s true. We’re lucky we have as much as we do on them. Though, if I’m being honest, my favorite ancient civilization is Sumerian. I’m a little biased, though.” Another soft grin, hoping to ease his worries. “Your uncle was a Scribe? Is he still around?” She leaned back in the chair, watching him closely. Maybe the questions about his uncle had been too much, but his voice trailed and his eyes sunk down to the table, a classic sign of discomfort. “Either way, I’m glad someone saw fit to come and take care of this place. All these books, all this knowledge, it shouldn’t go to waste. You’re doing a noble thing, Orion.” She let out a small breath, eyes suddenly more weary, as she looked down at her pile of notes. She was tired of lying, of keeping people at the edges of her boundaries, her life, but something like this was too dangerous for a simple kid. “I’m just looking up all the references I can for magical binding items to help with a particularly tough ghost. Sometimes exorcisms aren’t strong enough and binding rituals are needed to help...assuage the problem.”

“Ooh that’s a great choice! Sumerian culture has some of the oldest surviving works pieces of written history. Obviously, the Epic of Gilgamesh came from it, which is one of the coolest pieces of literature ever. I mean it was found on the original clay tablets in cuneiform. How freaking cool is that?” Orion laughed incredulously, wondering what it would be like to find some piece of history like that. How the people that discovered it must have felt. Though he supposed he sat on his own little chunk of history now within this very building. He coughed, trying to regain his composure and straightened back up in his chair. “Sorry- I get a little excited. Uh- what makes you biased about that… If I can ask?” Understandably, she was curious about Orion’s uncle, the former scribe. He didn’t blame her, but he didn’t care much for talking about it. “He’s alive. But he doesn’t live in White Crest. He moved away like six or seven years ago.” Short and sweet. Luckily she seemed willing to move on just as quickly, which Orion welcomed. Even if it was to compliment him, something he definitely didn’t know how to take. “Oh uh- well thank you. It’s- Well I’m not really doing much. Besides reading.” He listened carefully as she explained what she had been looking for. He didn’t know much about exorcisms- his family didn’t really deal in the incorporeal business. They were strictly Fae and fangs. Which made learning about Professor Rothbard’s job even more intriguing. “Interesting. That sounds like it can get… dangerous. Do you usually do exorcisms alone or do others sit in with you? Do exorcisms have to be done by like a religious figure like in myths. Are you a religious figure?” He crossed his arms and asked the questions curiously, unsure if the professor would be willing to share the details.

“It’s very cool,” Rebecca said back, liking the way he smiled when he talked about history. She always wanted to encourage people to pursue things that made them happy like that. She gave a shrug. “I’m partial to any ancient civilization that helped with the creation of Israel, being Jewish myself. Though we come from ancient Egypt more so, you’ll excuse me for not enjoying the civilization that enslaved my ancestors.” She gave a short, dour chuckle before moving on. “I see. That checks out with when many of them began...scrambling away.” It was also around the time she’d first been asked to help exorcise the possessed boy. A memory she wished didn’t have to be so solid in her mind. When we first met. Rebecca stiffened but didn’t react. Her eyes went from Orion, to the table, back up again. She steeled herself. “Consuming knowledge is noble in itself, looking after it? Is definitely true. Don’t cut yourself short, Orion. We don’t have history because wars were fought, we have history because stories were told, right?” She could sense his uneasiness with the compliment, but she wasn’t about to not let him take it. “It can, but if you’re prepared and smart, it takes a lot of the risk away. Hence,” she reached out to pat the books next to her. “I myself am a religious person, but one doesn’t necessarily have to be religious, no. Power in exorcism comes from intent and from the strength of one's conviction. It’s about speaking words of power. The more meaning those words have to a person, the stronger they will be.”

Of course, Professor Rothgard was right. It was hard to be interested in a civilization directly responsible for the oppression of your own people. “Right. Yeah, of course. Sorry. That makes sense.” The professor had chuckled, implying that it was meant as a joke but Orion understood if she was being honest. Orion had a heritage that he wasn’t exactly proud of. He certainly wouldn’t enjoy hearing others telling the story of noble hunters, killing monsters. “Yeah. Definitely. I uh- thank you. I just like giving others the ability to learn if they want. It’s the quickest cure for ignorance.” That was more directed to his family, his kind than anything else. But he believed it to be true as well. “We have history because stories were told” Orion repeated, mostly to himself. “I really like that.” He brightened up just thinking about it. It was one of the more positive takes on learning about history. Strength of one’s conviction? Well, clearly Orion was never going to become an exorcist. He could barely order take out without his voice shaking. “Sounds really.. heroic. And cool. Uh- I’m way more comfortable behind a book. Not really an in the action kinda guy. But- anything I can help you search for?” It would be hard, hunting down specific things in this darkness, but Professor Rothgard seemed to have found some of the things she had been looking for.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Rebecca waved the apology off, “I was mostly being facetious.” A gentler smile, as she watched him a little more closely. Uncomfortable in his skin, but not when he talked about history. He had a true passion for the subject, it seemed. “Well, that’s another thing we have in common, then. Hence why I became a professor. Helping blossom someone’s want to learn and pursue their passion is one of the greatest feelings in the world.” Her smile grew as he repeated her words. “Well, feel free to use it anytime, it can be our phrase now.” She leaned in a little closer, as if she were going to whisper something to him, “don’t tell anyone I read it in a fortune cookie, though. It’ll make you sound smarter.” And winked before leaning away again. “Heroic isn’t...quite the word, I suppose. Others might disagree with you, as well. But it’s what I like doing and what I’m good at, and if my skills can help the world, then all the better.” She ran her hands over the books she had piled up next to her. She was hesitant to involve him, but turning him away might do more harm later. She held one of the books out to him. “I’m looking for any information on sealing magic and Dybbuks. A second set of eyes might catch something I’ve missed, if you’re up for it?”

It was nice, hearing that Orion and the Professor shared something in common. Of course, he had known that already, without anything being said. But coming from her, it felt especially nice. He enjoyed meeting others with similar interests as his own.  Especially considering how his family was always eager to remind Orion just how useless the degree was. He had decided long ago to not put much thought into what they said or did to him, but he still had to live with them. “I imagine that it is- it uh, must be nice to be able to inspire someone like that. I know it’s nice to have someone to look up to like that.” He giggled at the woman when she admitted that she got the phrase from a fortune cookie and intentionally brought his voice down to a whisper, “Your secret is safe with me.” So some people didn’t agree with exorcisms? He supposed on some level that it was similar to Orion not agreeing with his family’s legacy. Though ghosts and demons were obviously different from real, tangible people. “Really? People don’t agree with exorcisms? Like people that don’t think that it’s real or people that don’t think that ghosts should be like... exorcised?” He was genuinely curious, a profession that he hadn’t had much research into. It was fascinating. Then the Professor was holding a book out to him and asking him about looking over her research. “Dybbuk? I’m familiar with the name” He wracked his brain for the information, “It comes from Jewish mythology. Some kind of spirit that can possess things. Its Hebrew for ‘cling to”. That didn’t help much with deal with a real life one. He couldn’t know how a real life one compared to what must have been a centuries old myth. “I’d love to help out however I can.” He grabbed onto the book and flipped it onto it’s first page, ready to skim.

Rebecca was glad that her words seemed to bring him some sense of ease or peace. If it was validation he was looking for, she was all too eager to give it. People with passion like him deserved to be validated. “It is,” she answered truthfully, “and I’m sure if you wanted to, one day you could do that as well. It just takes understanding and compassion, after all. Anyone who wants to could easily do it.” She nodded back at him. “Good. You seem trustworthy.” His questions were to be expected. Most people didn’t really know anything about the truths of exorcisms and what it meant to be an exorcist. But she was all the more happy to answer questions because of that, especially when it was from an inquisitive mind and not a skeptical one. She thought, for a moment, back to Javier, and if his inquisitive mind could be swayed as well. “Not everyone agrees with it, no. It’s dangerous and some people-- and some spirits-- become attached to being...around. And while not all ghosts are problems, most of them will become one, eventually. It is an inevitability, of the ether calling back what it gave so willingly. Souls need to be reborn, recycled, and renewed. Sticking around past that due date has consequences.” These, of course, were just her beliefs. But she held them thoroughly and hadn’t changed her mind on that since she’d first heard Rabbi Emmaneul speak them. “Correct. I’m a little surprised, they’re not a well known spirit. Very few of them, but they’re powerful--” and extremely dangerous, “--and not to be trifled with. But, if you’re up for some research, I’d love the help. I’ll can buy you dinner when we’re done, or maybe some flood lights for this place,” she smiled.

Orion had already decided that he liked Professor Rothgard. Between the shared passion for knowledge and their aligning hobbies, it seemed obvious that the two would get along. Though personality was a big factor too. Athena loved learning too, but Rio wouldn’t soon consider the twins to be close like they once were. But Rebecca seemed to be doing her best to help others, just like Orion wanted to. “I do! Someday. In some way.” Maybe his legacy wasn’t to rebuild the Scribes, but he could still find a way to make a difference, no matter how small. “Interesting…” Rio thought on her words, taking it all in and considering all sides. He supposed those that died before they were ready would want to stick around. Though he wasn’t sure how much fun being a ghost would be. But that was an interesting bit of information- ghosts became a problem eventually? What did that mean? “What do you mean when you say that they mostly become problems eventually?” He knew that Blanche saw ghosts. He wondered to what extent. Were ghosts visible to those they were close to? Or could only certain people, people like Blanche, see them? “Can all exorcists see ghosts? Or like- Do you also have to have the ability? Or is there some kind of spell or something that you can take to see them?” There were so many questions that were unanswered, and Orion was not a fan of feeling like he was in the dark. Knowledge was the only thing that kept his anxiety at bay most days. “Well-uh I know more about them from history than I do the actual spirit” He shrugged. Her certainly didn’t know much about them outside of the name. “Of course. Count me in. But uh- you don’t have to buy me anything. I’m happy to help.”

“Curious one, aren’t you?” Rebecca said, the words rhetorical. She closed the book she’d opened and leaned against the table, chin in her palm, as if contemplating. “Well...the thing is, when a spirit comes back, their soul needs to be attached to something in order to stay on this plane. And over time, most spirits learn how to interact with the world, even if it’s just in small ways. Like, some ghosts can move things with their energy, the typical chair out from under you type ability. Some can control electronics, or fire, or even wind. But...that ability comes with a price. Being torn between two planes would be hard on anyone, let alone someone who’s died and can only mourn what they once had. That power turns into anger and that anger turns them into...poltergeists. Spirits that only want to cause pain. They, for lack of a better term, go insane. They can’t often control themselves anymore. It’s a tragedy, if I’m being honest. And no ghost is immune, no matter what they say. If they don’t move on, that’s their fate.” She sighed. The thoughts saddened her. Souls were supposed to move on, not ligner, not mourn. “Most exorcists are born mediums, yes, but not all exorcists are mediums. Just like not all mediums are exorcists. It certainly makes the job easier, to be able to see them, but it’s not necessary. There’s no spell, really, but there are things one can take to help see them. Prolonged use, as with most drugs, can cause problems, though.” She flipped open the book again, running her hand down the page until she found the spot she was looking for. “It’s a drug called Vizion. You’d be hard pressed to find it at CVS, though.” She opened a different. “Well, history and current lore kind of go hand in hand, don’t they? We only know about things and how to properly defend ourselves because of the history that was recorded about them, right? Fine, no dinner. But at least a thank you donut at some point. Kids like donuts, right?”

Orion shrugged, “Guilty” He chuckled at the fairly common remark. Curiosity. An eagerness to learn. Those were two of Orion’s defining traits. It may have been the only thing that Orion excelled in. The only thing that he could beat his sister in. Studying, learning. It hadn’t done him much good apparently. It was sad, listening to the professor explain the fate that all ghosts were destined for. It made Orion wonder just how many ghosts he must have passed on a daily basis. On top of that, how many were poltergeists? Or on the brink of becoming one? The thought was terrifying. White Crest more than any town must have an astronomical number of ghosts, just based on number of deaths alone. Not to mention the number of deaths from unexplained or mysterious circumstances. “Fascinating stuff. I mean it’s terrifying and terribly sad but… it’s crazy that there is a whole world like that just beneath our noses - maybe literally - and nobody knows it.” He tapped a finger against his cheek, pondering this information, “I mean obviously the whole supernatural community is like that… but like at the end of the day even if someone doesn’t believe in the supernatural they can still see someone turning into a werewolf or something. This is completely invisible unless you’re born with some gift or you take drugs. I’m guessing you happen to be a medium then?” One more question, then he would focus on his studies. Vizion. He would have to look further into that. Not because he wanted to take it himself, but because he was simply curious what it was for besides ghost watching. Orion shook the thought from his head, opting to focus on the task at hand and dive into the book. “I’m not a kid” Orion muttered half heartedly as he flipped a page, “I’m twenty.” He didn’t put much stock into it anymore. He was too used to people calling him a child. After a long moment and another page turned, Orion finally admitted “But I do like donuts.”

“Terrifying is one word for it, I suppose,” Rebecca said, sighing a little. “But it’s also quite amazing, don’t you think? The world is just full of terrifyingly amazing things. Truly wondrous things. Fear is not meant to stop us, but drive us.” She paused at his explanation, his question. That was just it, wasn’t it? People could see someone turn into a werewolf or other, but denial was a strong antidote to the truth. “True. Some ghosts can become visible, however, and there are exorcisms that make them visible, as well.” She rubbed the side of her jaw a moment in thought, before answering, “I’m not, no. A medium. I can feel and hear ghosts, but not see them.” Usually. Lately, that had been changing. At the edges of sleep, out of the corner of her eye-- sometimes, a ghost. She’d convinced herself she was seeing things, but she couldn't be sure anymore. “I trained myself to be able to do it. It took several long years of dedication, but it seems to have paid off, no?” She smiled again. He seemed upset by her words. She often forgot people associated child and kid with immaturity and disrespect. But that wasn’t what it meant to her. Childlike youth and inquisitive minds were something to behold, to respect. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Being young is a gift. Besides,” she said, giving a little bitter chuckle, “by the time you’re my age, you’ll think twenty-year olds are children, too.”

“I do think you’re right,” Orion agreed, mostly. He basically thought that the professor was right, but it was hard for him to latch onto the words himself. Probably because he was scared of literally everything. “I just- well I’m afraid of a lot of things so it’s easier said than done I guess? I prefer to face my fear from the safety of a textbook.” He laughed, trying to dispell the mood. He didn’t want to disappoint her by disagreeing with her philosophy. He didn’t disagree with her philosophy. He just found it hard to follow himself. Orion couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to follow a career path that she inherently had a disadvantage in. The dedication and force of will it must have taken her to train herself to be at the point that she was… that was impressive. “Wow. That’s cool.” He finally managed to mutter, staring at the professor with a bit of awe apparent in his voice and eyes. Could he ever be someone like her? Probably not. That was reserved for people like Athena. She could be so impressive if she wasn’t so evil and conniving. “Right, right of course. Sorry. I just- people tend to tell me that to downplay me or make fun of my size or… I don’t know. It’s just a reflex. My bad.” He smiled again, then buried his face into the books, determined to find something. Anything that might help.

“Well, knowledge is the first weapon to fighting fear, isn’t it?” Rebecca proposed with a soft smile. She understood fear well. She’d seen it and felt it enough. Knew the emotion intricately. But she couldn’t let it stop her. Not anymore. “It’s alright to be afraid. Fear is healthy. But, like with all things, in modicum.” She gave a short sigh, flipping listlessly through the book she’d poured through a thousand times. And as with each time before, there was little to nothing about anything that could help her problem. “Thank you. Talent is overrated, in my books,” she said off-handedly, “it’s hard work that creates the real geniuses.” She looked up from her book, over at him. He did have a bit of a smaller frame for a twenty-year old boy, but it had never mattered to Rebecca. She wasn’t exactly big or strong or athletic. “Well, next time, you can tell them that youth and being a child comes with its own kind of wisdom,” she started out, a little smirk growing on her face, “like being able to see through adults’ bullshit.”

Despite his own concerns, Orion was pleasantly surprised that the professor seemed to choose validating him over chastising or judging. It was a pleasant change to what he was used to. Her suggestions came across as exactly that, suggestions. Mottos to live by, not instructions or demands that must be followed like so many other adults wanted from him. Okay, he knew exactly who he was talking about specifically. Family. He laughed at Rebecca’s comment, “I’ll make sure to add that to my list of comebacks for next time, thanks.” It could be queued below silence, and above awkwardly laughing and leaving.

He dug further into the book in exorcisms. Flipping through pages as he tried to find anything that stuck out to him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he finally spotted the name. “Woah.” He said aloud, perking up from his slumped position on the chair and staring at the name again. Jacob Goldman. In this book, the author mentions him as the closest thing the Scribe’s had to an expert on exorcisms in White Crest. But Rio knew that name. He jumped up from the chair and darted off down an aisle, cutting corners until he finally got to the section on White Crest. He remembered seeing that name before, somewhere in this section. He ran his hands along spines as he searched through the books until he finally spotted the one that he was looking for and ran it back over to the table. “So, Jacob Goldman was a Scribe here. He kept a journal of everything that he documented and did while he was alive. He eventually died.” Orion swallowed hard. It probably wasn’t necessary to mention that by all accounts that he could find, the man died while searching for a demon to exorcise. Orion flipped towards the back of the book, scanning through books until he finally found something. “Right here!” He set the journal onto the table so both could say, “He was on the search for some spirit. According to what he knew about it, he was trying to search for it’s name when it was a human. To use as some kind of binding spell. It didn’t really mean anything to me when I first read it, but I don’t know much about exorcisms”

It was a few hours before either of them spoke again. Rebecca had been, admittedly, drawn into the text she’d been reading and forgotten that there was another person in the room with her until he’d let out a soft exclamation. She was oft to do that, something Theo had always bugged her about. You can get lost, she’d always say, as long as you come back to me. And she always had. Always. Orion had toddered off somewhere, but Rebecca’s curiosity got the best of her, as she set her book aside and listened to him shuffle his way through the big, empty library. He came back soon with a new book in his hands, an excited look on his face. A scribe. Of course a scribe had the answer, all locked up and tucked away in a vast labyrinth where only a dedicated and privileged mind could find it. Not that she blamed Orion for this, but anything scribe left a sour taste in her mouth. She licked her lips, glanced at what he was pointing at, listening to what he was saying. She’d heard Rabbi Emmanuel speak about something like this before. Demons whose names held all their power, buried where no one could find while they grew stronger, consuming souls. “Of course…” Rebecca muttered under her breath, scribbling all this information down into her journal, “how could I have not realized? Oh, Orion! You’re a genius!” she exclaimed, hopping up to grab his shoulders and give him a good pat. “Thank you! This is just what I needed.” Finally, finally, she had something to cling onto. A thread of hope.

Maybe Orion was eager - no - desperate to impress the professor. Was he a teacher’s pet? Maybe, though he didn’t feel that way towards all teachers. It was the ones that he held a shared interest with. Professor Drake, Professor Beck and now Professor Rothbard. Those that valued knowledge as much as he did. So when he found the book and brought it over for her to examine he held his breath in anticipation that this was what she was looking for. That this could help. Because more than anything else in the world, wasn’t that what he was the most desperate to do? “No- no not a genius at all. I just have a lot of free time on my hands.” It had been more luck than anything else that he recognized the name and knew where to look. “But I hope that this helps” He closed the book again and held it out towards her, “Do you want to take it? He could have something else that helps in here.” If she would be leaving soon then he should too. It was best to stick around people for now. “Can I- help with anything? To get rid of that evil spirit thing?”

Rebecca gave him one of those stern, quit being modest looks. “Don’t downplay your achievements. You could be using your free time for other stuff, but you chose to do this. And remembering an entire passage from reading it once is pretty amazing, if you ask me,” she said, beaming down at him. Not just because she was proud of him, but because she couldn’t help the excitement inside of her. She wanted to say yes, to take the book, but if he found it, all this progress would be ruined. For now, her coded notes would work. “No, no, that’s alright. I have all I need right here, now,” she said, patting her journal. “And you’ve done plenty to help, trust me. You can leave the rest to me, I’ll take care of it. But thank you, Orion. You really are a smart kid. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” And she would make sure the dybbuk never set foot in this place, because if he did, she wasn’t going to be the only one in danger anymore.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

The Crossing || Rebecca and Kaden

TIMING: Present LOACTION: Kaden’s Apartment PARTIES: @exorciseyourspirit and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: This mom empty

Kaden was sitting in his apartment, Abel in the crate he almost never used next to him, circle of salt around them both. He had an iron knife in one hand, a salt shaker in the other. Sure, the apartment was warded off already, but he’d thought that was the case before. He wasn't taking chances. Especially knowing that they were going to try and send her away tonight. There was no way she didn’t know. And no way this would go smoothly. So Kaden sat there in his stupid salt circle next to his whining confused dog and watched the door. Rebecca should be here any minute. He knew he should apologize, hell Theo told him as much, but he’d consider it after they got rid of the poltergeist. Maybe after her processed that, too. For now he was choosing to stay focused on the task. Emotions could come later. A knock on the door. He leapt up, moved his knife and salt shaker to the same hand and got the door, opening it wide for her to enter. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

Preparations were checked and double checked and triple checked. And then Theo had even insisted on checking, until Rebecca finally stood firmly outside the door, staring hard into the wood. It’’d been almost two years since she’d done an exorcism, let alone a summoning and banishment in one. Something curdled inside of her, a feeling-- but she pushed it aside, raised her hand, and knocked. The door swung open far too quickly and he was looking at her with far too much worry. “Yes,” she answered, stepping in beside him, “let’s.” She noted the salt circle on the floor, around the dog’s cage. “Is he secure?” she asked, glancing back. Having an animal in the room would make things difficult, but not ultimately harder. “We need as little room for error as possible. I’ll need a large space to set up the summoning circle, as well. And something of hers, if you’ve got it, to help.”

Kaden nodded. “He is. But I can move the crate to the bedroom if you think he’s not--” Safe. He didn’t want to know what his mother would potentially do to Abel. She always thought pets were pointless, would only tolerate the best hunting dogs. And in this state-- “Uh, yeah, I’ll move him while you get set up. Move whatever you have to,” he said pointing to the living room. He thought about telling her to be nice to any skulls around but bit his tongue. Not the kind of impression he wanted to make right now. He let the dog out of the crate and carried it to the bedroom. Gave Abel a deer antler and put more salt around the crate. Not taking any fucking chances with his dog. When he came back to the living room, he held out a necklace to her, silver bullet dangling at the end. “This was hers. Always wore it. Still wearing it in her spectral form, even.” If anything was going to work, it would be that. “Uh, how bad you think this could get?”

Rebecca didn’t have to answer, listening to him figure it out himself. When he was out of the room, she pushed the coffee table out of the way and began to lay down the papers she’d carefully sketched out, sticking them onto the floor. She figured he probably didn’t want her to draw all over his carpet, and by the time they activated, the magic would hold them together. She didn’t bother to explain there could be possible burn marks, depending on how easily his mother came. When he returned with the necklace, she took it gingerly. Surely, it meant something to him if he’d kept it. “Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around her wrist next to her red Kabbalah bracelet. Paused. “There’s a reason exorcists retire early,” was all she said, knowing he would understand. He was, after all, a hunter. “Stand in your salt circle. She’ll likely go for you once she realizes she can’t touch me.” Poised herself at the head of the circle. “Ready when you are.”

Kaden’s eyes stayed fixed on the necklace as she placed it around her wrist. So much of him felt like he shouldn’t care, shouldn’t care so much about his mother or her possessions at this point. Still did. “Yeah, I figured as much,” he said. He knew all too well about the toll this sort of work put on people. And he figured it was just as hard for an exorcist to walk away from fighting the fight as it was for a hunter. Stupid as it was for them to keep throwing themselves in the line of danger. With a sigh, he nodded and stepped back into his salt circle a bit away from the papers laid on the ground. His iron knife gripped in his hand, he took a deep breath and braced himself for this. This whole time, through all the torment, he hadn’t had to see her or even directly hear her for the most part. The last time he’d seen his mother was when he threw that coin over the side of Hanging Rock. He had a feeling this would be much different. “Do it,” he said with a small nod.

Rebecca drew in a deep breath. She could do this. She focused, concentrated on the bracelet on her arm, the dagger at her hip. She used the pull of the silver bullet necklace to search through the ether for his mother’s spirit. And when she was ready, she opened her eyes, chanting quietly in Hebrew. Her voice was deep, strong. The papers on the floor began to glow where she had marked them with paint. Harsh and yellow, pouring out light. The room shook with the force as Rebecca reached through the ether, searching for the soul connected to the necklace. Finally, she found out. Gripped, and pulled. The resistance was expected-- the strength, not so much. Rebecca grit her teeth, pulling her to them. Lauren Langley’s form flickered in the circle. She didn’t waver, even as an anger filled the room. And, finally, the woman was there, glowing with a light that matched the ruins beneath her.

Kaden could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he waited. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, but they kept getting shorter and shorter. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t trust Rebecca, she sure looked like she knew what she was doing and he could read the experience coming off her, he just wasn't sure he was ever going to be ready for this confrontation. His brow furrowed a moment as it looked like Rebecca struggled. Shit. Was it going wrong already? Leave it to his mother to make this shit difficult. He thought he might sigh in relief when he saw his mother's form. Instead his breath caught in his throat. She looked angrier than the last time he saw her. Much. Putain.

Lauren had done her best not to get dragged into some surely half rate exorcist’s summoning circle if she could avoid it. Apparently she could not. Rage boiled deep through her as she appeared in Kaden’s apartment, still in disarray from the other night. If she still cared, she might be proud to see him wielding an iron knife while standing in his little salt circle. Still he looked petrified, almost shrunken. Certainly no son of hers. “I see you’re trying to be rid of me, mon petitou,” she said, voice laced with venom, ignoring the exorcist across from her. “I’m sure she’s only as good as your standards seem to be lately.”

Rebecca didn’t often engage with spirits once they were in her circle, but something told her Kaden, and perhaps Theo, might appreciate the words this time. The circle was holding her tight in place, but the real trouble would come when she started the exorcism. Sending away a poltergeist, not just banishing them, was painful and hard, and Lauren was sure to resist, more so than even from the summoning. “He must have pretty high standards, then,” she quipped, before slowly pulling out the emblazoned dagger on her side. Iron, engraved, a hilt to match her bracelet. “I’d say sorry, but I’m really not. You’ve caused your last wound, Langley,” she said stiffly, before drawing in a breath, and letting it go as she spoke the words, low and heavy and demanding. Bracing herself for the resistance she was sure to meet.

Lauren wasn’t going down so easily. Whoever this exorcist was, she didn’t care. She was a Langley and a DuBois, she was descended from centuries of hunters. She would protect her line, whatever the cost. Even if that meant pruning the family tree. As soon as this exorcist started chanting, Lauren called on all the anger festering inside her. The room began to tremble, slowly at first, then building. The furniture scraped against the floors before raising up, shaky and rattling into one another. Lights flashed in and out, flickering and twitching. “This just proves it, Kaden. You’re rotten to the core. Filth. Just like that fae of yours. You will never be a Langley ever again. You hear me? You can cast me out but you’ll never forget my words, never!” she bellowed.

Kaden figured he should just stand there. Not interrupt or engage unless absolutely necessary. But as the room shook, he just wanted to turn and run. His mother was somehow even worse than he’d imagined. Shadowy, bristling with rage, and still somehow a part of like how he remembered her. Just on her worst days. The days he failed in training. Or tried to ask questions. Or spent too much time with the few friends he was able to see. All those times he stood there and bit his tongue, took his punishment silently and raged about it later when he was alone. No. Not this time. “Rotten? You tried to fucking kill me! What kind of mother does that?! Did you ever even lo--” The word caught in his throat. “Was I just some fucking prop for your precious legacy?”

The power of the ghost before her was pushing through Rebecca’s strength, reaching through the circle. Wind billowed throughout the room. Furniture hovered, the walls rattled. The two were yelling at each other and Rebecca had to cling to her own voice, raising it louder to try and drown out the anger. “Kaden!” she said when she had the chance to pause, “Do not engage her! Now get over here! I need your help-- your power!” She snapped, pointing to the spot she’d marked next to her. She’d hope she wouldn’t have needed to tap into him, but Lauren was fighting harder than she’d hoped she would. Rebecca’s arms felt weak, and she felt something reaching up inside of her. Dammit, she didn’t have the energy to fight both of them off. She needed Kaden now. “Hurry!”

When Rebecca shouted his name, Kaden realized how fucking stupid he was, yelling at a poltergeist. But he’d heard so much second hand by now, it just-- he needed to say it. He needed to yell back for two seconds. Still he sniffed and pushed his emotions back down. His mother was still yelling, the same shit she’d been saying to everyone else who could hear her, he was sure. No answers, no comfort, nothing to make him feel better about any of this. Why he’d hoped for that, he didn’t know. He took his place next to Rebecca, not entirely sure how this part worked. He’d never had the misfortune of witnessing a poltergeist exorcism til now.

Rebecca held out her other hand to Kaden, prompting him to take it. When he did, she immediately drew upon the well of power that sat in every hunter. She remembered the way Theo’s energy felt, and it lurched inside of her, the feeling of it, fighting off the memories. Something clawing for the power at the back of her mind. No, fuck, no. Eyes flickering for a moment. He came out just long enough to taste Kaden’s power, to taste her power, to interrupt her words. To falter the exorcism. And even after she shoved him back down, she could still feel him. She turned, letting go of Kaden’s hand. “In the circle!” she shouted, shoving against him, but her body moved stiffly. Give me his power, “The salt circle!” But it was too late. The binding circle was broken, and Lauren Langley was out.

Lauren had been pushing her powers at the edge of the circle from the moment she was dragged in there. When she felt the split second break, she smirked and slid out  of the exorcist’s trap. “Looks like I was right, again, Kaden.” He started to head to the salt circle, at least he was trying to obey someone here. It wouldn’t work, though. “This is far from over,” she told him as she slipped into his skin. He fought it more than the Harlow brat did, it wasn’t as easy as possessing a medium, but it hardly mattered. She had control of the body. First thing’s first was to get rid of the exorcist trying to cut her time short before she was properly repaid for all she’d done for son. “Remind me again about your standards,” she said as she reached over to grab Rebecca’s wrist where her silver necklace hung. She could feel the hunter strength in this body, a far cry from Blanche’s. She wasn't shy about using it. She went to take the necklace “I believe this is mine.” She had every intention of twisting her arm around, breaking her wrist, something fun, when she was interrupted.

Kaden didn’t know what happened, but Rebecca seemed to stagger and dropped his hand. When he turned, he blacked out. No. He was there. But not in control. What was-- No. His mother. Taking his body. No-- No. He caused this with inaction. Not again. He saw his hand reach for the necklace and he pushed it down and away; tried to throw himself to the ground. He felt his knees buckle and his body waver but she was still there. It was still there, fighting back tooth and nail.

Rebecca jerked away as fast as she could. “Give me his power!” she said in a foreign voice, the first time he’d used his own voice through her mouth. She clasped her hands over her mouth for a moment, struggling to keep him contained. He struggled against her, tearing at her insides as well. She cried out. “Let me help you,” he said inside of her. She could feel him grinning. “Let me consume her. It’ll be so easy. So fast.” he reached out, using her hand, the arm with his brand on it. It glowed. Her palm made contact with his body and it burned. It seared, steam wafting from where they’d made contact. Fuck, no. Fuck. “Get out of him!” Rebecca shouted. “Get out of him, or I will destroy you!”

Looks like her son had more bite to him than he’d been demonstrating recently. Lauren stomped her foot before pushing the body back to standing. Then she heard the unnatural voice that radiated from the exorcist and she took a half step back. Her rage gave way for terror for just a flash. “What are you?” she asked, eyes wide. She didn’t get an answer, just pain, pain searing through her as the exorcist tried to force her from his body. “No! You’ll destroy me anyway. I still need to--”

Even from the back of his own mind, Kaden felt the pain rip through him. It was enough, it could be enough if he just pushed. His body toppled, collapsed in a pile of limbs. But it was his again. For now. “It’s me!” he shouted. “She’s out, she’s--” He almost said gone. But that wasn’t right. She was still there just not inside of his body. For now. It was only a matter of time. He needed Rebecca to hurry up. Even if he made it to the salt circle, it was broken; line split by the scuff of a shoe.

Rebecca stumbled back when Kaden’s shouted. It was him again. She forced her hands away, took all the energy she had, and shoved the Dybbuk back. I’ll never let go. But she ignored him. She needed to finish this. Drawing in a deep breath, she brandished her dagger again, gripping the hilt. “This is gonna hurt,” she said to Kaden, knowing he would accept the pain. Because it was what they did. It was what Theo would do. She nodded once before opening her mouth and bellowing the rest of the exorcism, calling on the energy of the universe to draw the spirit back into it. To take her away. To dispose of her anger and her soul and to recycle her back into the ether. Speaking in her ancient people’s language, feeling the power swell through her, watching as the spirit was torn from Kaden’s body. A tinge of jealousy in her heart. If only it were that easy.

Kaden didn’t need to be told it would hurt. Nothing in his life came pain free. Why would this? He nodded and braced himself, but of his countless near death experiences, not one could prepare him for this. He could feel his mother’s spirit clawing into him, trying to hold on with every bit of rage and vice she had. He could also feel Rebecca’s words drawing it out. If he could be torn from the inside out he was sure it felt like this. The flashes of thoughts he could manage through the blistering pain were all hers, the last ones he’d hear. You’re not my son, deserter, traitor, and filthy disgrace all rang through his head while he screamed and crumbled to the ground. The anger felt like daggers as it was pulled out from him. Every drop of rage like another pin prick. He kept wailing and clawed his fist into the ground, fighting to stay grounded, to keep himself there while she went away. When it was over, he folded over his hands and tried to breathe. The memory of the pain was like an aftershock he couldn’t shake right away. Bile rose up in his throat and he gulped it back. Not now. Not yet, at least. Maybe when she left. “Is it… Is it over?” he asked, shaking a little as he leaned on his hands. “What happened? You--” he looked up at her, trying to figure out what went wrong, hoping a glance could explain it all.

The world always stilled just before it happened. Rebecca, momentarily frozen in her own little pocket, watched as the spirit of Lauren Langley, full formed and floating above her son, glowered down at them with angry eyes. Such ire. She wondered if it had always been there, or if her decades as a spirit had multiplied the anger she’d felt in her life. She wondered if Theo would ever look at her like this. And then reality snapped back, and her spirit disintegrated before her eyes, and the room was still once again. Furniture was upturned and askew, the floor was covered in ash and paper shreds, a scorch mark from where the vengeful spirit had been summoned and let her anger spill over. The salt circle broken, scattered. Kaden’s voice was small, unsteady, and she looked down at him, shaking with her own exhaustion. She held out a hand to him, the brand on her arm burning. “Spirits often think they’re stronger than us,” she said quietly, “they’re wrong, of course.” She helped him stand. “You did good.”

Kaden took a moment to make sure all the bile was back down before taking her hand to stand up. He really hated how apt Blanche’s stupid phrase was, but he did in fact feel like used jell-o all over again. “Thanks. Didn’t feel like--” He cut himself short and looked in her eye. “Thanks,” he told her sincerely. Even if he could finally feel the full weight of what he’d just done starting to creep in. The tightness in his chest, the lump in his throat. God, he was so sick of feeling this raw and juts hurt and empty. He could hear Abel in the other room barking his head off. Probably had been almost the whole time, but there was too much going on for him to notice. He breathed a small sigh of relief knowing he was alright. He was sure Abel was going to love having a salty, sobbed ruff again tonight. Kaden took a glance around the room, unsure what to do next. “I-- How do you normally, uh, clean up? All this?”

He looked worn. And shitty. And Rebecca knew that, even though it was over, it would never really be over. She knew how words from loved ones hung in the air and stung. She knew how losing someone, even if they weren’t cruel and unjust, burned in the back of your mind. She understood. It wasn’t something to be solved in a night or in one exorcism. Without the ever present looming of his mother, surely now he would be facing the consequences of his actions. And of hers. The trail of destruction she’d surely left because that was the way of the world. That was the fate of all spirits who linger for too long and took too much. She turned to face the room, a disaster in its own right. Sighing, she looked over her shoulder back at him. “Tediously,” was all she answered.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Word Twisters || Morgan & Rebecca

Shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books and not one of them has the right answer. guess they'll have to talk :/

Contains: brief mentions of abuse

@exorciseyourspirit

Morgan felt guilty meeting Rebecca at Riio’s special scribe hideaway without him, but it had been a communal space before, and it could be so now, if she was going to help Rebecca find a way to get Mike under control before he came back and ruined everyone’s life again. She’d brought her folding grocery cart with her so they wouldn’t be limited by what  they could fit in their arms, but the strange rustle of the wheels on the old floors was uncanny, like one of those dreams where you turn a corner and find yourself in a different memory, as a different person. Everything felt like an odd mish-mash and Morgan felt herself floating through her existence more than usual. Perhaps it was seeing Rebecca again, hitting the books again, almost like nothing happened. Shopping for solutions. She scanned the pines more longer than usual, wondering if there was a book on shocking some feeling back into a zombie body. What’s the fix for not being able to feel or process magic? Morgan looked sidelong at Rebecca, uncertain how to act after how angry she’d been in most of their conversations online. “So,” she said, “I guess even asking ‘how’s it going’ is a loaded question, huh?”

The hallways stretched out before Rebecca and for a moment, she felt trapped. In that weird, this place is too large and too secluded way. It felt like she was back in that hollow place, where everything was the same yet different. Where the kitchen clocked beeped and only Theo’s voice could reach her. She’d been able to astral project before, and had done it a few times, but never subconsciously. And that place...it was different. As if the world constructed there was pulled straight from her mind and placed into the plane. Morgan’s voice broke through her thoughts and echoed in a way that reminded Rebecca that this place was solid, and that this place was real. She put out a hand to the shelf, letting the wood ground her. “It is,” she said back after a moment, taking down another book, “but you can still ask it.” Held out the book for Morgan’s cart. She understood the wariness she held-- they’d argued angrily online and never truly coalesced their feelings about that before moving on. “Only if I get to ask it back, though. With none of those niceties as an answer.”

“R-right, sure,” Morgan said, giving the most casual shrug she could summon. She took Rebecca’s book and added it to the pile, followed her for a few more paces in the strange quiet between them. “That’s fair. I uh...I’m still dead. Still having to count putting on clean clothes and keeping up with laundry and showering as a win.” She flopped her arms at her side. Whatever was between them, however it shook out, Morgan felt at ease enough to wear her new usual of dark sweats and sweater, hair half scrunchied back to hide how fluffy it wasn’t. “Still kind of maybe fighting with my best friend, but they turned me, you know, to ‘save me,’ so. And I’ve got my girlfriend, still, somehow. I’m...adjusting. I’m getting out of bed. I’m trying to be a good...whatever.” Some of the words turned sour as she spoke them. She had been doing okay, sometimes better than, but every night was another fight not to backslide, every dead moment a silent plea to take a minute. Fall a little. And Morgan, despite her alleged stamina, felt tired with the whole thing sometimes. Today, for some reason, especially. She met eyes with Rebecca briefly, unsure how much she still understood, how she might feel, or judge her. “So…” she said quietly. “How’s it going with you?”

Rebecca quieted as she listened to Morgan. None of it was truly good news, but she supposed she should’ve expected an answer like that. She didn’t have much to say about it, either. She wished she did, but all her words were just words. They would provide no comfort. “Trying is all you can do right now,” she said finally, “and that’s good enough.” She paused another moment before turning down another aisle and picking through the books there. “Well,” she sighed, “I found out that my dead wife is a ghost, and she’s been living with Blanche. And she’s mad at me for like the millionth time since I found out, because I’m not good enough at asking for help and don’t want to put the only other exorcist in town aside from the grumpy old groundskeeper in danger of dying.” She tossed a book lamely into the cart. “I think I’ve been subconsciously astral projecting into a different plane while the Dybbuk is in control and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. And I’m too afraid to try and perform an exorcism again because I’m pretty sure he can tap into my power.” She turned, then, to face Morgan. “So...you know.”

“I ate a person’s brain,” Morgan burst out. She hadn’t expected Rebecca to lay that many cards out on the table so frankly, she suddenly felt guilty for holding back. “He was already dead. And I kind of liked it, and kind of didn’t but not because eating-humans-bad. Also, I’m...maybe coming out of a really, really danger-bad low. But, um, with that all out there--” She reached for the first book that had something useful sounding in the title (Secondary Theory of Astral Universe Epistemology) “Your dead wife is here? The love of your life dead wife? And you’re fighting? Or you and Blanche are fighting? Are--” You okay? They were kneejerk response words, what every helpless person said. And it wasn’t even what they meant. They wanted to know how bad the damage was. What was the proximity between where they were, ‘okay,’ and ‘natural disaster.’ “How are you even dealing with all that. Are you...is she different? Are you different? With everything that’s happened to you?”

“Did it taste good?” was the first thing Rebecca asked. She understood how zombies operated, just as she did vampires, although zombies had a much more sustainable way of life, if lived cautiously. Theodora was mostly a vampire hunter, though zombies caused quite a ruckus as well. “As long as you didn’t kill the person for the brain, I don’t quite see the harm. Did you assume part of the person’s personality? I heard that’s a thing that may happen.” She shuffled aimlessly for a moment, before deciding she’d need to sit for the rest of this conversation, and circled back towards the table. “She’s a ghost. So I can’t even see her. Sometimes I still think I’m just making it up, but then she messaged me on a fucking computer and I can’t help but remember she’s here. I’m not fighting with Blanche, no.” She sank into a chair and fetched a book. “I’m not dealing well, if that’s what you’re asking. Of course we’re different-- she died and I was alone and possessed for two years. She notices that I can’t call her lover anymore and it hurts, but also knowing that I’m going to have to lose her all over again hurts me. I never know what to say to her. I can’t give her reassurances like I used to, tell her it’s all going to be alright, if we just believe. Because it’s not, and it won’t be.” Sighing, she opened the book. “But it’s not a contest, Morgan. And I’m sorry you’re still suffering.”

“Wow. That’s...weirdly chill of you. You’re like the third person to normalize this for me. I thought you’d think it was a bigger deal. And I did, become a little like him, that’s the only part I didn’t like, but we don’t have to...go there, if you, well...” Had more than enough to worry about already. But rather than wrestle with that confusion, Morgan pulled up a chair and sat near Rebecca, gripping the edge of her seat for lack of a better idea. “Look, with the not being able to talk like you used to, sometimes it’s just like that when you’re adjusting to being something else. I know you’re still technically you, but knowing Mike’s around probably makes everything feel different. And your wife, she’s a ghost. I can’t even imagine how much worse that would be than being a zombie. These are things that words don’t reach, and there’s words you can’t get to, even though they might be true. Sometimes it takes a lot of time, more than a few weeks. I couldn’t tell Deirdre I loved her for a while, after I came back. And what we’re going through is so different, we were only apart for a little while. But being honest helps. Even if it hurts.” She sat back, holding herself as she settled in. “Yeah, sure,” she muttered. “Me too.” She wanted to help Rebecca, she wanted to be here, but something about Rebecca’s apologies still stung her bitterly.

“You’re a zombie now, Morgan,” Rebecca answered smoothly, a bit of her weariness in her voice. Perhaps years ago she would’ve been appalled, but the years had worn her down, and her losses had jaded her. “It’s just what you do. My spirituality doesn’t cling to the body, it savors the soul. As long as you’re not killing people for their brains, then I see no harm in it.” She tried her best to focus on the book, but the conversation had a hand up on her attention, so she simply closed it and looked across the table at Morgan. She was stiff and avoiding Rebecca’s gaze and her apology. Rebecca sighed. “Death is death. The hardest part is not being able to see her, I suppose. It feels wholly unfair that she can see me and know me, but I don’t get that in return. In all honesty, I wish she weren’t here, and she knows that, but it doesn’t help,” she muttered, quiet suddenly, as her heart grew heavy, “nothing helps.” An admittedly low point for her, caving in front of someone. The only person she’d ever truly been vulnerable with had been Theo, and her heart ached to be that way with her again.

“She doesn’t have a body, Rebecca, she doesn’t get to know you like she wants to,” Morgan sighed. “I’ve wound up on the floor over not being able to recognize or feel a touch. Not feeling anything at all is...I don’t even want to think about it. And looking at you while you can’t see her, probably also not fun.Not that it isn’t terrible for you, I mean--one half of you being screwed is bad, but you’re both hurting. You’re both in the pit.” She looked over at Rebecca, struck by just how tired, how done she looked. It was all too painfully familiar and she hated it. Why should she help in the first place? Why should she bother? Rebecca had bailed, and it was supposed to be okay because she cared. Not enough to help her, not enough to keep her alive, but sure, she cared. But stars, Rebecca’s hurt was so awful to see. Morgan’s insides twisted bitterly, but she didn’t think she could make it worse on purpose. “Sometimes things are just awful,” she said quietly. “And you have to keep pushing until you get used to the weight. And maybe pushing doesn’t look like much to other people, or it means Theo doesn’t get what she wants sometimes. If she loves you, it won’t really matter in the end. You grab onto whatever reason you can, however small or stupid, and you just...you go, even when you’re tired. And I know, Becca,” her voice turned soft and heavy. “I know how tired you must be. It’s the most exhausting thing there is.”

Morgan was right and Rebecca resented that a little bit. She was supposed to be the one giving sagely advice on how to deal with whatever life threw at you, but at some point, she supposed, everyone grew tired. She’d been strong for so long, the burden of that weight was heavier now than ever before. It had always been easier to carry with Theo next to her, but now, it almost felt worse. How easy would life be if she could just let go. But she’d promised he would not win, and she’d promised she’d live to fifty, and she promised she’d fight. And so, Morgan was right. “When’d you get so wise?” she said after a moment, sitting up a little straighter, a little less weary. “But I suppose you’re right. The only thing to do is just...keep moving forward, isn’t it? Because we can’t take the other option,” she said simply, as if it were a fact. She was well aware that they’d probably both thought of it, but would never admit it, even if the sentence itself was an admission. Her eyes, cool and blue, met Morgan’s. “I am sorry, you know,” she muttered quietly, as if the softness of her voice could finally make Morgan believe her. “For everything.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t take a beat now and then. Or that you’re not allowed to say it hurts. You’re always allowed to say it hurts,” Morgan said, digging her fists into her skirt, trying to reign herself in. She felt like she was opening a raw nerve. Even the silence, even the confidence of Rebecca picking herself back up again made it snap with pain. “The undead don’t sleep. Gives you a lot of time to think. Or go off the deep end.” She stiffened, shrinking in her seat as Rebecca leveled that soft look at compassion at her. That look that she had believed in, that had turned out to be not as true as she’d wanted. She pursed her lips thin in a vain effort to keep them from trembling. “Don’t,” she said. “You’re not, not really, so--what’s the point? Constance killed me while I was getting ice cream. Maybe it gave her enough of a good time that she crossed over happy. You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” she shrugged, stiff and looked away as her thin reserve began to cave.

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I’m sorry that you died?” she said, suddenly a chill in her voice. “You think I don’t blame myself, even a little? Even if I think he’s lying about what he did or didn’t do?” she leaned back in her chair, folded her arms over her chest. “I know we don’t truly know each other that well, but what ridiculous stories have you made up in your unsleeping nights to convince yourself that someone would want this for you, Morgan?” she snapped. She was tired, so tired, of all of this. “I am not the thing inside of me. I would have done whatever I could to have helped you. To have tried to save you. My fault was in thinking I could do that without help of my own, I know that now. That’s what I’m sorry for. And I’m sorry for your death. I grew up around death, I steeped myself in it when I left home. Do you think I don’t mourn every soul I pass on? Every spirit I see? Every life ended short, every undead, every grave? What do you think being connected to souls means, exactly, Morgan? Please, tell me, I’d love to hear your thoughts.”

“I didn’t say you were him!” Morgan snapped, suddenly too upset to mind she was crying. “But you--I asked you, I told you what it would take and I asked you, and, wouldn't you know, it was too much. Again! It always turned out to be the one thing no one wanted to do, no matter what stupid idea I was trying. Everyone feels bad and wants to help, until I actually need something. And then you disappeared, so I guess that was the story of my whole life! What else was I supposed to think? The last thing you said to me was no! Maybe you’re sad for me like you are for everyone else, just one more sad person, but I don’t want that, I don’t need that! I wanted you to try and help me anyway!” The way the words hurt on the way out, Morgan knew they were true. She scrubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. She was past saving face but she couldn’t help but try. “I wanted you to try something, anything, even if it was hard! It’s not like I wasn’t aware that everything about me gets hard if you stick around long enough. I knew. Curse and all. It always got too hard, and too much, no matter who I asked. It was too much for me too, but I didn’t have a choice to bail or not! I just wanted it to be different this time.” She took a gasping breath, struggling to clear the sobs in her throat without letting them out, her voice cording tight as she whispered “How am I supposed to know you would’ve done any different? It’s over; what am I supposed to learn from that?”

Rebecca listened. And waited. She understood, somewhere, why Morgan would feel the way she did. Perhaps the way she’d grown up, always looking over her shoulder, losing friend after friend, town after town, person after person. Perhaps it had been something drilled into her by a mother trying to protect her only to be the true cause of her pain. Or perhaps it was simply her subconscious, trying to save her from another painful realization. Whatever it was, Rebecca simply listened as Morgan belted it out. It was the least she could do. When she was done, Rebecca sat forward, hands neatly crossed in her lap, and said, “Are you quite finished?” in that tone Theodora often used for her during her rants. It always seemed to work. She waited a moment longer, her eyes never leaving Morgan’s face. “I am sorry,” she said evenly, “but I will not compromise my morals for you, Morgan. This is how I feel and what I would have told you even without this thing inside of me, tearing my soul apart slowly.” She drew in a breath, still in that chilling way mother’s sat when you came home past curfew. “I did not say no because it was hard, or because you were too much. And I didn’t even say no to you. I said no to an idea. You are a grown woman, Morgan, and whatever misgivings your past has left you with, it’s up to you to parse out what people say and what people mean. If you truly thought that I did not want to help you, you would not be here now. I would not be here now. You’re not supposed to know, you’re supposed to ask. And you’re supposed to believe.” She stood up, then, and made her way around the table, slowly, watching Morgan struggle with her sobs. She stood next to her, crouched down, looked her square in the eyes. “I would have given my life if it meant helping you, Morgan, but I will not give my soul and I will not give my morals. They are the only things I have left. Surely you can understand that much.”

Morgan deflated, chastised into a fit of choked hiccups as she struggled, hand clamped over her mouth, for composure. She scrunched up in her seat like a guilty child, eyes screwed shut until she heard Rebecca come closer. It was awful, and unfair--so unfair that her hopes should have rested on someone who had lost so much too, who couldn’t afford to give up the last thing she had left in the world. What kind of fucked up universe pitted them against each other like that? What bullshit balance put Mike inside Rebecca’s body, just to topple everything over for Morgan, for both of them. She nodded, leaning into Rebecca until her head came to rest on her shoulder. “It’s not fair,” she sniffled, shoulders shaking as she spoke. “I hate this, I hate how it’s all so unfair.” Sniffled again. “That sounds stupid, I know it does,” she tried to breathe through the knot in her chest, and sobbed anyway, laughing at the absurdity of a zombie trying to solve anything by breathing. “And I don’t mean you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I needed you, and you had your evil ghost, and everything was so awful and fucked...it’s just been hard. It’s not your fault I couldn’t catch a fucking break from my stupid curse and the stupid universe shakes out like this for me.” She pulled away, wiping her face again. “I’m sorry. That you hurt like I do, or anything close. That’s why I came. Just so you know.”

Rebecca let out a long breath when Morgan laid her head on her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her, patting her back gently. “I know,” was all she said. Because for all the words she was always able to find, there were no words in any language, that could make what was happening to either of them fair or okay. “I wouldn’t say stupid, no,” she mumbled, laying her head on top of Morgan’s as she searched the shelves, wondering if they could tell her how to undo the unfairness of the universe. “But it only wins if we back down in the face of it, this unfairness. Which is unfair in itself, but, I suppose...that’s just the lot we were dealt,” she went on, looking back down at the table when the books provided no answers. “Misery loves company after all, doesn’t it?” She sighed again. “Perhaps it’s just nice to know we’re not alone.”

Morgan shifted closer to Rebecca as she brought her head to rest on hers. “It’s still the fucking worst,” she mumbled. “I mean, I was cursed, but what did you ever do? What did any of us do, you know?” She let go of her arms and leaned in, muttering, “You can tell me if I’m too cold,” as she scanned the shelves around them. So many words, so much work, and not a single page that could crack why they had to suffer this way. With her curse gone, she was supposed to have an easier time, but even this new body, this new life scraped and stitched together ramshackle style from the bones of the old one felt just as hard. Different kind of hard, but still. When the quiet had stretched out long enough not to hurt anymore she said, “You’re not. Alone, I mean. I get it, how you can’t stop even when you sort of want to. How even having something you want can still hurt. And I’ll help make sure you’re okay. If there’s a way for that to happen. I seriously don’t recommend the zombie escape hatch. It’s not much of a party. So...whatever I’m still good for, let me know. I’ll do it.”

“When I was younger, I thought I might be cursed,” Rebecca said softly, giving a sigh. “I didn’t even know magic existed, but what kind of a world would leave a child with grandparents who hated her? Who put locks on doors and bars on the windows. But I figured out, pretty quickly, that it’s not the universe that curses us,” she adjusted slightly, sighing, “it’s people. And places. And those things? Those things we can beat. Eventually. No matter how unfair.” At least, she hoped. As she cast another glance at the shelves, she decided in that moment that they had to be true. Otherwise, what was there left to believe in? “I know, Morgan,” she responded quietly, “I know I’m not. And neither are you. And, you know, we’ll make it through. Somehow. But we will.” She looked at the stack of books on the table, and although they were nothing compared to the shelves around them, they still somehow felt insurmountable. Rebecca let out a long breath. “We’ll be okay.”

[kadavernagh]

Is that new wallpaper? No, it’s sauce || Regan & Rebecca

Regan wants to yell at Rebecca. Amnon wants to destroy everything. The sauce wants to drip drip.

A twisted ankle, bad enough for urgent care. Crying. Calling Kaden for help at night. Blanche’s comment about trusting a professor from her own damn school being a mistake. Regan didn’t need to understand the finer points of what happened -- something clearly terrified Blanche. And what Regan did know, was that wasn’t a simple feat. She had nerves of steel for someone her age, and it crushed Regan to see Blanche so distressed. Finding Rebecca Rothbard’s information wasn’t difficult, once she put some pieces together. And, fortunately, given her status as a professor, her office was publicly listed. Regan didn’t think twice. She rapped on the office door of a Professor Rothbard, raising her voice. “This is Dr. Kavanagh, from the Medical Examiner’s Office. Open up.”

Amnon had decided to drop by Rebecca’s office to collect a few books he knew she tried to keep hidden. The problem was, he didn’t know where she’d hid them this time-- he’d have to give her credit, she was getting better at it-- and he’d been shuffling around the office for almost an hour now when a knock came. Pausing, he put on his best ‘I’m definitely Rebecca’ look and went to the door. Too many people knew already, though they didn’t matter, it was still better to keep up appearances here. He wasn’t even halfway across the room when the voice blared through. Medical examiner? What was she doing here? Perhaps they were collaborating, he knew how much Rebecca adored her day job, and there was crossover, right? Who cared. With a big smile, he opened the door, “Afternoon, Doctor. How can I help you?”

Almost immediately when the door opened, a cold jolt shot through Regan’s spine. Rebecca was a bit older, and not unattractive; she had a face that could be kind or sharp in equal measures, depending on her eyes. And, right now, Regan couldn’t see any kindness in them. Her stomach hardened and her shoulders tensed as she pushed her way inside the office, not waiting for a spoken invitation. “You’re Rebecca Rothbard, correct?” Regan looked up at the woman, tried to keep her own voice from revealing any tremble or hesitation. Acting as an authority outside of a forensic pathology conference was never her strong suit, but she could summon steel in her spine when needed. Just like trading barbs with Queenie, she reminded herself. “What do you think I’m here to talk about?” She crossed her arms, hand automatically drifting toward the necklace. “Where were you last night?”

The woman at the door didn’t even wait before pushing her way in. Or say hi. How rude. Amnon frowned. How simple would it be to snap her neck right here. But, no. He couldn’t. Appearances and all that. He closed the door behind them. “Correct,” he answered simply. It was technically true. He watched the other woman with narrow eyes, wondering what her play here was. Last night? Oh, so that was it. Another one of the little medium’s attack dogs, it seemed. He nodded slowly. “Last night, last night….” as if he couldn’t remember what he’d been doing. “Well...I’m pretty sure I was grading papers. Might have had a glass or two of wine. Watched some tv. Mostly just relaxing, because I had a terrible fall at this haunted house earlier in the day. Cracked a few ribs. Left a nuisance behind. Finally. Do you think she got the point?”

Regan clenched the necklace tighter as Rebecca put on a show of trying to remember what she did last night. She didn’t need to be an expert at body language to realize that Rebecca wasn’t exactly retrieving any elusive memories. Papers. Wine. Nothing criminal there, probably. But it was coming. She knew. The edges of her teeth grinded together, before she caught the habit and bit down on her tongue instead. And there it was. Nuisance. The word slithered like a venomous serpent from Rebecca’s mouth and into Regan’s ears. “She trusted you.” Regan hissed, not feeling the need to temper her reaction. Blanche’s hurt was also her own. “She trusted you, and you hurt her and left her there.” Regan didn’t know what to make of the cracked ribs comment -- did Blanche also have cracked ribs? -- but it didn’t matter. She dared to take a few steps closer to Rebecca, getting into her space. Regan’s eyes flashed to hers -- Rebecca’s still sharp and without mercy -- and there was a snarl on her lips. “You’re her teacher! I don’t even care if she doesn’t have a class with you! You’re an authority figure, and Blanche looked up to you. How could you -- how could you do that!?”

Amnon let the bold doctor approach him. She was angry, and he liked that. Anger was such a defining emotion. He loved watching how it appeared differently in everyone, fascinated by those who let it consume them, or those who cowered in fear of it. Regan’s anger came with a flash of black in her eyes, gone fast enough to make someone believe it was never there at all. But Amnon knew better. He’d seen angry, black eyes before. It meant this doctor wasn’t all human. Narrowing his eyes, he simply sat back against the desk, shrugging. “Maybe someone should’ve taught her not to trust so easily,” was all he said. He wanted to see more of the good doctor’s anger, that’s all he cared about right now.

Rebecca’s answer only set Regan off further. It wasn’t often she met people so truly horrible that she had this many words to spray at them. She threw her hands up in the air and shouted. “People have! So many people have!” There was a loud crrrrk as a couple of lightbulbs punched out, glass shards raining to the floor. Regan stayed the course, gaze locked with Rebecca’s. How could someone be so dead inside? So uncaring, so cruel? “You were almost definitely one of the few people in her life who she felt she could trust! She -- you’re supposed to be -- you left her there. Did you know she had to go to urgent care because of what you did to her?” But Regan knew, now. Rebecca didn’t care. She never did care. There was never any trust to be found in this husk of a woman, but Blanche, desperate for parental figures and praise and acceptance, was wounded deep by this. She had to be. “If this was caught by a security camera, I’m getting the police involved.”

“Yes,” Amnon said with a drawl, loving the show. He flicked his eyes to the broken glass on the ground, the black in her eyes. Interesting. “You’d think she’d’ve learned her lesson the first time around. Parents are always such a bummer, aren’t they?” He gave another shrug, standing to head back to the door. “Well, even if there was,” he started saying, giving a little tilt as he drew out the word, “you wouldn’t find anything. I never touched the little one. In fact, you’d see on multiple occasions her shoving and pushing me. And I’m pretty sure it’s legal to leave an adult behind, it’s not like she’s a child. So, if that’s all,” he stopped at the door, but didn’t open it quite yet. Instead, something else caught his eye. A trickle of black liquid down the wall. Had the doctor done that? He didn’t know of any creature that could do that. A squelching noise accompanied a crack in the wall next to his hand and he pulled it away just in time to watch more black ooze from the hole. “What the...did you do this?” he asked, neither accusing nor amused.

And that was it. Rebecca was heading toward the door, and Regan knew she was no longer welcome here, if she ever was at all. But she’d said her piece, hopefully inspired at least the smallest shred of guilt, and the rest would be in the hands of the police, now, if Blanche permitted it. Which… if Blanche had somehow harmed Rebecca, that could be bad. What the heck had happened? Regan sighed, trailing Rebecca toward the door, but something -- what? Some liquid snaked down the wall. Just a string of the substance at first, but as Regan looked around the corners of the room, she could see more rivulets forming. “Your… your wallpaper is moving…” Regan shot Rebecca an uneasy look, anger gone from her face. She could see that, right? Or was this another hallucination? “What do you mean did I do this? Your wallpaper is… it has some kind of a screen built in! You’re not scaring me. But you can, um, stop now. Please.” Regan winced as another loud squelching noise, like a bloated cadaver being turned over, escaped through a crack.

“It’s clearly not the wallpaper,” Amnon shot, backing away from the wall as more started oozing out, thick and viscous. He’d never seen anything like it before, and he’d seen so very many things. “It started after you came around, clearly, there’s more evidence towards it being you. What are you, a witch? Did the little one really think sending a witch after me was going to do anything?” He rounded on Regan this time, anger in his eyes now, a hollow glow to them, the quiet show of his true nature. 

Regan glared back at Rebecca. Fine, so it wasn’t the wallpaper. That wasn’t an explanation. But if it wasn’t the wallpaper, that meant -- well, it meant there really was some strange, dark liquid pouring down the walls of Rebecca’s office. Regan dug into her pockets with purpose, searching for what she knew was always in there. “I’m not doing this! How would I -- you think I rigged a bucket of black ooze on your walls? How would that even work?” Regan’s ire, momentarily replaced by confusion, returned in a flash when Rebecca said the word witch. Directed it toward her. “Not only are you an asshole; you’re apparently an idiot, too.” Regan’s anger sparked. Finally, her fingers found the nitrile gloves. Kaden always smiled when -- not now. She slipped the gloves on and, carefully, dabbed a finger on one of the growing trails of ooze. It stuck to the glove, coating her finger in inky blackness. When she looked back toward Rebecca, she realized she was being penned in, Rebecca’s eyes alight with ferocious intensity -- for a moment, Regan thought her brain even tricked her into thinking they glowed. “O-okay. It’s real. This is real. This really is real, isn’t it?”

“Idiot?” Amnon growled, gritting his teeth. This doctor was quickly making her way onto his bad side, and that was somewhere no one wanted to be. It’s what’d gotten Rebecca where she was now. “You’re clearly the idiot if you think I’m falling for any of this. You can stop pretending now, witch,” he spat, watching her dig into her pockets. Bracing himself for something, knowing that whatever she had up her sleeve he was more prepared for. But all she pulled out was-- gloves? Was she going to touch that stuff? He straightened out, less on edge now as he watched her. “Well, duh it’s real, Einstein,” he snapped. “What, did you actually think this was a stage trick or something?”

Witch. Ridiculousness. There was no way she actually believed -- well, didn’t most of this damn town? Regan didn’t stop her teeth from grinding together this time. At least Rebecca had backed off slightly when she saw the black stain on the glove. “Oh, would you shut up?” Regan barked at her. The situation had shifted rapidly. No longer was this a frightening confrontation; this needed to be treated as a scene, as evidence to collect and analyze. “Help me collect a sample. Do you have any containers? Vials? Even a mason jar.” But as Regan took another glance up, she realized the walls were more black and white now, ooze fitting over the wallpaper. Where the hell was it coming from? And what was it? They needed to move fast if those answers would ever reveal themselves in the lab. 

“Help you? After you so rudely came into my office and yelled at me?” Amnon scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Oh, how he longed to just reach out and snap her neck. Or even just an arm. Could he get away with that? He was moving forward now, ready to reach out and grab her when the walls started warbling again, the black mixing with white and creating a striped, hideous pattern, sliding in over top the wallpaper. “What the…” he stopped again, before turning sharply to the door and throwing it open, only to find more black and white ooze covering the walls outside. “Hey, doc,” he said with a bit of grit in Rebecca’s voice, “you got a nifty explanation in that giant head of yours for all this?”

“Oh, for Falk’s sake.” Regan rolled her eyes. Of course Rebecca was still refusing to be of any assistance whatsoever. Was it wrong to assume Rebecca gave a crap about her office? She certainly didn’t give any about her students. The walls continued to hum and burble as the ooze spread, and out of the corner of her eye, it seemed like -- was the ooze vibrating menacingly? Regan jumped at the door being thrown open, but that shock didn’t compare to seeing the halls covered in the same substance. “Explanation later!” She looked down at her glove, the black goop spreading across it. “You know what would help? A sample. Don’t make me dig through your desk, because I will.” A drop of the substance fell from the ceiling with a loud plop, just barely missing Rebecca’s head. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be covered in a potential biohazard.”

Amnon moved quickly out of the way when some started dripping from the ceiling. Whatever this shit was, the doctor hadn’t caused it. Either that, or she was a really good actor. Grumbling, he made his way back over to the desk, throwing it open and digging around. There, a cup. An old mug. He plucked it up and held it out to the doctor. “Don’t say I never did anything for you,” he said with a drawl, rolling his eyes. People were walking quickly down the hallway outside, some screaming in fear, others whispering behind hands. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good, even he knew that. And in his shiny new body, he was exposed. Looking back over at Regan, he bristled a little. “So you’ve got this, right? Because I really can’t be bothered to give a fuck anymore. I got what I came for,” patted a book that was on the desk. “And by the look of it, so did you, Miss Black Eyes.”

Regan allowed herself the smallest sigh of relief as Rebecca finally moved her sorry ass and collected a mug from her desk. It wasn’t ideal -- there was nothing to cover the sample -- but it would suffice until she rushed it back to the lab and stuck it in a proper evidence collection vial. She snatched it out of Rebecca’s hand with her clean glove, and frowned. “Yeah, I’ve -- I’ve got this.” Hopefully she sounded more confident than she felt. Bad idea to scrape the side of the mug against the wall to collect a sample, and she certainly didn’t want any more of this stuff on her gloves. Regan looked up. Another drop was forming at the ceiling, like phlegm gathering in the back of the throat. Carefully, she positioned the mug underneath it. There was a glassy plink as the ooze dribbled inside, and Regan shielded herself from backsplash. Victory. “Fine, fine, let’s -- we should get out of here.” Another glance outside the hall. Faculty and students alike were in the throes of panic, screaming and stampeding. A few, she noticed, had their mouths thrown open in silent cries of agony. Weird. Almost as weird as the nickname; surely some pop culture reference she didn’t grasp. She rarely did. “But this isn’t over.”

Amnon rolled his eyes. She hardly sounded confident. Whatever this Regan was, conundrum was a part of it. Black eyes, breaking bulbs-- he’d have to look that up later. He was more than sure Rebecca’s journals had something on it, or one of her books. He was already moving out the door when Regan started following him, both of them watching students feel in horror and panic. He couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head. “Poor things,” he said, but there was no pity in his voice, only joy. As inconvenient as this ooze had been to him moments before, it was entertainment now. “Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever,” he dismissed, wading through the panicked crowd towards the door. Held it open as a few kids slipped through and waved at Regan. “Send Blanche my regards! I’m sure I’ll be seeing her very soon!” Before stepping out and slamming the door shut on a few other kids desperately trying to escape the ooze.

[bountybossier]

Downward Demon Dog | Rebecca & Nicodemus

Of course it would be a goddamn pricolici on yoga Wednesday. 

Set during Into the Darkness PotW.

With: @exorciseyourspirit 

With all the stress of being back in White Crest, and having to focus on meditation instead of sleeping, Rebecca had been looking for a good way to help clear her mind and relax. The answer, she supposed, was a hobby. Outside of hunting down magical objects and teaching. And the poster had said yoga could be relaxing and help with stress. Plus, it would help keep her in shape. It was worth a shot, and with the sun on sabbatical, she supposed now was as good a time as any to occupy her mind, lest she stray from her path to try and start solving all this town’s problems. They’d nearly fallen into that trap the first time they’d ended up in White Crest, what with Theo’s dedication to her sacred duty. Not this time, Rebecca had told herself.

The class itself was easy, and by the end of it, Rebecca did feel more loose, and less like her body was going to coil up and shoot off like a loaded spring. But the sky was still dark when she opened the doors, a man following close behind her, and there was a concerning chill in the air. Not a recognizable one, not a ghost, but...perhaps something more sinister. That’s when Rebecca heard the scream. Her feet took off before she even registered what she was doing, iron coated dagger brandished. She barely even noticed the man following right behind her.

It was a well kept secret that Nicodemus glowered his way through local yoga classes. Spent some time to align some of his fucking chakras and work on breathing techniques. Whatever that even meant. The sun giving up the ghost didn’t affect that much and with how...off he felt, maybe it would do something. He didn’t count on it but it got him out of the goddamn Traveler and that was gift enough in itself. He didn’t talk to anyone as he pushed himself into downward dogs, warrior poses, and crow poses. As it turned out, focusing on his breath and the ache of his muscles that hadn’t seen rest in fucking days did help some. Not that he would admit it.

On the way out, he grunted some sound of departure and left out the door that was still wide open from the woman in front of him. His senses were already shot but something, he couldn’t tell what, was looming nearby. Loosely covered under a tarp in the back of his truck was some supplies that could be used for a hunt. A hunt that he right then didn’t want to deal with. A scream concluded that he might have to as someone from the class took off in the direction of the scream. With a knife in hand. Damn it. He wasn’t dressed for this but if yoga was cancelled because someone went off and fucking died... Jogging, he stopped by the back of his truck to grab two of his hunting knives and a gun. They jostled awkwardly in the pockets of his basketball shorts as he caught up to the woman. “Yoga not enough, huh?” He said, far from breathless. “Heard that scream too?”

By the time Rebecca reached where she thought the scream had come from, she was winded enough to where she’d needed to stop and survey the surroundings. The man had showed up not sooner after, not even slightly winded. Either he was really fit or really not entirely human. Hunter, perhaps? If he’d come running for a scream, it seemed logical. “I did,” she said, giving a little smirk. “Are you kidding? Yoga was just the warm up.” Something toppled, more muffled voices coming from ahead of them. She squinted into the dark, but her vision, already blurred, couldn’t cut through it. “Do you see anything? Anyone?” She paused, trying to make out the dark lump ahead of them, the strangled cries. Bones crunched and she shivered. This wasn’t good. Steeling herself, she let the man scoot in front of her. She wasn’t weak, per say, but she certainly didn’t have superstrength.

The hunter breathed in slow and steady through his nose as he came to a stop beside her. “Yeah, don’t know if a fuckin’ mountain pose is the right shit for this, but ‘spose we’ll find out,” Nicodemus mumbled as he cocked his head and squinted into the dark. His shot nerves and senses worked in spite of. Something was awful close. Blood was too. Fresh, he could tell, as the breeze brought that copper smell straight to him. He crouched down and looked harder, eyesight shifting from the well-lit parking lot to the dim woods. A couple blinks and it was there. “What used to be someone. Fuck me,” he grumbled. Whoever, whatever they were, they weren’t that anymore. Reduced to a mess of flesh. His eyes ticked upward from the mess of flesh to the thick branch several feet about it. Red eyes met his own. Red-coated teeth bared for a second before it dropped, fast as fuck. The creature, tall and big in a fuck off kind of way, hefted the mass of flesh that used to be someone and threw it effortlessly at the pair. “Oh fuck me sideways!” Nicodemus rolled back. Guns clattered out of his pockets as he tumbled back, body low beside the woman’s. Nicodemus inwardly swore. Of course it would be a goddamn pricolici on yoga Wednesday. Why wouldn’t it be? “Fuckin’ course, ain’t this just the way.”

Rebecca squinted into the darkness in the direction the man was looking. For a moment, things faded, and it felt like something was swirling in her vision, before she blinked. A THUD! Followed as something big and heavy fell to ground. She had to cover her mouth at the sight. She was used to seeing ghosts maimed and even old, rotted bodies. But fresh kills...fresh blood. That wasn’t her thing. The smell was almost overwhelming. She held her dagger up, though, ready to back up the other guy if he needed it. Hashem, she kinda hoped he didn’t. But she couldn’t run away now. Rebecca Rothbard wasn’t a coward. This had been more of Theo’s thing, though. Suddenly, the body was being launched at them, and Rebecca had no more time for thoughts or wishes-- she was a part of this no matter what. Ducking out of the way, she rolled behind the man, trying to remember any sort of holding spell she could think of. Mind wavering again, as she fought to keep control of herself. “What is that!?” she asked under a hushed breath, voice quivering just slightly. “A werewolf?” She went to reach for one of the guns that had clattered from his pockets, already closer than him, when the thing snarled, and launched itself at them. Rebecca’s eyes widened, hands going up-- she wasn’t fast enough, she couldn’t get out of the way. And just like that, it looked like something solid but invisible slammed into the creature, sending it backwards. I told you, said the voice in her head, I can help.

Nicodemus huffed a breath and kept his eyes forward. Yoga was supposed to align his chakras or some shit, but with a pricolici throwing bodies the way it was, didn’t seem likely. Fucking of course not. “Somethin’ like that.” He muttered as he spared a quick glance her way. Quickly, he reached for a gun. He bristled as the pricolici launched itself forward, all muscle and rage. Fuck, she wasn’t about to get goddamn eaten in front of him, was he? No. That wasn’t the case. Something stopped it mid-flight and sent it ass over head backwards. He was only confused momentarily as he finally got a grip on one of the guns and stood up. The hunter looked at her. “The fuck was that? That you?” If she didn’t, they might be more fucked than initially thought. The vampire dog was up and recovered by the time he finished checking the silver bullet count in them. With the night looming ever-present as it was, it was the smart choice to ensure that everything he took out with him was loaded with silver in some capacity. “Pricolici. Werewolf vampire dog,” he said, telling it to her straight. He fired off a round at the red-eyed mass heading towards them and started moving himself. “Gonna have to move!”

“No,” Rebecca hissed under her breath, shaking her head. “I don’t need your help.” She was already scrambling back to her feet when she heard a gun shot, echoing around them. Had he hit it? Looked like it, but the-- vampire werewolf??-- barely faltered. She’d heard stories about them, but thought they were just scary stories werewolf mothers told their children to keep them out of the streets at night and remind them they weren’t invincible. Struggling to her feet, Rebecca grabbed her shoulder, wincing a bit. She followed quickly after him, still holding up her dagger. “You don’t happen to have an extra of those, do you?” she asked, nodding at his gun. “I might not look it, but I’m a pretty good shot. Though it’s usually salt coming out of my gun, not real bullets.”

The hunter shot her a slightly wary look. Looked like they weren’t going to discuss what the fuck it was that just happened. As Nicodemus tracked the red eyes through the dense wood, he figured it was a fair enough decision. Pricolici’s made it real fucking hard to hold civil conversation. “Sure as shit do,” he answered, a gunshot all the punctuation necessary as he backtracked to grab the other one and hand it to her. Not the most ideal place to huff out a laugh but he did anyway. “Exorcist? Hell of a town to be.” The pricolici’s legs bunched as it dove to use an adjacent tree as leverage to spring off of, a red-eyed black mass of yellow teeth. Nicodemus shifted on his feet only to lose traction and stumble slightly. He shot a look at the mangled mass of meat that was once a person underfoot. “Oh damn it all.” The pricolici sped towards him like a semi-truck, mouth open wide to try and bite down on him. A bullet in the mouth stopped that train of thought but did jack shit to stop the momentum as the creature hit the hunter dead on. The tree behind him snapped with their combined weight. He was pretty sure a rib or two did too.

“Yes, well, weird draws weird, doesn’t it?” Rebecca said back, taking the gun gratefully. But before she could do much more, the Pricolici was bounding for them again. The hunter took aim, but his foot was already in the puddle of human mush before Rebecca could warn him. “Watch--” she started, but was knocked back by the passing body of the were-monster, stumbling slightly. The loud gunshot rang in her ears and she straightened, watching the two of them tumble into a tree, snapping straight through it. Oh, that had to hurt. Rebecca rushed over, gun held up. It was whimpering and bleeding, and she took the opportunity to take the shot. Straight through the brain, and the creature flopped over next to the now downed hunter. Panting, she came over to him, holding out her hand. “Are you alright? You weren’t bit, were you?”

“No kiddin’,” Nicodemus huffed out. Well, that was blood in his mouth and he knew the feeling of a cracked rib when it happened. Groovy. He took her offered hand as he pulled himself up, concealing a wince as he did. “...Thanks.” The town was fucking him up. Slipping on a fucking carcass? Jesus Christ, it might as well have been goddamn amateur hour at the O.K. Corral. He pressed the barrel of his own gun against the back of the pricolici and fired once into where its heart would be. Didn’t hurt to make doubly sure and when he glanced back at her, he shrugged. An exorcist in White Crest. Always good to have considering the ghost bullshit he wanted nothing to do with. “Better than him, so yeah, doin’ alright. Not bit either. Bite from this fuck only does shit to vampires or wolves. You good?” Now that the danger with big goddamn teeth was dealt with, he could do a couple rounds of deep breathing. Just like at yoga. He looked back into the dark where the creature had come from. Chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Was that you? The whole...invisible slammin’ thing? Don’t care if it was, just makin’ sure there ain’t other shit lurkin’ and all.”

When he stood, Rebecca winced for him-- he looked like he was in quite a bit of pain, probably a few broken ribs. She turned her head away as he finished the pricolici off, one quick shot to the head. She held the gun back out to him, hands shaking a bit. “It...yes,” she answered. No sense in hiding it. “But yes,” she sighed, “I’m good.” She looked down at the two messes they’d made-- well, the one they’d made, and the one they hadn’t been able to prevent. She went over to the mangled body, but couldn’t bring herself to look for too long. “I can’t tell who it was, we should probably...call the police,” she murmured. She was tired, he looked tired. Standing, she sighed. “I can drive you somewhere, if you need, too. The least I can do since you helped me out. I’d probably be, well,” she motioned to the pile on the ground vaguely.

He said nothing as he took the gun back. Noted the way the gun between them transferred her own trembling to his hand. Nicodemus’s brow pinched as he glanced down at the mess. How different it might have been between spirits or whatever she dealt with and the oncoming fangs of a pissed off pricolici, he didn’t know. But considering they both had come out of yoga not at all prepared to deal with any bullshit, they did alright. “Don’t know nothin’ about all that shit,” he said, honest as he could be. “But, uh, you did good. With...yeah.” He got the point across and didn’t want to break into a rambling mess. There was enough of that around them as it was. “I can’t either. Call when we get out of here, I ‘spose” he said with a nod. He heaved a sigh as he slid the guns back into the pockets of his shorts. Ignored the absurdity of the entire fucking situation. “Hell, we both would be. Don’t know about you but I could use a fuckin’ beer,” he said as he glanced at her. “...Nic. Uh, Nicodemus. That’s me.”

“Good is...a word for it, I suppose,” Rebecca said, letting out a long breath. The shaking was calming, the more she became aware that the danger was over-- but for her, was it really ever? She hadn’t quite been expecting to fight a monster after yoga tonight, but at least she was already limber which meant no pulled muscles this time. “Well, I don’t quite know much about all this shit. Though, I know some. I used to know a Slayer-- er undead Hunter,” she said quietly, cleaning herself off a little as they headed away. She pulled out her phone, ready to dial. “A beer, or a stiff drink, at the very least,” she nodded, holding out her free hand. “Rebecca. So...you come to yoga here often? Not sure I’ve seen you around before.”

“Better fuckin’ word than most,” Nicodemus said with a barely-there laugh. Even after an hour long session of yoga and listening to fucking rain or whatever the instructor had playing, he felt tense. Nearly getting mauled by a pricolici could do that to someone, he supposed. Or seeing someone else nearly get mauled. Ain’t that something. “Fair. I don’t know a fuckin’ thing about...spirits or whatever. Ain’t real keen on it.” Magic and spirits. Two things he didn’t want to occupy too much of his time. But he was curious and the look he gave her might have said as much. “Know a slayer or two myself,” he said. “Always found a whiskey or two gets rid of problems.” Or starts them, depending on the night. He took her offered hand and gave it a firm shake. Christ, when was the last time he ever shook anyone’s hand? People up north didn’t seem to care for it, last he remembered. “Yeah, well, accordin’ to some internet quiz, my chakras ain’t real aligned and I gotta get those fuckers righted. Figured yoga might do it.” He folded his arms loosely as they walked out of the dark wood and away from the mangled mess. “Ain’t seen you either, but hell, guess it’s good we did get some yoga in. Might’ve pulled somethin’ if we didn’t.” And Jesus, as if pulling an ass muscle in front of a pricolici wouldn’t be at the top of embarrassing shit that could happen to a person.

Rebecca shook his hand, callous and firm, a strong grip. She was reminded of her grandfather always preaching the stereotypical ‘You know a man is good if he’s got a strong handshake’ bullshit, and she remembered how long she spent making sure hers was always firmer and stronger than the men whose hands she was forced to shake. This, however, was different. She gave a shrug. “To each our own,” she said. They all specialized for a reason, after all. No one could do it all. Let the slayer comment lie-- she didn’t need to reconnect with any of them in town, not if she wasn’t going to stick around. Not if they were just going to remind her of Theo and what she’d lost. She did, however, chuckle at his chakra comment, shaking her head. “And you believe it? Well...as ridiculous as it sounds, I’m glad that quiz made you sign up, otherwise I’d’ve been uh-- what’d you call it again-- Pricolici-- meat.” She gestured towards the bar across the street. “Either way, I think we’ve both earned that whiskey, don’t you?”

[blancheharlow]

Ghost Busted || Rebecca & Blanche (And Some Visitors)

TLDR: This isn’t even Rebecca’s final form and Blanche…. well, we just don’t know. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Minor gore, blood mention, bone breaking, disturbing images. 

Remember that episode of Scooby-Doo where they sent Shaggy and Scooby out as bait and they caught the monster that was terrorizing the town and it was really just Mr. Jenkins all along?’ That’s the only thing that kept repeatedly running through Blanche’s mind as she walked in another circle. This was the plan—turns out, there was something Blanche could do. She was serving as bait. All that whining about wanting to help, and Blanche was almost regretting it. Blanche told Granny where she was… Well, she lied to Granny about where she was, so Granny was still trying to do research on this Girl in the Gap… She lied to her parents too. Said she was out with her new friend Reza. The thought Reza was a girl and not a vampire and hadn’t questioned it—they thought it was nice she was going out and making friends. She would be home by Tuesday. Blanche was nervously clutching her phone as she probably did her eight circle around the quad. The university was where they were doing it—wide open space, easy enough… And plus it was deserted in the dead on night on a Sunday in the summer. In through your nose…. Our through your mouth… That was some useless anti-anxiety bullshit that didn’t even work. Mouth breathing was gross. Blanche swallowed as she turned to circle again… Hadn’t that thing found her much easier than last time?! Blanche glanced, trying to eye Rebecca from wherever she was, and she slid her phone into the back pocket of her shorts. She would be less inclined to text someone—no one else needed to be involved in this. But Blanche only felt that paranoid feeling that made her stomach churn… Not the sickening feeling of being watched. Of all the damn times for a ghost to be late to it’s own exorcism…

Rebecca didn’t like this at all, but the voice in her head was growing louder, and if she was going to get this done, it needed to be now. Granny Harlow had put up quite a fuss about it, and with Walsh having left Ashkent, she really was the only exorcist left. An exorcist possessed by a ghost, what a ridiculous notion. And this, well– this was the first one she was going to perform since the incident. She could barely remember the past few months, all the days blended into one. She hated it. And she’d sworn off everything. But one cry for help, and here she was again. She supposed that was just…who she was. Amnon had laughed at that thought and agreed with her. She sighed softly and watched Blanche from a distance. Where was this damn ghost? A sudden chill went up her back, a very familiar chill. She was here. But…where? Her eyes flitted across the courtyard, to Blanche and she squinted. She’d never been able to see ghosts before, but something in her had changed– though she hadn’t figured out whether or not it was the demon inside of her or something else. Something else like that apparition of her younger self she’d seen in her dreams. In Ashford. She cinched her nose and watched closer, hoping Blanche could sense her, too. Things were about to get going.

Blanche longed to be able to actually see Rebecca. But she knew that wasn’t going to be an option. She rubbed her bare arms, not particularly cold, but it made her feel better. And then an all too familiar chill ran up her spin and Blanche thought she was going to vomit right there. She fought the urge to whip her head around. If she knew she could be sensed, or seen…. Blanche didn’t know if she could sense her like that because of her… gift, but she did know she could feel the girl’s eyes burrowing into the back of her skull, as if reading her soul. Blanche swallowed, and she continued to walk. ’Something isn’t right.’ The rational voice spoke in the back of her head, and Blanche willed it to shut the fuck up. This was just going to be a quick tag out. Blanche felt it— behind her? No. There was an ugly statue of the school’s mascot. She passed by it at least 15 times before them. There was an ugly crack in it, running down it’s front. Probably from age. And now it was right on Blanche’s side. A familiar sight, just out of the corner of her eye made her freeze with fear. Her bones grew rigid and she was shaking. ”Do you give up?” the voice hissed, and Blanche’s heart felt like a block of ice. She shook her head, slowly turning. Ready to walk away from the crack in the statue. Lure her out. Just when her and AJ exited The Calling Card, the girl started too loom behind her. Her lip trembled and her eyes watered. No. No crying. It would be over soon.

Rebecca kept her eyes glued on Blanche. She saw it. The statue! Shit, that was just outside of the circle’s range, she needed to get her in range of it before she could show herself. If she came out too soon, the ghost would just catch on and hop away through her strange dimension between the cracks and shadows. You really think you can help her? Rebecca grit her teeth, hand tightening around the dagger in her hand. “Shut up,” she growled, “go away. Just a little bit longer. Please.” Blanche was backing away now, getting closer. “Cmon….” she murmured, peeling away from the wall, and taking a small step towards her. “Cmon…” just a little bit closer. Just a little bit.

Blanche felt like her limbs were metal. She was slowly walking forward and she willed herself to move faster, to break out into a run, anything faster than the slow trudge she was doing. IT was looming right over her—- and she thought she saw her. On the top of her vision. She must have raised herself over her. Blanche jerked her gaze to the grass. And there she was, to the left… Blanche whimpered, turning to the right, but she was there too. Blanche cussed, turning again. But the ghost was predicting her movements, bouncing around, trying to get her to look at her. “No! Leave me alone!” It was some sort of demented dance and Blanche’s eyes were smushed shut, a refusal to look.

 Shit. The ghost was bouncing around, toying with Blanche now. Rebecca grit her teeth and took off in a full sprint. Are you sure you’ll even be able to do it? We haven’t tested our power since the merge. But she kept running anyway. Nothing was going to stop her. This was what she was put on this planet to do, and she was going to follow this until her dying breath. “Blanche!” she shouted, pulling out the last Ofuda slip she had, dug up from a box in her basement, “get in the circle!” She had to aim this perfectly. If she missed, they were screwed. She lined up her arm, pulled it back– and her mind went blank. Her feet stumbled. Amnon caught them before they fell, and the slip peetered uselessly from her grip. “Oh, shucks,” he grinned, “I missed.”

Get in the circle! Her mind’s screaming mingled with Rebecca’s and Blanche stumbled. The ghost was doing her best to bop into line of sight—No, no, no, no! It was hard—Blanche couldn’t remember where the circle was, her head was too scrambled to realize she stumbled over the line. Her eyes were clamped shut and whenever she cracked them open, she was spinning, seeing grass a building. “Leave me alone, leave me alone, please!” There were definitely tears streaming out of her eyes. And then Rebecca spoke again—but something about her voice caused her heart to sink. The crudeness was misplaced, and she didn’t… She didn’t talk like that. Blanche realized her mistake a second before she did it. It was too late. Blanche turned quickly. “Rebecca?!” She called, her eyes snapping open, she was concerned. But instead of seeing Rebecca, she was met with the spirit’s dark eyes. Blanche felt herself stiffen as the spirits lips curled into a grin much too wide for her face. ”I win.” It said, gleefully. ”I can take you now.” Blanche’s voice caught. “N-No.” The whisper was barely out of her when the ghost was gone. Confusion. Rebecca was barely 10 feet away. Her brow furrowed--- and then it seized her. The cold, clammy hand grasped at her leg, and Blanche hit the grass hard. The air escaped her lungs. “No!” Blanche gasped, trying to claw—her wrist throbbed but she barely noticed. She was trying to breathe. Trying to dig her fingernails into the earth, to hold herself. But it was impossible. The spirit was strong and Blanche wasn’t. “No! Please! Please! Don’t kill me! Please!”

Let me go to her, please Rebecca screamed inside of her own head, stuck, watching in pure horror as the spirit grasped Blanche’s leg and began to drag her away, towards the shadows. Rebecca felt ill. Please! I’ve never asked you for anything, please! But it was to no avail. Instead, Amnon just grinned, watching the spectacle. “You forget yourself,” he said to her, “I’m here to make you suffer. You made this decision. This is your fault.” He kept their eyes on the young girl. “She’s going to die and I want you to watch.” Skin vibrating, heart racing, even as she was forced to watch from inside her own mind. She’d promised. She'd promised she’d protect Blanche. She’d promised she’d save her from this spirit. She’d promised, all those years ago, when she’d set out on this journey, that she’d never let anyone innocent suffer if she could help it. Her insides boiled. “Let me out you dirty bastard!” she screamed, and it came out. It was her voice. They were both shocked. Her body jerked as she tried to stand, but he tried to keep them down. “I’m not going to let her die!”

Blanche was being dragged across the ground, her hands clawing the ground until her fingernails were bloody and caked with dirt. She was getting a face full of dead grass and dirt and tears as she tried to struggle to get free. It wasn’t working, her struggling, her fighting wasn’t working. She wasn’t strong enough. Her free leg swung, trying to find some divet in the ground to help pull her away from the ghost. The grip of the ghost around her calf was painful—as if some violent burn was coursing through her leg. She kicked, and she kicked again. Rebecca was screaming, she couldn’t hear her over the sound of her own pleading. Blanche didn’t even know what she was pleading for—life? To survive? Her friends? Her parents? Granny? Anything. She had just made friends with people her own age. She had college. Her senior year. She was only 18. Blanche would be chalked up to just another Ashkent Creek death. Unexplainable. She went missing. She spat out grass and she kicked and struggled with her left leg—The ghost had had enough. Blanche felt it pause, and she thought for a second the girl had given up on her. A moment of relief before a sickening crack echoed as her leg snapped. Blanche screamed, lurching off the ground in agony.

Rebecca ’s scream matched Blanche’s. She heard it. The snapping of her leg. It echoed around her. Rebecca’s fist slammed onto the grass. No. She was done sitting around, she was done wallowing, she was done letting this thing inside of her win. She couldn’t stand by anymore and let these things hurt people when she, and only she, had the power to stop it. “Just sit down and shut up! You can have my body, you can have my soul, but as long as my consciousness is still here, I’m not going to let anyone stop me from protecting people! So you can either fight it and lose or help me out!” Her body lifted and she launched herself at the ghost and Blanche, closing the distance quickly, her body aching from the internal struggle it battled. But this wasn’t about her, it never was. It was about doing everything in her power to save someone, and that– that was how she got this demon stuck in her. By saving someone. It wasn’t a curse. It couldn’t be. Words poured from her mouth, and she barely knew what she saw saying, chanting in Japanese, igniting the circle. “Get your hands off of her, you filthy demon!” Her dagger came down right on top of the ghost’s now corporeal arm, thanks to her circle. It tore right in half and Rebecca left the dagger lodged in the ground as she hauled Blanche up and away. Eyes flashing red. “You’re little game of hide and seek is over, spirit,” she growled, “time for you to take a hike.”

Blanche‘s vision blurred as she writhed. She couldn’t move and she kept trying to rip her broken leg from the monster that was dragging it. Tears streamed down her face as she left clawmarks on her own legs. What was Rebecca doing? She didn’t know and she wasn’t sure she cared. Something had gone wrong. Rebecca had missed. This wasn’t—- and then something wasn’t right. Rebecca poured over her and she saw a flash of metal…. Blanche was covered in blood? This wasn’t blood. Not real blood. Blanche’s mind was going fuzzy as Rebecca dragged her away, her leg screaming in protest and Blanche trying to ask what was going on. Black spots came to her vision, and she thought of Granny and her parents. What was going on? “I… want to go home.” She whispered.

Rebecca ’s features softened for only a moment at Blanche’s weak plea. “I know, darling,” she murmured, looking down at her as she set her safely in the circle, “just give me a moment and we’ll get you home.” And when she looked back up, her eyes were red again. The spirit was screaming in agony now, writhing around as it grasped for its severed arm, pinned down to the circle by her dagger. Rebecca calmly put her hands together and glowered down at it. “Spirit of Japan, you have haunted this girl and this town for far too long. It’s time for you to go home,” she said, and opened her mouth to begin the banishment. “Or how about we kill her.” A wicked grin. Words poured from her mouth again, ones she didn’t even know. Ones she’d never even learned. She felt something surging inside of her. The dybbuk. He was using his own power to destroy another spirit. Channeling it through her. The girl began to vibrate, pieces of her body peeling away from her. Steam poured from Rebecca’s hands, pressed together like irons. The ghost screamed in agony again, as if pleading for its life. Pathetic, isn’t it?

Rebecca set her down gently, and Blanche fell to the side, unwilling to hold herself up. The feeling in her leg…. Well, Blanche knew that she was going into shock. The numbing feeling that was starting to happen wouldn’t last foever, and things wouldn’t be okay. They would possibly need to rebreak it at the hospital, and then set it, which would be even more painful… Or it was supposed to be even more painful. Blanche couldn’t think of what could hurt more at that very second, unless it was her pride. She was curled over, sobbing into her arm. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. What had she done wrong? Was this her fault? Rebecca was talking to herself, but no one was there. Confused and dazed, Blanche stared… Were all exorcisms like this? Blanche lurched as she tried to shift, the ghosts screams piercing the air and hurting her ears. Pain shot up her own body and Blanche moaned, falling back onto the grass as dark spots clouded her eyes. The ghost girls screams were fading and so was Rebecca. Maybe… it was time to sleep.

“No,” Rebecca hissed, “it’s not.” The spirit was screaming and writhing before her, and she almost– almost– wanted to keep going. But she couldn’t. That wasn’t the kind of exorcist she was. And perhaps that resolve was what had gotten her into the predicament of being possessed herself, but if she compromised her morals now, then they actually won. And she wouldn’t let that. With another great yell, she pulled her hands apart and snapped her jaw shut. The remnants of the spirit drifted around her, the agonized screaming dissipating. She was still here. Good. Rebecca bent down and pressed her palms to the ground, in front of the dissolving spirit. “Count yourself lucky,” she murmured to her, “and never come back here. I might not be able to stop him next time.” And finished off the banishment, watching the spirit finally disappear. When it did, when all was still, Rebecca let herself fall for a moment, breathing heavily. Everything was still and quiet now. There was ectoplasm all over the ground and her arm and Blanche’s legs. A little bit of blood. Rebecca’s palms were burned with the expulsion of the Dybbuk’s power. Blanche’s leg was snapped and crooked. But they’d won. She had a long ways to go, but they won. Rebecca pulled her cellphone from her pocket– with great pain and effort– and dialed 911. They’d won.

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Storm Front || Season 1 Finale Chatzy

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Dark Score Lake (opposite of Undertow) PARTIES: @exorciseyourspirit @bountybossier @cryxmercy @bemyfriendplease SUMMARY: Squidward meets his makers

“Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.”

― John Milton, Paradise Lost

Mercy wasn’t sure how long she’d been waiting in the agreed upon spot when the others finally showed up. It was dark, the thick trees filtering out most of the moonlight, and almost eerily quiet. As if the forest around Dark Score Lake - which lay further into the forest - was holding its breath. The air was muggy and thick, and smelled stale… like old, rotting things long-molded beneath the damp earth.  It smelled like a crypt.

The irony was not lost on Mercy.

Sitting on the hood of the old Jeep she’d rolled out of storage - much quieter than her bike, and with more room for transporting the other things she’d do quickly pulled out of the unit - she methodically worried the delicate silver chain around her neck. The two rings that were usually there were absent, safely secured in a thick manila envelope in the glove compartment of the Jeep, along with a short letter written in Mercy’s hand. The name ‘Prof. Arthur Drake’ was written on the envelope. She’d tried to call him several times on her drive over, not wanting to do this without telling him, but had ended up having to leave a message.

So the envelope and it’s contents were just a few simple measures to make sure certain things wouldn’t be left unsaid. Just in case.

Because while the odds were in Mercy’s favor to walk out of this alive and mostly unscathed, she was very aware that she wasn’t completely infallible. Especially since it had been over a century since she’d been a part of taking on something quite as large and dangerous as what this… thing had turned out to be. Some tentacled, demon-fucking, pseudo-deity with a massive cult of brain-washed followers that had already killed in the name of their ‘god.’

But killing was easy. Mercy was more than ready to find out how many of them were willing to die for this ‘god’ of theirs.

She didn’t know all the details - it had all been put together so quickly - but she did know they only had one real shot at this. Even now, there were others working towards the same goal, so their window of opportunity wasn’t a big one. The Fury looked up as footsteps approached, her normally riotous hair braided back out of her face, and a band of black ash wiped across her eyes. She gave the unfamiliar face a crooked smirk and sat up, tucking the chain beneath the protective vest she wore across her chest. “Hey there stranger. You lookin’ for the same puny demon squid-god as me?”

Patience was often a virtue, but Rebecca moved through the world today with a heavy sort of impatience that weighed on her soul. There was little time. Theo had not made it, Theo did not know what she was about to go do. No one did. No one, except the ones who she’d asked to meet her there. Nicodemus had agreed, and had said there would be another waiting for them as well, to help, because this task could not be done by one man alone. And there others, in farther spots, helping as well. Whatever awaited them at this lake, it wasn’t going to be easy. And that’s, as she looked in the mirror, her eyes glowed a moment. No going back on our deal now.

When she reached the lake, the stench was that of death. She knew it was because of the rotted fish and dead foliage, but the foreboding omen still sat in the air like a warning sign. When she approached, she found a woman, tall, slender, pale skin and pale blue eyes, greeting her. Nicodemus was not here yet, but she supposed he’d arrive soon. This was one event no one wanted to be late to. “I only believe in one Higher Power, and a demon squid is surely not it,” she said with a whip to her tongue. This ritual was hers to perform, which meant she was in charge here, and she wanted her voice to convey that in one go. Even as she gave the other woman a smile in greeting.

Anxious energy ran through Nicodemus. He had made a time of avoiding the lake like nothing else but that time was gone. Drowned. The hunter supposed he would have to return to it one day and with the intent to kill burning in him, it was a better day than any. Maybe it was the pilates that had Rebecca consider him for help. Regardless, he answered quickly and scribbled a short note to Skylar. Given that it was a big fuck off squid they were going to be tangling with, they might need a harpoon. And he knew one person that was ready and willing with one.

The hunter rolled his neck as he walked away from his truck. A death smell hung over the lake and he waded through it as he approached the gathered two. Guns, knives, ammo. He brought it all. If any of them died, it wasn’t going to be because they didn’t burn through every possibility of killing the fucker. He grunted a greeting as his eyes looked to the dark water. A cold, slimy feeling crawled along his spine.

“Guess it’s a fine evenin’ for squid killin’,” he muttered as he rested his lever-action against his shoulder. He looked between the two before he nodded to Rebecca. “What’d you need us to do?”

“I can agree with that,” Mercy said. Because whatever the hell this thing really was, it wasn’t a god. Mercy believed in the old gods, and not in any singular creator. She had seen them with her own eyes. But that was irrelevant. This woman - this exorcist - believed. And it was her power that would get rid of the entity that inhabited the creature she and the hunter were there to kill. Speaking of… Mercy looked over at the man as he approached. She gave a tip of her chin in greeting, noting the weapon he held with practised familiarity. It settled a few of Mercy’s nerves to know that there were no amateurs here tonight. Her own arsenal of weapons - including a wicked-looking harpoon - was in the back of her Jeep. “Guess it is,” she nodded at Nic before turning her attention to the other woman. The hunter asked the pertinent question, so Mercy stayed quiet and waited for marching orders.

Rebecca didn’t bother with greetings. Once Nicodemus arrived, she turned and headed towards the lake. “At the moment? Keep your eyes peeled. Once the ritual starts, I’ll need energy from one of you.” Her skin prickled, hair standing on end. A sense that she was sure she could ever rely on, but knew not to ignore. Magic. A disturbance in the ether. Ever since she’d contact the astral plane, she’d been able to feel it more deeply. Moving past that, however, she turned to the other two. “I doubt whatever this thing is is going to go down easy. That’s where you two come in. You’re up for a fight, right?”

Nicodemus glanced toward the water. Whatever had happened before, when he had killed the stranger amongst other strangers, he hadn't fought. Couldn't have. It was different now. The fire in him burned hotter. He looked back to Mercy, then Rebecca. "Do what you have to. We got the rest," he muttered as he loaded a round into his rifle. "It ain't over until it's dead." Or they were. He didn't like how quiet it was, or how still the water seemed. As if something were waiting. He supposed something was.

Mercy snagged her things from the Jeep as they started walking towards the water. She gave the exorcist a glance as the woman mentioned the ritual needing energy. Of course it did. But Mercy didn’t bother with worrying. Magic couldn’t drain her completely. It might weaken her, but she would bounce back. She always did. Mercy checked the clip of the one firearm she’d brought before tucking it back in it’s holster at her hip. She preferred blades, and had brought plenty. Mercy shared a glance with Nic before turning back to Rebecca as well. She nodded in agreement with the hunter before pulling her straight sword from the sheath across her back. The sound rang quietly across the stillness of the lakeshore. Mercy squatted down, pressing her fingers to the earth and whispering words in her native tongue. After a moment she was quiet, and fell still. Waiting, just as whatever was out there waited.

Penelope had said that the ritual need be completed by the time the moon was high in the sky, and Rebecca wasn’t eager to rush anything. She hoped the others would complete their rituals on time, but she had to bring herself away from worrying about that-- there was nothing she could do for them, except be ready when they needed her to. She went about setting up her area, clearing a small patch of grass, and setting down the pentagram mat. Pressed a hand to it and watched it burn its imprint into the ground, before pulling it away and rolling it back up. Set a candle at each star point. Wrapped the red scarf (there to replace her missing dagger) around her opposite wrist, the Kabbalah string bracelet on her other, and looked back at the other two, poised for the fight. “Here goes nothing,” she said, before turning back to face the lake. Closing her eyes to concentrate on the energy vibrating through the air. It was now or never. “Remember the deal,” she muttered quietly. When her eyes opened next, one was red and one was blue, and when she spoke, she spoke with two tongues.

The hunter spat to the side and rounded towards the water. His senses were eerily still. Still as black water. The blonde woman had pulled out a sword. Nicodemus glanced at his rifle. Hell, one or both of them were certain to work. As Rebecca spoke, the atmosphere seemed to change. Damn near like a pressure shift. The surface of the water tensed and then broke as a clenched hand lifted out of the water. Then another. The fingers lifted one by one to reveal eyes that first rolled white and then dark, black pupils fixated on those that gathered at the shore. The hunter fired into one of the exposed hands. Blood flowed from the meat as it slipped back into the water. It wasn’t long before more bodies pulled themselves from the water and crawled along the shore. A crawl turned into a run and he grinned bitterly as he looked to Mercy. Fired off another round. “Keep your sword sharp, huh?”

Mercy could feel the heaviness in the air as well. It was an uneasy feeling that made her skin want to crawl away from her bones and hide itself somewhere safe. Somewhere that wasn’t here, by the still, black mirror of water stretched out beneath a sky that was almost as dark. But leaving wasn’t an option. Especially as the water rippled, and something rose from beneath the surface. Followed by another, and another. Black eyes peered out from where eyes shouldn’t exist, and as Nic’s shotgun blast drew first blood, Mercy stood, noting the position of the others in her peripheral vision, and tightened her grip on her blade. The bodies rose quickly after that, black water running down their forms like oil. Mercy gave Nic a grin of her own, though hers wasn’t bitter. It bordered the edge of what some might call madness. “It’s always sharp,” she told him before turning towards the bodies that were streaking in their direction. The first one lost the left side of it’s skull, and staggered a few more steps before falling in a heap. The second lost it’s innards in a steaming pile before it slumped over in the path of the others.

Shotgun rounds found their mark as well, and the smell of copper and rot and gunpowder soon filled the air… air that continued to grow heavier and heavier and heavier…

Nothing except the ritual mattered to Rebecca now. As she spoke, the lines below her glowed, engulfing her in an unearthly blue light, speckled with other vibrant colors. It swirled and shimmered and wavered under the pitch of her voice, and as her voice grew, so did it. A wind whipped up around her, as the light climbed higher into the sky. The surface of the lake rippled. Rebecca could not see through the light to know what was coming, not until a figure was appearing in front of her-- but as soon as it touched the light she was bathed in, it screamed. Erupted into blue flame, and crumbled to ash. “Oooh, neat trick!” Said her other half. But Rebecca kept her concentration on the ritual in front of her, waiting for the signal from the other two, waiting for their beams of light to show.

It was only when a loud, low rumbling, from the direction of the lake, did Rebecca give pause and squint through the light. Without really being able to see even, she knew whatever was coming next, was big. And it was angry.

At the speed they were coming, the hunter had a feeling that the rifle might not be the best option going forward. That worked just fine for him. Nicodemus unloaded shell after shell, took some pride in that strange smell of blood and oil. Keep Rebecca safe. See the ritual through. Take a few bastards out. That was all the reason he needed. When the rifle emptied, tossed it to the side and slid the machete out of his belt. Snapped the gun out of his left thigh holster. Ambidextrous death had its uses. He was careful not to look behind him. If he did, the blue flame might sear the night vision right out of him. Black blood coated his forearms, splattered against his face. Between bodies, he glanced over to Mercy. She seemed to be doing just fine, sword in hand and blood in her hair.

The rumble from the river resonated oppressively loud in his head. Nearly dislodged him from where he stood, but he shook his head and grit his teeth. A feeling of nausea spread through his gut. Cold like fingers seemed to reach into his head. Something was coming. He knew it and it knew him. He swallowed it down as his machete continued to cut through. “How’s it goin’ Rebecca?”

Mercy was astounded at the number of creatures… - or where they people? She wasn’t sure… - that continued to rise up from the water. The bodies were starting to pile up along the shoreline, enough that the ones still upright were having to maneuver around or over them. Which gave her and Nic an advantage. She could see him down the way, past the pulsing blue light that contained the exorcist who was the only one of them who could truly finish this. But she couldn’t look for too long, else the light became too bright.

Nic switched to a blade as the bodies outnumbered the capacity of his gun, and Mercy could hear the familiar sound of metal meeting bone. But underneath it all, something else started to vibrate. The vibration turned to a rumble that hummed in Mercy’s chest at a frequency that made her breath catch. She shook her head too as the hum seemed to crawl up her spine and resonate through her skull. A sound like war horns echoed behind her eyes, and for a moment the Fury felt like her head might split in two. But after a moment, whatever had been scraping around in her skull left when it realized Mercy’s mind wasn’t for the taking. Mercy shook her head again before righting herself and splitting open the neck of a creature that had suddenly gotten a bit too close. It fell, as did the ones that came after. But the rumbling continued... in the air and beneath her feet. Something was coming. Something old. Something angry.

She heard Nic call out to Rebecca, and moved a bit closer to the exorcist's light - willing her to hurry the fuck up please and thanks - as the water started to churn and writhe and bubble. “Stay on your feet!” she called out to him, knowing he might already be a step ahead of her. “Watch the water too!”

Focus, Rebecca told herself, stay focused. There was a lot going on, and she needed to focus. The air vibrated with energy, clashing with the low rumble from underground, from under the lake. Her voice faltered ever so as the surface rippled and split and she squinted through the light. In her mind, even he lost focus-- and shuddered. Whatever was coming, it was big, and it scared him, too. The only reason he had agreed to help, after all. This was bigger than both of them. Then all of them here. Individual distraught was set aside to accomplish this one goal, and Rebecca would make sure everyone’s sacrifice was worth it.

But through her light, as the surface split and out came a tentacle, she couldn’t help but falter. A beam of light shot up to her left. More tentacles protruded from the lake. Water rushed past them all, withdrawing for only a moment before rushing back to the shore, swallowing the dock, the boats, the sidewalk path. It rolled up to them all and soaked their shoes, their ankles, their shins, but no one noticed, because above them now loomed two glowering red eyes, piercing through the haze and darkness around the lake. Beacons. Rebecca’s circle did little to shed light onto the monstrosity, only illuminating a small portion of the massive body that now towered in front of them all. A shapeless form in the shadows, too big to take in all at once; shining with wetness as water fell from it in rivulets, a thick, black ooze joining it. Branch like arms protruded and placed themselves onto the shores, sinking in, shaking the ground. Thick as the trees around the lake. Rebecca stumbled but did not move. A low rumble, like scraping metal or jet engines starting, sounded from the creature as it leaned down to examine them all, as if they were nothing more than ants on its table. “Ya Hashem,” she mumbled in quiet prayer, “<<Protect us G-d>>.” Before swallowing her words, opening her mouth, and daring to continue.

There was a roar in protest, and then, the real fight began.

Nicodemus settled into a rhythm as he grunted an acknowledgement towards Mercy. Cutting through meat and bone became comfortable. A mechanical motion that he fell into easily. Even as bodies fell to the mud and black blood bled into the earth. After all, it was what he had come to the lake for. To cut down the creature that had forced his hand. He tried to focus on Rebecca’s voice, even the cut of Mercy’s blade, as the water rose. Through the darkness, light split through. The light split through him. It burned his eyes and when they were able to focus again, through the slightly pinpricks of discoloration, he saw it.

Red eyes looked into his own. He had felt it long before he saw it. It went beyond his senses, beyond his teachings. It simply went beyond. Those cold fingers in his head pilfered through grey matter, pushed aside what it didn’t need, crawled ever inward. As insistent as he had been to kill the creature, to set things right, he doubted. Even so, he moved. He had to strike first. If he didn’t, he feared what might happen. A tentacle crawled forward and he lashed out at it. It was tough, thick to cut through in one swing, but he muscled through. He had to, as Rebecca continued to speak and Mercy continued to fight.

He looked up at the creature again. A third eye had opened. A fourth too. And they turned slowly. Or had they? Whether or not they were in his mind, he had already lost. Fear did nothing but addle. That doubt spread through him like blood from an open wound. The roar deafened his sensitive ears to everything except for running water. Ocean breeze. The ooze of blood. The breaking of bones. Screams ancient and new. Blood gathered in his mouth from how hard he clenched his teeth. His hand lowered against the creature. His eyes shut. No matter. He could see. And he looked toward Mercy.

A sun that looked like an eyeball caused by perfectly explainable solar flares, a black ocean from an oil spill, and the eyeball prank with the town’s water pipes were just a few of the things on Bo’s mind. Needless to say, she had a lot to deal with. And with a call about strange activity by the lake, she sprung to action. There, she imagined she’d find the lunatic that filled the pipes with eyes, or maybe those pranksters who spent all their time chanting. White Crest was a lot of things, at least she could say it wasn’t ever boring. But what she didn’t expect was a mesmerizing display of artistry. A giant squid thing, actors emerging from the water as if they’d been down there the whole time---if anything, this town could be so unbelievably creative. But this was also probably...illegal, in some way. The lake surely was public domain, but did they have to be practicing for their drama routine at this time? And so loud! What was that roar? Was that what was making the ground shake earlier? That roar nearly knocked the officer off her feat, and clearly having had enough of it, she stormed into the scene. “Hey!” She called out, hand on her hip, “I got a call about---” she stared up at the animatronic squid. It was so...lifelike. So horrifying. So large. How did it fit in the lake? Its eyes glowed with impossible redness, deep like their own lake of blood and fire. She glanced around again, shining her flashlight haphazardly; did those people have weapons? Why were people still crawling out of the lake? This was the strangest re-telling of Moby Dick she’d ever seen. Or was this some new Lovecraftian thing she didn’t know about?

She stormed over to the woman closest to the squid, the lead actor, Bo assumed. Bo had no fear, no worries, nothing in her voice or on her face but awe covered by professionalism. “Excuse me, ma’am? I’m officer David! And you’re going to need to turn down the volume on your play or LARP or whatever here. It’s disturbing the nearby---Wow, there sure are a lot of people that came out of the water, huh? Are those knives? Hope they’re fake!” She laughed, glanced around, wondered why no one else was laughing and turned back. “Ma’am? Sir? Other ma’am? Several robed people of indistinguishable gender?”

There were things in this world that defied any rational explanation, other than they couldn’t be explained rationally. Magic, parallel worlds, creatures of fairy tales and myth… gods and monsters… all existed whether one believed in them or not. Disbelief would kill you all the same. And while belief could hold a power all it’s own - as the power of the exorcist within her circle of light demonstrated - it didn’t guarantee one’s safety either.

But is sure fucking helped.

Mercy watched as the leviathan rose from the black water - “Odin protect us…” -  the twin flames of its eyes burning in the formless shape that towered over the trio on the shore. The earth rumbled beneath her feet, and alongside her a tentacle, blacker than the water it emerged from and as thick as any of the trees that flanked them, slammed itself into the sand. It had barely settled before Mercy swung at it with her sword, hacking once, twice… three times to sever the massive appendage before it could do further damage. She heard Nic still fighting in the darkness nearby, and Rebecca still spoke the words of the ritual from within her still-intact circle of light, so Mercy redoubled her efforts and cut a swath through any remaining bodies that were still a threat. She didn’t stop until she was between the exorcist and the beast.

Gore coated her skin and hair and dripped from her clothes. From the edge of her blade, the blood of the leviathan ran thick and dark and smelling of rot. It was this blood that she touched her fingertips to before pressing them to her forehead, just over her eyes. Drawing twin lines  over her eyelids, cheeks, mouth, and chin… Mercy looked into the face of the monster, and spoke in a lost tongue: “1200 years I’ve walked this earth, yet still I’m left to wonder… how does an Olde One come to be inhabited by such a lesser creature?”

The air around the Fury crackled and hummed as she paced a line back and forth over the gore-covered sand. She was so focused on her words, on distracting the creature long enough for Rebecca to finish the ritual, that she didn’t notice the moment Nic’s blade grew silent. Nor did Mercy notice a fourth person amid the chaos. One who was very, very human, and running right into the fray. She continued to speak, hoping it would delay any further attacks on Rebecca.

“But I see you now… I’ve tasted your blood… and you are not Jǫrmungandr. You will not bring the end to this world. You’ve fallen too far, grown too weak… if that parasite inside you holds you captive.” Mercy shook her head. “You are no god.”

The black water lapped at her boots.

“You’re just a slave…”  

There was too much happening at once. Rebecca’s concentration was slipping-- but Amnon could stay focused. He took the moment to seize control and eyes  flashed red. They moved in unison as a hand reached out, grabbing the closest cultist and searing the flesh on his face as light followed after in a wispy trail, as if it, too, were made of dirt and fog. Someone appeared beside them-- a woman, with dark hair and dark lips and confused eyes. She was shouting something at them, but Amnon paid no mind. He narrowed their eyes, honed in on a hand ready to strike, a knife slashing in their hand. Amnon managed to snag it just before it reached the detective, and the robed figured cried out, dropping the knife, as the light consumed him. For a brief moment, Amnon turned their eyes to face Bo, one red, one blue, both glowing with a matching light to the circle. “Not fake,” was all they said, both voices coming out at once, before they turned back to the ritual.

The warrior spoke to it in an ancient tongue, one Amnon barely recognized. But her words would fall on deaf ears, this was no old one. This was a creature of its own design. Finally, the two pillars arched in the sky. Brace yourself. They clenched their teeth, spread their legs, and planted their feet as they raised their hands. And when the beams met, they crashed with a thunderous boom more powerful than the monster’s roar. And when they reached Rebecca and Amnon, they exploded with a brilliant light, pushing everything dark away, leaving her, the officer, the warrior, untouched. But not the hunter. He was filled with darkness now, too. They had no time for him, though, and with a hefty charge, Rebecca and Amnon held their hands out. “BE UNTO THIS MORTAL PLANE,” they shouted, “WHERE PAIN AND STRIFE WILL BE YOUR DOWNFALL.” And hoped the two fighting-- and perhaps even the officer-- would remember the instructions. Now was the time to strike.

Grey matter turned to darkness as the light fell away. The crash of light had nearly blown out his eardrums. In the space between haggard breaths and silence, purpose steeled him. The parts of Nicodemus’s conscious state were steadily lulled to sleep underneath chaotic, yet somehow rhythmic waves. Some of him still fought. Just as it had happened before, it happened again. It wasn’t enough. He was forced behind an immovable wall as he started to move, compelled by something greater. The mark that had been gouged into his hand ached as his fist clenched. He could hear the voices of both the living and the soon dead. The hunter focused solely on the blonde woman who spoke in an olden language. It wasn’t His and therefore, it served no purpose. A useless tongue. Fit to be torn out.

Whatever she intended to do, He would not allow it. Rend her hands from her body, silence her tongue. Scatter her bones to the under dark. One of the robed figures cut across his path and he grabbed them by the neck. A mistake on their part. Black coated his hands, his blade, as he twisted and tore through water-logged flesh. Drenched in something wicked and silent as the grave, he advanced.

Wow! These were really dedicated actors! Bo wanted to applaud, the effects were just so realistic but they were all clearly so immersed in their roles that she didn’t want to interrupt them. She could let them go, couldn’t she? As an artist herself, she could understand their passion. Of course, her art was more baking-based than theirs, but she was an artist nonetheless. She glanced around again, the strange, wet robbed people shambled towards her and the lead actress. The other woman was hacking away at something and the big, buff man was...walking towards the other woman? Even with her flashlight waving around, it was hard to make any of the action out. “You should be doing this in better lighting,” she commented quietly, not wanting to disturb the play. “I mean, it seems like it must be a health-hazard or something!” As she spoke, one of the robed people moved towards her, brandishing a knife. “T-those are retractable, right?” The robed figure advanced, grazing her arm as she jolted out of their way. Hot blood coated her arm as a sharp pain shot through her. She clutched the wound, watching the way blood coated her fingers. Bo glanced around, the woman had been hacking at bodies, hadn’t she? These so-called robed actors? “This isn’t art!” She drew her gun, firing a round into the sky. “Stand down! Stand---” But they didn’t. She noticed finally that they charged unnaturally, as if being marionetted by some invisible force. There weren’t many of them left, but the few that were seemed so interested in the woman---the actress. Bo snapped around and fired a shot at the large animatronic squid as it roared, and then another, and another. “What is this! Am I endangering protected wildlife?” She swung her baton at a sluggishly approaching ‘actor’, only to find them groan and rise with determination. “You guys should have done Romeo and Juliet! I don’t like this play!” She fired into the sky again, clipping the squid creature with the bullet.

Mercy’s words had no effect on the beast. It paid her no heed, gave nothing in response to her taunts. But it had been worth a try. Behind her, there was a flurry of motion, and the smell of seared flesh, a raised voice, and then the sound of gunshots. Mercy glanced back long enough to see a body consumed by the light of Rebecca's circle. And then the signal they’d been waiting for pierced through the darkness.

Mercy thought her eardrums would burst when the beams came together. The sound resonated inside her head, trembled down through the pillars of her bones and vibrated in her blood as Rebecca’s light washed over her and the dark-haired woman. But Mercy didn’t see Nic, and briefly wondered if the worst had happened. But there was no time. Rebecca’s voice rang out, invoking the words that would send the creature back where it came from. Which meant it was time to strike.

From the sheath across her back, Mercy pulled a short, wooden staff, the length of which was carved with runes. She ran her hand over the wood and whispered a few words. The runes glowed a bright red - the same color as the eyes of the leviathan - before starting to move and curl towards the empty space at either end of the staff. One end extended down towards the sand, creating a thick, sturdy base. From the other end, a long, wickedly curved blade formed from the ether, glowing with the curling red light of the runes. Mercy turned the great harpoon towards one of the creature's crimson eyes… said a prayer that it’s path would be true… took aim…  

And let it fly.

Rebecca and Amnon collapsed in their exhaustion, still struggling to hold together the circle of light. “You must wound it!” she shouted at the officer, her voice only. Something felt like it was vibrating inside of her, trying to burst out. She had to hold the energy, had to wait. If she released the ritual too soon and monster would stay and all of this would be for naught. Trembling, she tried to pull herself back up, even the monster inside of her exhausted of his powers. “The creature, we have to wound it enough...to send it back...I can’t step out of this light or the ritual will be ruined,” she explained, hoping that some part of this officer’s brain could register that this wasn’t fake and they needed her help. Her eyes searched for Nic, saw the spear soaring. It caught the creature in the eye and roared, rearing back, tentacles slamming into the ground, shaking the entire area. Water splashed and lapped up around them all, cultists fell in heaps. “That!” she shouted to Mercy, “keep doing that! Aim for its eyes! They’re the weak point!”

The hunter’s pace increased as the monster roared. Pain bloomed. Some unseen panic rose up in Nicodemus’s chest. Frustration grew as he tore through more of the robed figures. They had their purpose but now they were getting in the way. His was greater. Black blood flecked his face as he stepped into dim light. When he looked at Mercy, he didn’t think twice about it and instead moved. Crashed towards Mercy like an unmerciful wave, compelled by the moon and the pulsating cold in his head. He grabbed for her throat as water sloshed up against his ankles, then his knees as he advanced toward the water. His face was stone as he looked at her. Through her. It wasn’t the hunter with his eyes on her. It was him and if he bid it, let her choke on black water until her spirit caved.

Or was it a play? Bo glanced around frantically, and though she kept fending off robbed figures with baton swings, earning her bone-shattering crunches and snaps as she smacked the thing around, she wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t some new kind of immersive theatre. The lady kept saying strange things, and Bo was sure she just saw the other lady fling a whole spear-thing at the giant squid. Yes, she was bleeding...but did artists not bleed for their art? The tentacle slam seemed real, and loud, and she stumbled for it. But what else was she to think about the command ‘we must wound it’ like this was some episode of Supernatural? “Okay, but do I shoot at the eyes or does she? Like what’s my storyline in this play? Or does she just--” She gestured to the woman who was now---”Fuck! I think your actors are turning on each other! No! Please! That’s violence! That’s bad!” And the buff man looked so much stronger than the woman, or so much more dedicated. She moved to separate the two, finding her path blocked by more robbed actors as they grouped in on her and the lead actress. “Eeck!” She fired her gun up into one of the eyes, like she said, wondering if it worked or not---she really just wanted to scare these robed people away, but gunshots would not deter them, being repeatedly hit with a baton did not deter them. She didn’t want to shoot, but it seemed to be the only thing she could do to keep them from stabbing the lead actress. “Can I shoot these things!? Are these people? They don’t seem like people! AH!” Another one charged at her, cutting the other arm. She shoved that one down, firing a bullet into its head--convinced it couldn’t be a person. “I-I think y-your animatronics are evil!” But the blonde woman and the buff man were people, she knew that much. She shone her flashlight at them, firing at the rest of the robed robots. “You two stop that! Stop!” She fired a few more bullets up, into what she hoped were the eyes and not just blindly into nowhere, before she turned to the lead actress--confused and desperate for a prompt.

When the spear hit home, Mercy let out a cry of triumph. It was drowned out as the beast roared in pain and anger - a terrible, deafening sound - and its long, inky-black limbs writhed and crashed around the small group. The ground trembled in the wake of the impact to the sand, and Mercy nearly lost her footing against the suddenly shifting earth.

But still she heard Rebecca call out, heard the confirmation of the beast’s weakness, heard another voice - the dark-haired woman- asking what her role was. “Yes! Shoot it!” the Fury answered as she took up her next weapon, a longbow, and nocked an arrow tipped with a long, serrated head. She fired it into the leviathan’s eye, followed by a second, causing the monster to roar even louder as both struck true. The beach was chaos - light and dark, blood and water, sand and ash, life and death… all struggling against the inevitable - but Rebecca’s light held true, and the sound of gunshots filled the air alongside the whistle of Mercy’s arrows and the chant of the exorcist’s words.

Mercy had just nocked her third arrow when something huge and hulking bore down on her without warning. She barely had time to react as Nic’s hands latched onto her neck with an iron grip that would’ve crushed a human's throat like a soda can. But Mercy wasn’t human. Nic wouldn’t be able to strangle her no matter how hard he tried. Regardless, Mercy made a slightly pained sound as the hunter’s hands started to squeeze, and her own hands snapped up to latch tightly around his wrists. This close, the bright light of the ritual circle illuminated his face… and the blank expression of a man who was no longer in control.

Fuck.

“Nic! I know you’re in there!” Mercy yelled, using her grip against his skin to push as much of her Valkyrie influence into him as she could. “Fight it!” But the water was cold and getting deeper by the second as Nic bullied her backwards. There was no time. Using Nic’s own forward momentum and size against him, Mercy planted her feet against the sandy bottom and pulled forwards on his arms as hard as she could. She then threw her entire body weight backwards and down, dousing herself in cold, black water, before putting both feet into the hunter's stomach, hard. She pulled and kicked out with everything she had in an attempt to flip him over and onto his back in the water. As Nic fell, Mercy tried to twist out of his grip, swinging her fist at his temple once he was on his back in an attempt to stun him enough to make him let go.

“Fight back, Nic!” The water was freezing against her skin as it churned around them, stirred by the furious, wounded monster overhead. “Don’t make me hurt you!”

Her power wavered. Rebecca’s eyes flickered, the matching glow from her circle fading for just a moment. No, she couldn’t let go now. She couldn’t. Power, they needed power. She felt him pushing against her, inside. He wanted to consume, he was using her weakness against her. “We made a deal,” she hissed, buckling to her knees, thick, chilling water splashing up her thighs, her abdomen, making her shiver. Hands fell into the water as well, one clutched to her head. She needed more power, she didn’t have enough. She never had enough. Fists dug up mud and grass. Eyes searched the battlefield. The human cop would not do, the hunter would not do. Zeroed in on the woman fighting. Her power was calling to them. Infinite and endless. Yes, her.

Amnon reached out, hand bursting through the light, and called her to him. A telekinetic pull, with the last of his energies, the two fighting bodies tumbling towards them. Fingers caught at the blonde woman’s chest, and pressed. “Give me power,” they said, and in the next moment, magic swelled into their arm, their chest, lit up their eyes, burning with a fury a hundred times more powerful than before. “Let’s finish this,” they said together, eyes boring holes through the battery of a woman before turning away. Raised their hands. It was time to finish this.

The hit to Nicodemus’s gut slightly winded him but what compelled him wasn’t human. It didn’t need to breathe the way that something brokenly human did. Even if his lungs seized slightly and his throat burned. His grip on Mercy maintained even as his head smarted from the shot to his temple. She was talking to him in a language he knew and chose to ignore. All that was needed was the language of blood and water. It spoke clearly enough to him. She fought against him as he dug his heels into the dirt and twisted his upper body, leverage on his side as water lapped at his wrists. The other woman said something and then, he could feel Mercy start to slacken underneath him. Noise and light, both human and otherwise, became a cacophony around them but he remained fixated on the blonde woman. He couldn’t quite get his fingers to completely circle around her neck as he forced her underwater, the tension of the attempt clear in his neck and arms. After her, one by one, they all might become the drowned. He would not permit them escape.

Mercy knew Rebecca had warned them that energy would be needed if this was going to work.

Magic always had a price, after all.

But Mercy was still unprepared.

Thunder without sound… light and heat and burning, fathomless eyes bright as all the suns of all the realms… taking what was needed… pulling it from the very essence of what she was… it felt like her flesh was being peeled from her bones…

So as Mercy fought back against Nic’s crushing hold with everything she had - every skill, every defensive measure, any and everything that had saved her life against enemies far bigger and far more dangerous than one mortal hunter, possessed or otherwise ... - she felt herself falter.

And while Nic - or the entity that was in control - couldn’t strangle her or break her bones, Mercy was no match for him when it came down to sheer brute strength. Especially as her own strength started to fade, pulled towards Rebecca’s circle, towards the light that began to brighten even as Mercy’s light started to dim.

The beast roared again as Rebecca raised her hands to the sky, and everything seemed to slow. It was in that moment that Mercy realized there would be no escaping this time. She’d seen enough of life and death to know that her life, such as it was, was forfeit. For now. But she would not go quietly.

Mercy dug her nails into the skin of Nic’s arms, cutting half-moons into his flesh. “You couldn’t kill me if you tried… for a thousand years-”

But then there was only darkness and rushing cold and the sound of her own muted screams as Nic forced her beneath the surface of the lake…

And when the black water finally rushed into her lungs and Mercy’s struggling ended, her last thought was simply:

Forgive me…

It was time.

Power surged through them and Rebecca drew in a breath. She drew herself up to stand again, caked in mud and water, and grass and blood. Inhaled slowly as she took up position inside her circle again, held up her hands. The beams energies were perfectly aligned now, and the monster in front of her turned as if to meet her gaze. It roared again. Soldiers fell. The energy in the air shifted. Nic was pressed on top of the blonde woman, and Rebecca was acutely aware of her movements stopping. But she could mourn the life lost later. For now, they needed to focus.

Raising her hands, she began the chant again. This time in her own language, using her own power. The monster screamed. It reached out, swiping a tentacle across the ground, sweeping cultists and others alike out of its way as it swung for her. But when its flesh met their light, it could go no further. It screamed in pain, shaking the world again, sloshing the water around. It tried to fight back, but their power, the power of the rituals-- it was too strong. She turned her palms to face the demon, and with one word, redirected the light.

As it collided with the monster, it sent out a shockwave. Everyone knocked from their feet. Even them. Light consumed the monster, soaking into it. For a moment, the world was still. Then fissures, like cracks in its facade, exploded with light. From wherever it was wounded. The spear in its eye, the bullet holes rained into it. The hole in its flesh where it’d collided with the circle’s light. As the light from the rituals consumed it, it spread. Out, over the lake, over the water. It consumed the cultists and the docks and worked its way up the shore to the circle. Washed right by her, right by Mercy’s unconscious body, right by the cop. And just when it seemed like it would climb all the way up to the road and perhaps down into the town-- it stopped. And receded, sucked back into the circle, back into the lake, and when it faded, nothing but the four of them were left.

Rebecca collapsed. It was over.

Nicodemus was keenly aware of how her pulse slowed then halted. That panic swelled further in his chest and pressed against every organ, like bear-trap primed to reverse. He needed to keep going. He needed to tear them all down to build a foundation that would outlast their fragile existence. As the beams lit up his eyes and near-blinded him, he stumbled back. Pain ripped through his head and a guttural roar tore through him. About shredded his vocal chords. It was him screaming, the hunter. Not whatever the hell had taken over him. The light faded and he went quiet. Aware. He looked at Mercy, the purpling around her neck and the stillness that overcame her. He had done that. Fuck. He spat out black water. He looked back at Rebecca. Collapsed and exhausted. He couldn’t find any words for what she had done. As he swallowed, his throat burned. Then he looked at the other woman. A cop. Shit. He had to go. He needed to leave. Get away from them. Get away from everyone. Fear swelled alongside panic and he moved to gather the assortment of weapons he had brought. Make sure he grabbed his rifle. His thoughts scattered, damn near impossible to the piece together. A migraine threatened to split him. The look he sent Rebecca could hardly convey the agony that chilled him, but it was all he could muster before he ran towards the thick of the White Crest woods. He wouldn’t stop until his boots wore and even then, not until his feet bled.

There was too much, too soon and too quick. Bo whipped her flashlight around frantically, the man was drowning the blonde woman, whose struggling seemed to die. The robed people stood between her and them, and she stumbled backwards, confused and horrified as the lead actress started her chant. A tentacle sweeped out for them, knocking the robed ones away, halting just in front of her face, between the light and the darkness. The creature roared, and Bo flew back against the wet ground. The world was bright, suddenly, the way she imagined it would be when she died. She might have let it be, if her mind hadn’t thought of the woman, still in the lake, and all that she had to set right. It wouldn’t be her end, not today. As the light was pulled away, leaving their world back in shuddering darkness, she clawed her way to the lead actress first. She pulled up grass and dug dirt under her nails. Bo checked her pulse---alive---then spared a glance up to the strewn bodies of the robed people---or what should have been their bodies. In their place she found their robes, stained wet and dark with something she couldn’t see. But it didn’t matter, not now. She clawed across the ground again, picking herself up only to slip in the mud and come crashing back down. Ink coated her hands and she tried again, clawing and running, stumbling and shouting. The man was gone. She committed his silhouette to memory before she turned to the lake. There, with equal vigor, she splashed and waded through the water, grunting and heaving as she pulled the blonde woman’s body out.

Once at the threshold between land and water, her feet began slipping on the mud, her arms looped around the woman’s losing their grip. And everytime Bo faltered, she dragged her up with renewed strength, determined to see her live even if the cold stillness of her body told another story. “I need--I need---” she panted into her receiver, calling for backup, ambulance, anything. “Come on,” she begged the woman’s unmoving body. She checked her pulse--dead. She began the process of resuscitation. But each pump, each breath she tried to bring back to the woman’s lungs, was met with stillness. “Please,” Bo croaked. She continued to plead long after the woman was pronounced dead. And all that remained of the oddities she’d witnessed were the giant squid, a handful of ink stained robes and a mismatched recounting that made no sense to even her. But she begged until her voice went raw. She begged for some justice in the world, some answers that could be clung to. She wept, for the unnamed woman who drowned, for the man who left his crime to be unanswered, for the woman who cast the squid away, now alone on the floor. She wept for all the horror that this town produced, and all the pieces she was missing.

This town needed saving, but how could anyone help when these were the troubles they faced? What hope was left for White Crest?

[exorciseyourspirit]

Two For Tea||Javier and Rebecca

Timing: Sometime in March, during the coin debacle. Parties: @damn-fine-cup-of-tea Summary: Just two normal folks talking normally about normal White Crest things. Over damn good tea. (This chatzy was unfinished b/c I am, as Meri says, Booboo the fool and let it sit for far too long but it’s a fun read anyway. Thanks!)

Javier took the trip to Rebecca’s house as an opportunity to finally have a look at campus, and Wilkes Park. They were nothing spectacular, but the park was full of these trees he enjoyed so much and he had to stop to observe a praying mantis that was taking a stroll on someone’s windshield. He had left the motel early anyway, as there was nothing he disliked more than being late or in a hurry, at least outside of work. He could not be so picky in his professional life. He was looking forward to this meeting with the Professor. Having followed her advice, the agent had faced his fear of heights and climbed up a roof, to find a cracked roof tile and some scratches. The four other rooftops told him the exact same story. Someone had been near the fireplaces recently. And, whoever they were, they did not leave a lot of traces for him to inspect. This did not make sense. Why would someone go on the roof. Chimneys were too narrow for anyone to fit in there and too dirty too. Those thoughts were solidly anchored in his mind as he knocked on Rebecca’s door. 

The truth behind the newly baked macaroons was a more sinister one than Rebecca wanted to admit. Staying in control was becoming increasingly harder, but Rebecca was determined to not let it interrupt her daily life. He had already taken so much from her, she wasn’t about to let him take her routine, as well. So, baking it was. It helped keep her up, because if she fell asleep with the oven on, the cookies would burn. And other things, but the cookies were the most important part of that equation. She had them all set out on a plate, with the sugar cubes, the teaspoons, cups, and the pot, with a few different choices for Javier to pick from. It’d been a while since she’d picked the brain of another Anthropologist, and she’d have been lying had she said she wasn’t the slightest bit excited for this. Plus, and FBI agent would be a good contact to make. Now, it was just about assessing how much she could get him to believe about this quirky little town. When the knock came, she waltzed over to the door and opened it up, giving a pleasant smile. “Thanks for coming,” she said, standing to the side and ushering him in. The house was a bit older than most in town, but it was nothing overly fancy. Rebecca had left that life behind a long time ago. Still, there were far too many empty rooms, and she could only hope that her decorations she’d bought from the antique mall were enough to hide that fact. “How was the drive over? Not too bad, I hope? There’s a hook for your jacket,” she motioned, shutting the door behind him. She’d always been good at pleasantries, even if she didn’t care much for them.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Javier nodded politely, walking inside when invited and having a first look around him. It was a nice house, even if there was nothing special to it. You could tell a lot about a person from the way their house looked, and as far as the entrance was concerned, Javier could tell that it had not been long since she arrived here, that she had a taste for antiques, and that she was neither married nor with children. “Well, compared to Philadelphia, there was little to no traffic,” he observed, taking off his coat when told to, and putting it neatly on the mentioned hook. His eyes lingered on a hair on the collar, and he took a mental note to clean his coat whenever he could get his hands on a brush. “...” He wondered if he should begin by telling her about these things he had found, climbing on those roofs, or mention the fact that even having learned how to better deal with heights, this had not been his favourite experience since he arrived in White Crest. The only thing that could possibly be worse was his encounter with the mime although nothing terrible had happened then. The meeting with the bizarre masked person had left him with a bad feeling and whenever he thought of that thing, his brain felt like trying to scream in horror. “So, about those dreams,” he began, following the woman behind. “There was something strange going on where the woman was pointing.”

Rebecca led Javier into the foyer and to the sitting room, where she had the tea set up. She was, actually, quite grateful for the company. The big house got lonely, and the more she was alone, the more she felt the weight of it. But being alone, truly, was the only way to keep people safe from the monster inside of her. One small visit wouldn’t harm anyone. She motioned for him to sit anywhere before taking a seat across from him. “So what you’re saying is, my advice was good?” she gave a little wry grin before offering the selection of teas. “Tell me, what is it that you found? If you can share, of course. I’d love to help you anyway I can. I’m just as worried about a serial killer loose in my town as you,” she said simply. 

Javier took a look around each room, out of sheer curiosity. There was something fascinating, to him, about walking into someone’s home. The way a house looked always said a lot about their owner but this one felt a bit empty, like she had just moved in and did not have time to unpack everything. He sat down, crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. He held back his smile as she prided herself of giving good advice although his eyes betrayed him and his amusement. “I suppose so.” Glancing at her with a knowing look, he then took a moment to choose his tea. “...” He bit his lip and ran his hand from below his nose to his chin, thoughtful. What he had found did not make much sense, and he was not sure that she would be able to help him with that. She sounded like she knew things about this town, things both mysterious and incredible, he supposed, although for now, all he had gotten from this town was beauty with a touch of eerie. “Someone has been climbing on all the victim’s roofs,” he finally said. “What I don’t understand is, no one could have possibly gotten access to the room through the chimney. It’s too narrow, and it would have made a mess. There was no trace of soot in the room,” he would have to ask Regan about that, although he doubted that she would have forgotten to mention it in her reports. 

Rebecca caught the little smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth and she gave herself an internal pat on the back. All these years later and she still subsisted off of validation from others. “Sure, suppose,” she answered, reaching out to pour in the hot water for his tea, before pouring her own cup. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” She sat back, tilting her head as she examined him. Even in this setting, he still seemed so professional, a feeling she knew well. He sat up straight, crossed his legs proper, and placed his hands in just the right spot. A lady never puts her hands in her lap, her grandmother had said, a lady puts her hands on her knees, or at her sides, lest the men whose company she keeps think her...dirtied. Rebecca shook the memory away and met his eyes, a steely brown, captivating in their unwavering stare. Reflecting his stalwart opinions. “That is interesting,” she noted. What did she know that could do that? She’d have to consult her journals later, but the story of a chimney creeper sounded somehow familiar. “But at least you know how they got in now, right? Now it’s just about figuring out the rest.”

"I was not entirely convinced by your methods," Javier, if he could tell that she had gone some place else in her mind for a while, did not make any comments. He too could sometimes get lost in his own stream of consciousness, and he appreciated being in the company of someone who was quieter than the norm. This was one thing he had observed : Rebecca never spoke to say nothing. There was always a point being made and if he had disagreed with her on her view of dreams and their hidden meaning, he had to admit that she was right. There was something unsettling about it, and since he did not believe in coincidences, he felt slightly frightened as he still had no clue whatsoever on who could have done all of this. He knew how they got in the room. That was all. He had no idea how it was that they got the intestines out so neatly, or why. Was it a cult? A very bored surgeon maybe ? Or a skilled butcher ? "It's interesting, to say the least," in a I have never ever seen something so impossible before kind of way. His gut feeling told him that there was something off about all of this, but he could not put his finger on what. "It is… Just about figuring out everything else," taking out the infuser from the cup, he looked up from the cup, meeting her eyes. "..." No, he would not ask her if she had other hints to give him about this case. Maybe she just believed in dreams meaning something and that was it. And so he remained silent and took a sip from his cup.

“I noticed,” Rebecca said quickly, making sure to keep her voice even. She didn’t entirely care if anyone believed her or not, she’d had people yelling at her her whole life saying she was crazy, saying she was wrong, telling her she couldn’t do it. She’d never listened then, why would she listen now? But Javier seemed to have the ability to change, if he would only open his mind a little. And if Rebecca could help push him in that direction, then maybe someone like him could actually be helpful in this town. It would just take some gentle persuasion. His silence spoke words, as he sipped from his cup. If he didn’t want her advice, that was his loss. She sipped her own. “Well, whatever the case, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. How longs it been since you’ve had a good case like this, Agent?”

“I am still not entirely convinced,” he replied, once again looking at her. This was something Javier did while on the job. Always keeping his eyes on others, studying their mannerisms, their intonation. But he was not working right now, not really. In fact, he was supposed to come here to discuss anthropology, and not once again focus on this case. “But you have won this set. The dreams indeed were trying to tell me something,” putting down his cup, he leaned back a little, trying to look more relaxed, but it was just not comfortable. Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead with the tip of his fingers, puzzled. “How did you know that I would find something up there?” There had to be a reason, an explanation. He did not accuse her of being behind those murders, of course, but this troubled him nevertheless. If he always kept an open mind, he relied heavily on empirical methods. Observations, experiments. “I think this might take longer than I anticipated,” he had theories. Lots of them. But none of them explained the lack of wounds. He could explain everything, but this. “Good question,” he frowned, thinking about the question seriously. He usually had great instincts, and there was always something, a detail, to put him on the path of the perpetrator. “I don’t know if I should be rating cases, but this one is quite captivating,” and he hoped that he would solve this. 

Ending Summary: The two continued a rather amicable conversation about Javier’s case, though neither side decided to let up too much on the secrecy they were holding. They left off on good enough terms to continue speaking and with promises of trying a new tea next time.

[professor-exorcist]

What’s In Your Head?||Rebecca, Evelyn, and Amnon (Chatzy) POTW

Shhhhhhhhhh! You’re in a library!

Rebecca had been on her way to Blanche's when she decided to stop by the public library to pick up a few things. Because although the public library didn't have books on the supernatural, they had a wonderful language section and there were definitely a few references she could pick up to help compliment the older books from her own collection. Hebrew was a rough language, after all, if it wasn't your first or you didn't have a starting knowledge of it. She was sure, though, that Blanche could easily pick up on it. When she'd pulled up to the library, everything had seemed normal. Even as she walked through the front doors and into the language section. Even as she pulled down the first few books and stacked them in her hands. It was only when she turned to head into the next aisle that she felt something funny, like a wave of electricity running through the room, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. There were several other people in the library, but when she looked up, she only met one pair of eyes. Had they felt that, too?

Evelyn was not quite certain why she had chosen to go to the library, but it was a source of comfort, in a way. A nice play to escape to without having to deal with the sometimes overwhelming noises of the town. Especially when too many other things - or beings, she wasn't totally sure - seemed to be doing her job for her. Which was incredibly frustrating. She was in the aisle mainly filled with literature analysis when something seemed to be vaguely shimmering around her. Was she seeing things? Evelyn shook her head, before glancing around her, suddenly meeting a pair of eyes. She ducked quickly, shy in a way that was unlike her, letting her loose hair spill over her face and shoulders. But when she looked up again, the woman was still there.

Rebecca squinted a little, watching as the woman ducked away from her line of sight. She shuffled around, although keeping her distance in case of an altercation-- she didn't want to cause a scene, but something was up and this woman felt it, too. But before she got around the corner, a shimmering caught the corner of her eye, and she paused. You see that?Rebecca scrunched her nose. "I saw it," she breathed, trying to make it look like she wasn't talking to herself. The feeling rattled through her again, that static electricity pricking her insides. She paused, holding her breath. And right before her eyes, a shimmering swirl of pink and neon and glowing started to pull at the fabrics of reality around it. Distorting it, clawing its way into existence, until it was nearly the size of a bookshelf and finally, finally, other people started to notice. The blonde woman was within reaching distance of it, and Rebecca hurried over, another sense of hers tingling, as what could really only be described as a serrated tentacle came shooting out from the portal and straight for the blonde. She made it just in time to tug her away from it, staring wide-eyed as something started to crawl out of the shimmering opening. Words lost to her for a moment.

Evelyn blinked. So she wasn't just seeing things. Which was totally fine; in fact, it was the better option. All of a sudden, the bookshelf almost seemed to transform into something pink and glowing neon. If Evelyn hadn't been at least vaguely aware of the supernatural, she would have discounted it. But the bookshelf hadn't transformed - no, something had suddenly appeared. The other woman - the one who she'd made eye-contact with grabbed her all of a sudden and Evelyn stepped back, turning around (and, for the time being, ignoring whatever was coming out of the opening) and glancing up and down at the woman. "I-" she began, clearing her throat, "thank you."

Rebecca didn't have time to give her pleasantries back to the woman. Instead, she used the moment to move both of them back away from the glowing swirl of energy and to start barking orders at the staff and patrons to get out and get as far away as possible. Someone reached for their phone, probably to call 9-1-1, but Rebecca didn't care. This wasn't a police problem, this was an Ashkent Creek problem. Magical in nature, most likely. She looked back towards the rift and watched as the tentacle hoisted the rest of its body through. It was tall and lanky and not like anything she'd seen before. Its main body had the shape of a squid, but there was no head and there were no eyes, and there were definitely more than eight tentacles. They thrashed and felt the objects around it, tearing books apart and shredding the book shelf just from touching it. A clear, gooey liquid seemed to drip from its body, as if it had just emerged from a vat full of it. There was a pulling at the back of Rebecca's mind, then, and she realized she'd been feeling it the whole time. She'd simply thought it was Amnon, but it was different now, stronger, and as the creature turned toward them, she realized it was the source. "We have to go," she said to the other woman, not even turning to look at her as she shoved her back firmly, "Now."

Evelyn didn't know why she'd even thanked the woman. Because she wasn't a savage, she reasoned with herself. Basic pleasantries were crucial. She turned back to the glowing, near-empty space and watched as a horrific being emerged from it, like something out of some combo fantasy-sci-fi-horror show. It seemed to suddenly lock eyes with her, and all she could think was that she hoped that it didn't get whatever mystic-monster-goo it seemed to be dripping all over her shoes and dress. She hardly registered the other woman's words as she felt something shock through her brain and she did step back, her back bumping against the bookshelves behind her. She was not scared, but 'this is not good' signals shot through her body. Like when she'd encountered that hunter-slayer-warden-whatever-he-was in the forest. 'Daddy, I want to play with you, come on!' The memory came, sharp and yet still uneven. 'I am busy, Evelyn.' Her father's strong, stern voice echoed through her head. Where were these coming from, and why now?! She glanced back over to where the monster had stood, only now it was her father. Except he wasn't here, there was no way that he could be - and yet, she couldn't keep her eyes off of his figure.

The woman next to Rebecca seemed to freeze in her spot suddenly. And even as Rebecca tugged on her, she stayed put, as if glued to her spot. But there was nothing physical of note on her. Must be telekinetic came the voice in her head. She shook, tried to get it out of her mind. "Not now," she hissed, and came around the front of the blonde woman, waving a hand in her face. "Hey! C'mon! Snap out of it!" she said, shaking her. But the woman didn't move, completely entranced. Rebecca glanced over her shoulder back at the creature. It was coming closer, its tentacles clawing along the bookshelves to get to them. It was the predator and they were its prey. Rebecca shook Evelyn harder, trying to move her. "Hey! Hey!" she was shouting now, "Snap out of it!" Eyes flashing red for just a moment.

She felt her stomach twist in knots. Evelyn kept staring at the figure - at her father. Everything matched perfectly - from his crisp-pressed button-down shirt and black pants, to the smell of his cologne. "Daddy?" The voice wasn't Evelyn had used in years - well over a decade, even nearing on two. But they slipped so quickly out of her mouth. "You're nothing that I wanted." Her father hissed. "Why would I take time out of my day to spend with you?" Something he'd never explicitly said to her, but something that she'd imagined him saying day after day in the months after she'd found her mother's journals. Evelyn became vaguely aware of someone moving right in front of her, but she shook her head. "He's lying," she hissed right back, glaring at him, trying to conjure up as many of her father's nightmares. But nothing happened. "he

She felt her stomach twist in knots. Evelyn kept staring at the figure - at her father. Everything matched perfectly - from his crisp-pressed button-down shirt and black pants, to the smell of his cologne. "Daddy?" The voice wasn't Evelyn had used in years - well over a decade, even nearing on two. But they slipped so quickly out of her mouth. "You're nothing that I wanted." Her father hissed. "Why would I take time out of my day to spend with you?" Something he'd never explicitly said to her, but something that she'd imagined him saying day after day in the months after she'd found her mother's journals. Evelyn became vaguely aware of someone moving right in front of her, but she shook her head. "He's lying," she hissed right back, glaring at him, trying to conjure up as many of her father's nightmares. But nothing happened. "he's lying." She wasn't afraid - never afraid, but there was something distinctly unsettling about all of this.

"Lying? Who's lying?" Rebecca asked, looking around. But it was just them and the very rapidly approaching squid monster. The prodding in the back of her head started again, but it was battling a different entity. It was probably the first time she'd ever felt thankful for the demon inside of her. Because if whatever was happening to this woman happened to her, too, they were doomed. But the woman wasn't budging, so it was time to try a new tactic. Rebecca turned around, standing between the blonde woman and the creature and pulled out her salt gun. She hadn't used it in a while and it would definitely sting, but it was worth it. She aimed, pointed-- pulled the trigger. The creature let out a loud screech-- from where, she wasn't sure, but it screamed and it felt like the scream was coming from inside her own head, pressure against her skull. Felt like her eyes and ears were on fire as she stumbled back, falling over. Hands clasped over her ears as she screamed, too.

"He is.” Evelyn pointed straight at her father. Before the woman could respond again, she'd stepped in front of Evelyn and shot something at her father. She opened her mouth to protest, but the figure - figment, even - of her father half yelped and fell over. Evelyn covered her ears briefly, before focusing on her father again. Her not-father, more precisely (and precision was the goal, after all, was it not?). Part of his shirt was untucked, and Evelyn sidestepped the woman and knelt right next to her not-father, dress spilling out around her. Almost an exact mirror-image of the Spring she'd turned 14. Or was it 15? Either way, early-mid-teenagerhood, she'd stood in her pure white nightgown right next to her father, watched him as he'd slept. Pondered taking his breath, snapping his neck, and finally having a sense of freedom. She hadn't. But this wasn't her father. This was some entirely different being, and Evelyn felt a wicked smirk cross her lips. Whatever the woman had shot at him, — salt — she winced, fingertips stinging, as she touched her not-father's torso, had at least somewhat incapacitated him. At least it wasn't a line, at least she could get by. "This is for every doubt you've ever had." She wondered if Marley would approve of this. But if this image of her father held the smell of his cologne, it could breathe just like him, could it not? She rested her fingers around his lips, barely registering the shriek he made before falling silent. Evelyn shook her head briefly, looking up at the woman. "They always said to confront your insecurities head on, did they not?” Before she could respond to Evelyn, the creature — which still looked like her father — grabbed her shoulder and pulled her closer to his ear, and she could feel his hot breath on her ear. “You will never be my daughter. Being like your mother is not something to aspire to.” Evelyn grabbed his wrist, whipping her hair around. “That is all false.” She said, snapping his wrist back. This was not actually Lord Robert Hoffman, though for a moment she found herself not caring if it were. Evelyn turned around. Maybe this — whatever this was — didn’t breathe like she’d expected. “One moment.” She glanced back up at the woman, though something about her felt different than before. Then she pressed one hand hard against her not-father’s neck, and placed the other one on top of it. She pressed down as hard as she could until there was a solid snap. “I think he’s dead now.” She bit her lip, wiping some of whatever had been inside of the creature on her dress. A nervous giggle escaped her lips.

Rebecca writhed on the ground, blood dripping from her ears. The scream finally silenced, but her body was limp. After a moment, Amnon opened his eyes. Man, it'd been so long since he'd had control. The stupid exorcist was getting more confident, and with the magic interruption from the dimensional splicing, he was having a hard time maintaining his how consciousness. He grit his teeth as he sat up, wincing from the pain. Wiped the blood off the side of his face and looked over at the blonde woman, who was kneeling over the now dead tentacle creature. "Gross," he said with Rebecca's voice, sneering. Used the bookshelf to pull himself up. There was another burst of energy around them and he glanced at her. "That thing is still open. We might've killed one, but I think I'm gonna split before more show up," he said simply, "I think you should do that same." Gave her a steady look, letting her know he heard and saw everything. Letting her know that he knew there was something different about her. Something special. "I was never here, if you weren't....if you catch my drift."

Evelyn turned to face the woman, who, despite earlier signs of distress, seemed to be fine now. But there was something more about her, something Evelyn couldn't quite (and right now was not focused on) place right now. "I see that." She said, raising an eyebrow. The way she looked at her said that there was more hidden behind the words. More that Evelyn wanted little to nothing to do with. "I only occasionally stop by, anyhow." Not fully true. "I was never here." At least there were no other people around, nobody to see what had happened. "I think I caught it."

Amnon grinned. "Good girl," he said, giving a wave as he made his way towards the library exit, but not before slipping a business card over to Evelyn. "If you need anything, here's how you can reach me." It was her exorcist card, had Rebecca's name and number on it, as well as her online handle. "Stay safe, doll," he said, then kicked a few books that had fallen over out of his way. First dimension hopping, now portal opening? Ashkent got more interesting by the day, didn't it?

[notjustoneofyourmanytoys]

REPOST! Don’t reblog.

tagged by: @fakedfun

BASICS:

name: kitten

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: pansexual

zodiac sign: gemini (i refuse to accept the new horoscope that claims i’m a taurus)

taken/single: taken

THREE FACTS:

i drink at least five cups of tea and coffe per day sometimes more

i despise mangos, they’re just gross to me.

i suck at social media and barely use it.

RP EXPERIENCE:

how long (months/year?) : 10-12 years (only because i count tabletop old school white wolf games like Mage: The Ascension and Vampire the Masquerade)

platforms used: tumblr, skype, chatzy, rpnow

best experience: probably the first tumblr rp i joined that my friend hatter talked me into? it was south park and i played Lola, Red and Rebecca. i made a couple of friends from that that i still talk to after it died.

MUSES PREFERENCES:

female or male (or otherwise): female and nb. my boys, in my opinion, suck unless i’m playing them with someone i’m super comfortable with.

multi or single: i like multi more, it means i don’t have to switch back and forth an sometimes reblog on the wrong tumblr (it’s happened in games and yikes when you don’t realize you’ve done it until much later on). multi also means i don’t forget anyone that I have muse for.

WRITING PREFERENCES:

fluff, angst or smut: angst and fluff mostly.

plots or memes: memes, only because i suck at plotting something, i just go with the flow. 

long/short term replies: both.

best time to write: very late at night/early morning hours before i go to sleep.

are you like your muse(s): not really no, well, i might be a bit like lulu minus the homicidal tendencies and i have things in common with sky and toni 

tagging: anyone that wants to do it, go for it?

[marguerite-baker-blog]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER.

– BASICS. NAME: Shiloh PRONOUNS: they/them SEXUALITY: asexual/panromantic TAKEN OR SINGLE: taken~

– THREE FACTS. 1. I’m currently majoring in Psychology with no decided emphasis and am minoring (consider double-majoring) in Classical Studies with an emphasis on Mythology. 2. Sometimes I wear swimsuits under my clothes instead of regular underwear. 3. I am superstitious to a point and strongly identify with categories I’ve been placed in, such as  being an Aquarius, an ENTJ, and a Lawful Neutral. 

– EXPERIENCE. HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): Technically since kindergarten? Online for about 9-10 years.  PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: Tumblr,Facebook, Chatzy, Google Docs, Skype, DeviantART, Youtube Streams  BEST EXPERIENCE: Oh geez um? I have one partner specifically I’ve had a lot of emotionally charged threads and experiences with,,,, basically any rp that gets me very emotionally involved will be a “best experience” for me. I used to do completely improvised voice-based roleplays that always tended to become favorites of mine. 

– MUSE PREFERENCES. FEMALE OR MALE: Either, really. It depends on which character in the canon I get attached to. If it’s an OC, though, it’ll probably be female.  FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: Anything but smut. Usually fluctuate fluff/angst depending on mood. PLOTS OR MEMES: Plots, please. I can definitely go off of memes or short asks but I’m always anxious that I’m ruining something the other person might’ve had planned. LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: Both/either! It just depends on the situation. I try to stay away from one-liners but sometimes it’s all I can think of.  BEST TIME TO WRITE: Uhhhhh. Later in the afternoon, I guess? I never really have a Prime Writing Time.  ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): I am basing my Marguerite off of my experiences as a woman who grew up in southern culture as well as similar characters I’ve portrayed on stage in the past, such as Rebecca Nurse in The Crucible or Luella Bennett in Diviners. But other than our southern hospitality and body type, we’re nothing alike. 

Tagged By/Stolen From:  basically everyone on my dash Tagging: basically everyone on my dash (who hasn’t done it)

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Murphy’s Law || Morgan, Nell, & Rebecca (feat. Constance)

Fuck Constance.

Morgan sat in her car, nervously stuffing fries into her mouth. She passed them to Nell, who had her own pre-ritual dinner on her lap. She wasn’t sure if bringing Nell was the right idea. She had an older, more experienced Vural coming to join them. She had Rebecca, much as her possession situation unnerved her with something this important. But she had all but given Nell a promise to let her help once. And she had done well enough with the ritual to send Erin’s dad away from this plane of existence. She was strong, and despite her age and the way she liked to play, she took her craft seriously. It felt like an insult to ask if she was sure, but it was at the top of her mind. Not because Nell was indecisive or hadn’t memorized the plan with her enough times, but because there was a chance Constance might put up a fight, might try to hurt Nell. She had cursed Morgan’s entire family without knowing them. What might she do to her new coven? Morgan pushed the thought aside and reached in her to-go back for a bite of burger, peered out at the sky through her dashboard. “At least it’s a clear night. Great weather for interrogating the dead, huh?”

Nell, in contrast, was nearly at peace while she chomped into her own chili fries. Sure, she hadn’t summoned a ghost exactly like Constance before, but she’d summoned plenty of things she assumed would be harder to pull through her circles and pentagrams than some old bat bitch ghost. Nevertheless, she was buzzing with anticipation, more excited than worried. Her own little spell kit was in the back, and Taki had come along for the ride as well in the event she might need to strengthen her magic for the upcoming spellwork. Currently, he was butting his head up against the back of Morgan’s hand, trying to command her into feeding him a chicken nugget that Nell had bought specifically for him. He was more than smart enough to get it for himself, but he much preferred it when people fed him as he lounged, like a modern day Cleocatra being hand fed grapes. Meanwhile, another car pulled up alongside them, Nell looking out the window to wave at the driver, a cousin that was more related by marrying into the Vurals and coven tradition than blood, but family nonetheless. “Great weather for interrogating the dead,” Nell echoed as she turned back to Morgan, an eager grin on her face. “Should we go out and get ready?” Nell figured these were Morgan’s shots to call. After all, it was her family and her curse. “Jamie just pulled up so— I think we’re good to get going if you are.”

Morgan teased Taki with the nugget a moment longer, making him rear up on his haunches and bare his little teeth in excitement. She tore off a piece and let him take it from his fingers. She gave him a scratch behind his ears, feeling guilty for leaving Anya behind to ‘guard’ Deirdre at home. The truth of it was, she couldn’t stomach bringing her where Constance might see her, or try to hurt her-- No. She was just scared. Worrying too much. The circle they were casting had been approved by Rebecca and Jamie both. It would hold her within its confines. So long as they didn’t get too close or loosen their hold enough that she could pull on the energy around them, she should be contained. So it would be fine, enough for Taki to be here for Nell. Morgan just...couldn’t bring herself to open that particular door. And if she couldn’t bear it bravely she didn’t have any business doing it at all.

Morgan gave Taki the rest of the nugget and wiped the grease off her fingers. “Uh, sure! Let’s get this party started. I’m sure Rebecca is already setting the circle up.” She nodded in the direction of another car near their own. “I’m just gonna let um, let Deirdre know we’re getting started,” she said, sending off a quick message. I love you. I’ll be careful. No running away with Anya without me. 

This would be fine. She would learn what she needed to learn. She would win. Morgan reached for her catch-all bag, now packed within an inch of its life, and got out of the car, her fists clenched with determination. She waved at Nell’s cousin and held out her hand to shake. They’d spoken online but it was different now. 

Jamie had heard the new member of the coven had something over her they needed to fix, but she didn’t expect to be summoning a spirit this old, and hardly one like Constance. The file Morgan had sent her was crazier than anything she’d come across helping exorcists and raiding old rich people’s tombs. She almost felt bad for the ghost, but coven cousins came before ghostly...whatever else. “Put that hand away,” she said to Morgan, flashing a big smile.  “We’re family, you’re giving me a hug.” She brought the small woman into her arms and gave her a look over. She didn’t look like much, but if magic had taught her anything, looks could be deceiving. “Hey little cuz,” she said to Nell. “You still getting into plenty of trouble? And where’s the other hotshot you ordered in? I’m ready to raise some hell!”

Rebecca blinked, wiping her hands across her face to stay awake. Why was she still so tired? She’d almost finished the circle by the time Morgan and Nell had decided to get out of the car, but she simply observed from afar as the other witch stepped from her vehicle as well. Rebecca scratched her shoulder. Three little witches, all lined up. Rebecca shook her head. “Shut up…” she murmured. She knew he was close. Any day now, and she’d be gone. But...people kept needing her. She couldn’t just leave again. Could she? She clenched and unclenched her hands, finishing up her circle and standing. She watched them all commune from a distance, standing back. She’d told Morgan she would provide the circle and be there if needed, but she didn’t have the energy to perform a full summoning. That’s what the other two were for, she supposed. So she just stepped back, and waited.

It was a bit of a familiar feeling, walking up to Rebecca along with Morgan, and preparing to do a good bit of magic. After all, it hadn’t been all that long ago that they’d helped Erin with her father. So as she approached the circle, hands on hips, Nell simply said, “So does a two-time team up warrant a name like The Avengers, yet? Maybe something to do with the Ghostbusters?” Not that she actually had that much interaction with ghosts. Of course...her own personal ghost was still here in the form of Evan, still not having gotten rid of her coin. She glanced in his direction warily, having instructed him to leave them alone for this spellwork, as it would most likely require a good bit of focus. Then she was shooting her distant cousin a comfortable grin, sticking her tongue out playfully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been in trouble in my entire life.” Meanwhile, Taki was pacing the perimeter of the circle, as if he himself was looking it over. 

Morgan smirked, eager for the levity of Nell’s and Jamie’s mood. “We are a pretty powerful team, I’ll admit. I mean, it’s no accident I asked all of you to come back again, right? We’re White Crest’s best and most powerful!”

“And what does that make me?” Jamie balked, teasing. 

“O-oh,” Morgan fumbled, laughing nervously. She was reaching into her back for her ingredients: Constance’s bones, the rusalka hair, the bonedoggle saliva, the vampire dust, and all the rest. “You’re obviously the fan favorite recruit to make sure everyone knows the sequel will be better!” She slipped ahead to present the ingredients to Rebecca and recite her understanding of the ritual one more time. Her connection to Constance was its own ingredient. Technically, she was the one serving as the focal point for the spell and the others would be supporting and stabilizing her. They were all taking a risk, all giving of themselves to make this happen for her. It seemed only fair that Morgan take her place at the front. This was her spell, her problem, and her win. She crossed carefully into her place marked by a tree sigil at the end of the circle and waited for the others to file on either side of her. 

There was no fire to light her work as Morgan sprinkled the vampire dust over the basin in the center. Only the stars, glaring down like a thousand pair of eyes and the white, gleaming grin of the moon. Tension corded through Morgan’s arm as the dead creature’s remains fell through her fingers. Steady, she thought. Steady. Next came the lamia hair, braided and greased with bonedoggle saliva. Then the bones. Morgan cradled the soft cracked skull in her palm and unsheathed her athame and opened herself to the universe. Wind shivered through her bones and up the hair down her neck. Her soul twisted, restless and exposed. Steady. Steady. She would not shake or cower before Constance had even arrived. She began to speak the words in an ancient tongue, “By the stars above and the earth below, by the fires of eternity, by the water of the spirits, We compel you to part the veil, return your child’s soul to this place!”

She went by each witch and held out the skull as a basin of its own, holding it out as they cut themselves and offered their blood, dropped and smeared on the bone as to become indistinguishable from one another. Morgan locked eyes with Nell as she passed the skull near her. She dared not interrupt the casting to speak, but she hoped she understood that she was grateful, that she was more determined than she was scared, that she had this, so long as Nell continued to have her back.

Rebecca wasn’t sure why, but she resented being called a witch. She wasn’t a witch. Sure, she had magical proclivity and knew a few basic spells, but she was an exorcist and a scholar. She knew much more in theory than she did in practice, hence why she drew the circles and let everyone else do the work. Still, she gave Morgan a tense smile as she came over, nodding. She had the words right, nearly perfect, but Rebecca didn’t have the energy to critique too much, and Morgan didn’t have the time to fix it. It was now or never. Under the light of the waning moon, the veil would be thinnest right around midnight. They didn’t call it the witching hour for nothing. As she watched the ceremony begin, a chill ran through her, something inside the circle attempting to flicker to life. Don’t you wanna touch? Came the voice. She closed her eyes. Don’t you wanna take? 

Nell locked eyes with Morgan as she passed the skull, cradling the head reverently as if it were something vaguely sacred, or perhaps more aptly, cursed. The ceremony was familiar enough, and doing most of it was as easy as breathing, Nell having been summoning for...most of her life now. Of course- this was somewhat different with the addition of Constance, but it was an easy enough adjustment. She wasn’t afraid of soe bitch ghost, though— especially after it had hurt her friends, and was responsible for many of Morgan’s troubles in life. Once she had done her part with the skull and blood, she lowered it into the basin as carefully as she could. But despite it all, the skull cracked, crumbling a bit either under the weight of gravity or their magical forces. The spell continued on as she spoke the words confidently and in tandem with the other witches. Then...finally— it was time. Again she looked towards her counterparts, first to Jaime, and then to Morgan as she nodded. As one, they rang out their beckoning call, commanding the woman to appear. “Constance Cunningham. Constance Cunningham. Constance Cunningham.” Vapor began to rise from the basin, ghostly skin seeming to slowly crawl around the remnants of the skull as she began to form. First the head, as flesh formed over closed eyes that didn’t yet open. The rest of Constance followed, ascending from the bowl as her shoulders appeared, then a torso...legs...feet. She was here.

Constance came into her second earthly existence screaming as loud as she had the first. She was encased, trapped, not in weak, hungry flesh but in magic, her own chosen force, her beginning and her end. She writhed where she stood, jaw clenched. She knew these woods, these stars. It was perhaps the cruelest part of all, to turn magic against here in her own home. She opened her mouth to curse the witches gathered, but no sound came. 

Morgan couldn’t help but stare at the spectral girl before her. She was so young with full cheeks and small unwrinkled eyes. She was frightened, twitching against the binds of magic that made her theirs to command. She didn’t even seem used to a body anymore, spectral as it was. Morgan had to remind herself not to soften in the face of her, to remember who she really was. Remember that she would not be someone to reason with or be gentle with. Constance was a girl, but one who only knew one language anymore; the language of power and hatred. 

Jamie spoke first. “You answer to us, honey,” she said. “This world isn’t your playpen anymore. Got it?” The way she glared, fierce and controlled, left no room for questions. “Tell the truth, and it won’t hurt a bit.”

This was Morgan’s cue and she knew it. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “I know you surrendered your life to curse the Bachmans, Constance. Tell me about the spell. And I mean everything.”

“I threw Agnes’ picture in a fire and I wished on a blasted star,” Constance spat. Her figure blurred and a strange hollow cry came out of her shape like the moan of a gale in a storm. The magic wouldn’t let her disobey them, not without making her suffer for it.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” Morgan said, reaching for the salt in her pocket. 

“What do you know of me! Who are you to demand anything of me, you wretch! You think this magic is a children’s game?” She thrashed again, baring her teeth like an animal. She reached out her hands for them, and maybe her form was too real, too terrifying for her to notice, but Morgan couldn’t tell if Constance had fizzled, bound, the way she should have. 

“I think I’m the bitch who’s going to fix the lives you broke,” Morgan replied,voice firm. “Now tell me how you did it. How did you throw away your life just to fuck with us?”

The word us lit something dark and furious in Constance’s ghostly face. “I see it now,” she said. “You have Agnes’ eyes. Are you heartless like her too? Do you throw people away like broken dolls when you have no use for them? What will you do if I break them?” She reached out, with sudden, burning strength, for Nell.

Constance was much younger than Nell had expected, despite having heard about her from Blanche and Morgan. Even though she’d been told otherwise, she’d constantly been picturing some old and bitter hag, someone that might curse you for stealing the beans from her yard. The difference in vision didn’t matter, though. After seeing the wicked parts of the world that she had, Nell knew that villainous intent didn’t have an age. Jaime beat her to the punch of demanding things from that ghostly spectre, and she simply waited, taking the moment to join her powers with Taki so that she might be ready for anything that might be coming. Whether Constance had somehow sensed such a thing, she didn’t have time to ponder, instinctively raising her magic to defend herself against Constance’s wiles. The magic was coming for her, and she was ready and willing to face it head-on and turn this into the fight Constance obviously wanted, but suddenly her eye contact was broken, a blur of black fur darting in front of her. She screamed. “Taki, no!” What sounded like an injured dog’s yelp cut through the air, and straight through Nell’s heart as the black Ovinikk fell to the ground, motionless. For a moment her focus wavered, every bone and thought in her body bidding her to dart forwards to check on the cat, nothing being more important than her familiar’s well-being.

“Nell, don’t!” Jamie cried, her voice carrying over the scream of the cat. But the girl had already dropped her concentration, the field was weakened, and what the cat hadn’t known, that the three of them were strong enough to deflect her power, was true now. The ghost girl’s face pulled into a wide, bitter smile and she glowed with strength as she summoned more power. What had they done, making her solid again? Jamie didn’t have a chance to think. Constance’s arm was reaching into her and drawing something out of her energy. Jamie had never felt anything like it. It burned her from the inside out, scorching thought out of her mind, leaving only a dry, crusted exhaustion. She didn’t know how to resist, it overrided her vision, her grip on herself. A gurgling, keening sound broke the air and as she sank to her knees, she knew in some distant place that it was coming from her. 

Morgan shut her mind to the screaming. It wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. She had to hold her ground and keep the spell going. She pushed, digging deep into her want, into the part of her that still cried by the side of the road waiting for an ambulance to find her and her dad, that was hiding under the covers in her bed, waiting for something to change, the part of her that was tired. Her stomach turned but she pushed, emptying herself into the dark. “Nell? Becca--!” She called. “Becca we need--” Her voice broke in her throat. 

A chill clammed over her face. Constance. The trees trembled around them, twigs splintering off and fluttering like so many needles in the air. Morgan quivered, but kept her eyes shut and continued to spill her power into the circle.

“You know nothing of me,” she snarled. “You stupid woman. It wasn’t my life, that was meaningless without Agnes. It was my soul.”

There were truly only a few things in the world that could break Nell away from a spell of this proportion that she was intently focused on, but Constance had managed to find one of them- whether it was intentional or not. Every part of her was rioting, her heart in chaos as Taki stayed still where he’d fallen. Jaime followed quickly, and though the keening call of her cousin tore even more at her, feeling as if claws were ripping into her skin, it did the opposite of tear her apart. Two of their number were down now, and if she didn’t want Morgan, Becca, or herself to be next, she needed to focus. If Taki was dead, he was dead. If Jaime was injured, they’d deal with it after. Nothing could be done for them, and she didn’t have time to mourn when doing so would only catapult what was left to them into certain and seemingly perilous danger. She didn’t even particularly care about what Constance seemed to be claiming in terms of Agnes being at fault or something of that like, a blind and sudden hatred gripping her as her attempts rejoined Morgan’s, pouring every bit of her strength into them, more recklessly than she had been before. “Fucking bitch!” she spat, her despair giving way to anger as it so often did. “When we’re done with you, you’ll wish you neve fucking lived to begin with!” But would it be enough? Their power was much diminished now. That wasn’t going to stop Nell from trying, though.

Things were going wrong. Rebecca went to step forward, to intervene, already summoning the strength to shout her power words-- but something else came up instead. An energy she’d been fighting for too long. The weariness that swept over her was all consuming. She couldn’t fight it. Morgan was calling out to her, Nell was shouting, Constance was reaching through the circle. And Becca’s mind went blank.

Amon snapped back into existence as if thrown from a great height. He stumbled in her body for a moment, looking around. Blinked. He’d been aware of what was going on, but the first few moments were always fuzzy. There was a spirit, angry-- so angry he could feel her soul reaching through the ether. And as much as he yearned to simply consume her energy-- so full of rage-- he knew this moment was crucial. So, instead, he faltered, fell to the ground, as if Becca was somehow weakened. Grabbed his head, fuzzy, before giving a push of his own energy through the ether, to Constance. “Be free,” he murmured with a smirk. “Wreak your terror.”

Morgan was seeing spots behind her eyes. Her bones, defying logic, were beginning to feel more like putty. But she dug her heels into the earth and continued. “Becca--” Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper. Her energy went taught and began to falter as something cold settled around her neck.

“You think you understand regret?” Constance screamed. “You think I am your thing to bend?”

Morgan was screwed. She stayed in place and she would spend herself until she collapsed. She dropped the spell and there was even less keeping Constance from manipulating the world beyond their circle to her control. She could hurt them, maybe even kill them. She’d said she would come back from this, but she couldn’t see the way. It was only dark and Constance and another door closing on her. 

The air swelled around them, roaring like a hurricane. She had to do something. She had to get out-- and then everything was still. Morgan opened her eyes and released herself from the spell. She sunk to her knees and retched into the dirt, clammy all over. She hadn’t emptied herself like this in ages. This was more than the violent hangover after an adrenaline burst. She clenched her fists to keep the world from spinning. This was worse than that. But worst of all: Constance was free. She might be hovering over them, laughing at their distress. Without the spell going, she was just another ghost, beyond their sight and hearing. She could be halfway through the woods. She could be anywhere.

“I don’t understand,” she rasped, coughing. “Where did she go? What happened? J-jamie, N-nell?” She slumped onto her hands and peered around. She could just barely see the other witch at the end of the circle across from her, slumped and still. “I don’t understand...Why didn’t you do anything, Rebecca?”

Just as Morgan gave too much, so did Nell. Pure hatred and a need for instantaneous revenge were the only things keeping her aloft, knees locked stubbornly, but shaking nonetheless. She knew she was giving too much, but what was too much at this point when it seemed lives were in danger? When the spell broke through Morgan’s efforts, Nell fell to her knees with it, magic still streaming for a moment without aim until she cut it off seconds later. But again, sheer determination and the need to help the others kept her moving, crawling towards Taki who was closest to her. “Taki?” she asked, voice breaking with emotion and overuse alike. “Taki, don’t do this.” Her voice was begging in a way her pride would hate any other day, but things like that didn’t matter when her cat lay still on the ground, cold to the touch. “I gotta take him somewhere,” she cried out softly, her arms picking the limp familiar from the ground and stuffing her face into his fur to hide her tears there. “He needs help.” Then a groan rose from somewhere nearby, and she remembered Jaime. “Jaime?” Her voice joined Morgan’s, arms still tight around Taki, refusing to let go. “Morgan, are you-” Okay? What even was ‘okay’ at this point? 

Jamie couldn’t move. She didn’t know what had been siphoned out of her, energy, or magic, or something else. She felt like she had been scrubbed raw from the inside out. Pain throbbed behind her eyes, bled through the end of every nerve. She tested her limbs and tried to shift upwards but a sharp pain in her shoulder made her gasp with a new kind of pain. Jamie could barely move her neck to look, but as she wriggled in place, she saw the branch wedged through the flesh in her shoulder. She was too numb to lift her arm to yank it out. “The fuck...was that…” she groaned. “That bitch was no ordinary thing. And that circle should have held!” Her eyes rolled back to observe Rebecca from the ground. “What were you even here for if you were just gonna stand there? Nell, help me up, We’ll get Taki some help. You can drive, right?”

Morgan had sunk flat into the ground on her side, holding herself with limp arms while her body struggled to cope with being this drained. “Go,” she urged them, a little more strength to her voice. I’ll be fine in a little while.” She forced herself up on her hands again. “Don’t get hurt any worse waiting for me, go!”

Jaime was speaking, which was synonymous with a small wave of relief running through Nell. At least her cousin was relatively okay, even if there was a branch wedged through her shoulder. But it’d be best to leave it there in case pulling it just mucked up the injury further— at least, until they could get to Nisa for her healing. Fuck. What was her mom going to say about all of this? Maybe they should just go to the hospital like any other person might do. Such thoughts were beyond Nell at the moment, anyhow. Taki was her focus, pulling her bit of her attention in his direction. Still, she shakily rose to her feet, her body having no problem with voicing its displeasure when it came to how much power she’d used. “I can drive.” This time, her voice was firm, resolute as she went into crisis mode once again. After helping her cousin up, she turned back to Morgan. “Fat chance I’m leaving you here! I can help both of you to the car.” She could do this. And even if she couldn’t, she had to. Stubbornness and spite had always been good motivators.

The world came back in speckles. First black dots, then vision, slowly. He’d used too much energy in one go and Rebecca was the one feeling the after-effects. Of course he had left her with the mess. She didn’t even know what had happened. She’d blacked out for most of it. Fuck. Fuck. The circle was broken. Morgan and Nell and Jamie were all on the ground. People had been hurt. Rebecca looked up when someone spoke to her, but she couldn’t see them. The scratch on her shoulder itched. She tried to stand, but couldn’t yet. Fuck. She looked from Jamie to Morgan. “I shouldn’t have come,” was all she said. Struggled to stand again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said-- I have to leave. I--” he could come back at any moment. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

It was slower-going that she would have preferred, but finally Nell had managed to settle Jamie in the backseat of the car, laying in a way that would hopefully keep her wound from aggravating itself. All the while, she’d kept holding Taki, as if unable to part with him. On her return to Morgan, she stumbled over some stray bump in the earth beneath her shoes, scraping her knees further due to her weakened state. This time as she rose, it was to combat Rebecca’s words. What the fuck had happened with the exorcist, anyway? “You can’t leave us,” she said fiercely, not entirely understanding whatever it was Rebecca was saying, but not particularly caring when things had gone so horribly wrong. “Just help me get Morgan to the car.” It took her a few tries, but finally she managed to help the other witch from the ground before looking back at Rebecca. “Help us,” she demanded, not so kindly. It was her usual response when things went to shit, having no patience leftover for anything but the task at hand.

Morgan had all but stopped talking and Rebecca could feel the pained silence in her chest. She looked away. Nell was demanding something of her, but she couldn’t turn to face them. Tears burned at her eyes and she tried to blink them away, stumbling as she pulled herself up and away from the others. “I can’t, he’s-- I have to go, before he comes back, I’m sorry.” She stumbled one more time, before turning her back on them. It felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done. Theo would be so disappointed in her. But she didn’t look back as she ran to her car, started it, and drove off. She couldn’t, because if she had, she would’ve gone back to help.

Morgan didn’t feel her feet stumble along the earth as Nell led her away. She could barely feel her bag banging against her thigh as it drooped from her shoulder. This was worse than she had been able to understand back in the circle. This wasn’t just a setback for her future (all she wanted was a fucking future without looking over her shoulder for death) this was the opening of a different door, one that would not be closed again. With the hatred Constance carried in her, she might do anything to Morgan, might find out anything about her. She might take Morgan’s life apart piece by piece with her bare, spectral hands. Morgan trembled in the back seat of the car and wept. 

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Silence in the Library || Morgan & Mike

CW: Depression

@exorciseyourspirit

Morgan finally leaves the house to be an adult. Mike makes her regret everything.

Amnon was getting close to finishing his big project. There were just a few finishing touches he needed for it, and then, hopefully, it would all fall into place. As long as no one figured out what it was that he was gathering, then he had no need to worry. The little medium and the hunter and the dead wife could pose a problem, especially if the three began corroborating, but he had a plan in mind to take care of them, too. All it would take was one display of power, and they’d back off. Just like everyone always did. But today, he was at the library for a different reason, picking out books that seemed, to most people, to be normal historical reads. His chest ached dully-- turns out, broken ribs were a problem. He should’ve remembered, he’d been human once, but time made fools of memory. Rubbing his side, he stacked another book on his cart and moved along, turning the corner-- and very nearly running into someone he’d never expected to see here. It was, however, a pleasant surprise. “Aahh,” he said in Rebecca’s cheeriest voice, “if it isn’t the bottom feeder.”

Morgan had to return her library books eventually. Her automatic renewals had tallied themselves up until they could tally no more, and every morning she opted to stay curled up on the floor or in bed beside Deirdre, the library desk replied with a frighteningly cheerful message that they were still waiting for her returns. So, bolstered by her quiet Beltane and the bright day, Morgan forced herself outside to return them. It’s not that hard, she told herself. Get rid of some bad research memories. Actually have something to say in response to “how was your day?” It wasn’t that hard. She could pull herself together long enough for a library trip. She liked the library, didn’t she? But as soon as the books were dumped, Morgan had a panicked, self-conscious feeling that her drab sweats and not-washed-recently-enough sweater were being judged by the family and students milling in. Shrinking from the attention, she marched herself inside, trying to hold herself like she belonged there and hadn’t just crawled out of the house for the first time in a week. She went to the fiction section, always the easiest to find, and did her best to pick out a novel or two to take home. Something she could hide herself away in, a safe bet.

Morgan, dizzied by the abundance of titles, impulse settled on two books that she had been meaning to get to and already knew half the plots of from pop culture discourse. See, she was fine. She had picked out books like normal, together people who knew how to be alive. She was fine--then she was crashing into a book cart and Rebecca. Or rather, the thing that lived inside her. Her face fell with disgust. “Don’t you have any other tricks besides that one?” She asked, a thin edge to her voice betraying how it still hurt. “It’s not a good idea to remind me how easy it would be to drag you down with me. And then where would you be?” She looked down into the cart, angling for a glimpse at the titles. Whatever he was up to, it was safe to bet it wasn’t anything good.

Amnon just smiled. How easy it would be to remind her of her place or to show her how little power she actually held in the moment-- but he didn’t need to. It would just be for her sake and he cared so very little about it. “Lovely to see you, too,” he said, leaning against the car to look at her amusingly. “You know, it’s cute how you think you’re actually threatening.” He plucked another book from the shelf, glanced over the title, and set it in his cart. “I’m sure it works on most people-- it’s the little ones you have to watch out for, after all--” waggled a finger, “but you’re cute little antics don’t threaten me at all. How’s your girlfriend?”

Morgan went stiff, gripping her book tighter to her chest. Any pretense of pleasantries fell from her expression. She turned hard and bitter; had she been alive she might have flushed with her anger. “You don’t know the first thing about who I’m seeing,” she snapped. “And I’m going to keep it that way, Mike. And if you think that I won’t hurt you just because you’re wearing my friend as a meat mask, you can think again. I’ve been through death, dipshit. You don’t scare me.” She shoved the bookcart away to one side, rattling the wheels and knocking off the topmost volume from the stack and started to go.

Amnon was delighted to see that mentioning her girlfriend set her off, stepping away slightly as she shoved the cart aside. He simply crossed his arms and looked over at her. “Oh, I don’t think that you won’t hurt me, I simply think that you can’t,” he said with a shrug. “You’ve no idea what I’m capable of, after all, and you? I know your limits. I know your weakness,” he finished quietly, taking a single finger and dragging it across his throat in one, fluid motion, the universal sign of decapitation. He bent down, hiding his wince of pain in his ribs, and picked up the book, dropping it on the top. “So, go on then-- are you gonna show me what you’ve got? Or do you just wanna spit venom at me.”

Morgan stopped in her tracks. She should go, she thought faintly. She should go and crawl back into her hole under the blankets in the bedroom. There was a voice in her above the death-pit that knew this. But the rest of her, the part that raged, that wouldn’t message Remmy, that watched with jealousy as animals died, pulled on her. And it was so galling, to hear these words from Rebecca’s voice, Rebecca who wasn’t even here to be sorry or understanding or judgemental. Rebecca who she couldn’t even be angry at for letting this happen to her in the first place, for deciding she wasn’t good enough to have her curse broken in a way that would have given her a real life. And this ghost, this thing that had screwed her worse than Constance was laughing behind her face, was enjoying himself like she was something to play with-- Morgan whirled back, stomping towards her, arm outstretched to see how the two of them liked feeling broken.

She took the bait, just as Amnon expected her, too. Newly born vampires and zombies always seemed to hold such anger. It was the same story, over and over again, even when they knew it was coming, even if it was something they’d told themselves they wanted-- the pain of a lost life was always more than they could handle. Even Amnon had felt that way when he’d first materialized. In a way, he sympathized with Morgan’s plight. But in his eons as an incorporeal swirl of power, he’d lost the ability to do just that-- sympathize. And so, when he saw her hand reaching for Rebecca’s wrist, it took only a second to unleash the power in him, a telekinetic ram slamming into Morgan and pushing her back into a shelf. He stood up, no longer smiling, eyes hollow. “I told you,” he hissed, “you can’t hurt me.”

Morgan’s back slammed against the wall before she could even give Rebecca’s body a scratch. Had she been alive, something might have cracked. But as she sank to her feet in a clumsy mess of limbs, staring at Rebecca with horrified awe, her bones righted themselves on their own. “What the hell?” Had Rebecca always been able to do that? She scowled, straightening. “And I said I’m not afraid of you. You think that felt like anything?”

“Oh, I’m well aware of your tolerance to pain,” Amnon said darkly. People were beginning to gather, but he didn’t care. “Try and touch me again and I’ll show you just how far your pain tolerance can go.” He turned and grabbed his cart, pushing it around the corner, away from Morgan again, only to run straight into-- Morgan? “I thought I told you--” but something was different about her this time. It wasn’t her. Black and white stripes and a menacing look to her eye-- Amnon knew within seconds what this was. In the next, the cart was slamming into Rebecca’s broken ribs and he was keeling over. Funny how that worked out. Being human, being vulnerable.

Morgan was going under, not on the ground, but in the part of her that knew the appropriate thing to do was run like hell in the other direction and leave Mike to whatever fate awaited him. She was storming towards him again when someone--some thing darted out from the stacks and gave him one to the ribs with the cart. Morgan stopped short, the wind starting to flag out of her sails, and then-- “Oh, earth.” It was her. Only, it wasn’t. They locked eyes, and the mime creature flashed a look of menacing glee. She staggered towards her in a cartoon like zombie walk, then mimed taking a knife from her hip and lunged. Morgan held her hands out to keep the mime at bay, but somehow, despite all odds, the fabric around her sweater split and a trickle of blood peeked through along with a pinch of discomfort. Morgan shoved her away, hard enough to make her stagger a few paces and walked--into the hands of Rebecca’s mime double. The mime woman kicked her off balance at the knee and threw her to the floor. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Lucky for Amnon, the Morgan-mime seemed more interested in her actual counterpart. Although that made him feel a flash of anger. How dare someone ignore him. Gritting his teeth, he stood back up, clutching his side, strode forward-- and came face to face with Rebecca. He blinked, bewildered again. “You can’t be--” he started, mind reeling for a moment. No. He was in Rebecca. This was just an illusion, or a dream. Like in his sleep. And then it hit him-- both literally and figuratively, as a fist dug into his stomach again and he collapsed to the floor. “Oh, chara!” he cursed, slipping back into his native language subconsciously as he let loose a string of Arabic curses. The Rebecca mime reeled a foot back to kick him while he was down and he gathered himself just enough to raise a hand, eyes flashing, and throw her straight through a bookshelf, toppling it over onto the Morgan’s.

Morgan didn’t stay down long. She was crawling away from this and going home. “Fuck mimes, fuck curses, fuck this town, and--fuck!” She barely rolled away from the falling shelves in time. There was no safe direction to run towards--except to Mike. She didn’t have time to be baffled at aligning with him, just enough to get behind the person who could make shit fly. “You might want to be running,” she started to explain, but her mime double shouldered her way out from under the shelf, groaning with hunger. One arm hung loose and all wrong from where the books had crushed it, but she staggered towards them with ease, one foot determinedly over the mess, then the other. The Rebecca double, not far behind her. “Yeah, she definitely skipped breakfast.” And Morgan didn’t have much on her for stopping either one in their tracks. Well, at least not for good. “You got any better ideas besides playing slap fight?” Their doubles scrambled up the shelves on pantomime ladders then higher, til they dangled on the ceiling. Morgan backed away from their strange painted eyes as they smiled down at them and leaped in for another attack.

Amnon did not sit well with being made to feel weak. Eyes flashing again, anger rising, lights began to flicker. A low hum as the electricity in the air began to build. “Yes,” he growled, Rebecca’s voice low and dark. “Kill them.” He followed her line of sight up to the mime doubles hanging from the ceiling and stopped on the lighting fixture Morgan’s was holding onto. As if from seemingly nowhere, it crackled, sparked, and exploded, toppling the mime, setting her ablaze with electricity. The smell of rotting flesh filled the room, and Amnon staggered, winded. He’d forgotten how much power it took, coughing into a hand. He pulled it away to reveal blood. In the next moment, a heavy body came down between him and Morgan-- Rebecca. Well, the mime of her. Fists curled around his neck and squeezed. For the first time in perhaps thousands of years, Amnon gasped for breath-- and for help.

Morgan’s double fell within feet of her, spasming with the impact of more stimulation than even her dead body could take. Morgan brought her foot down on her neck, eyes screwed shut as she felt the bones give and the muscle pulp. It wasn’t real, she told herself. It wasn’t really her down there, getting rubbed into the carpet and even if it was-- Morgan grimaced as she brought her foot up again and stomped into her skull--she was a lucky bitch to be out of her misery so fast, even if she was evil and “Gross--!” Filled with black blood. She turned to check if Mike was seeing this, but he was a little occupied getting strangled. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She could leave him. Maybe she even should, but he sounded too much like Rebecca, wheezing and desperate. Morgan could imagine exactly how the heart in Rebecca’s body raced, how the lungs must be trembling with panic, fighting for just a little more in the world. And Morgan saw Blanche and Rebecca’s students collapsing under the news, and hearing that she had let it happen and knew she still didn’t want to be another creature that only took from the world  “Damnit, Mike!” She crossed the short distance between them and wrenched the mime double’s arm until it popped out of its socket, then pulled her, ragdoll style, free from Mike before pinning her against the wall next to him. “Yeah, I’m between meals too,” she said. “--Seriously?” Rebecca’s mime twisted an invisible knife through her abdomen. “Mike--?” She called.

Amnon felt the world slipping away from him. Surely Morgan wouldn’t leave them. She couldn’t, not when it was Rebecca would suffer in the end. He could just leave if he wanted to. He even prepared to begin the tug to leave her body, but-- blackness ate away and so did he, falling into a darkness. Rebecca’s body hit the floor when the arm was yanked away. But she did not move. Stirring, after a moment, her head lifted. Eyes sullied and hollow and tired as she turned to look up at the scene unfolding before her.

“Morgan?” Rebecca muttered, staggering to her feet. She swayed, reaching out for something to grab onto. “Where-- “ she tried, but her voice felt lost, her vision still blurry. It clarified enough for her to look directly into her own eyes. Body freezing. What was going on? Was she dreaming again? Rebecca blinked, reached out-- she had to help her.

But one more blink, and dark eyes returned. Amnon groaned with his effort, still exhausted, still winded, ribs pounding with pain. Without thinking, he reached into Rebecca’s belt and pulled out her holy dagger. Staggered forward with a heavy step, limping, as he swung the dagger down, past Morgan’s arm, and into Rebecca’s heart. He’d pictured this moment for so many years, finally doing it, finally seeing it-- it didn’t bring him as much joy as he’d wanted. Black blood oozed over his hands and down to the floor, but he held the dagger there. With one heavy exhale, he turned to look at Morgan silently, as the clone melted into nothing in front of both of their eyes.

Morgan was frozen in place, staring horrified as Rebecca--real Rebecca, who was kind and knew things and could tell her how to exist here without hurting people or wanting to die again--surfaced for all of a second and vanished again. Was she coming back again? It had really been her, right? She’d used her name, and her face--she was worried, maybe tired, maybe scared, things Mike barely knew anything about feeling. “Shit,” she whispered. Then, quickly, “You couldn’t even pretend like it was hard. You’re a real psycho, you know that?” She turned away and stepped carefully over the goo her own double had left behind and stood over the mess. Her books were right there, unharmed except for a few pages, but she suddenly couldn’t find the energy to pick them up and carry them to the checkout desk. She kicked one over, wondering if the will would find itself if she gave it another second. Weirder things had happened; half a minute ago she’d seen Rebecca come back from the nowhere.

Amnon pulled the dagger back only once the clone had all but melted away into a puddle and puff of smoke. Wiped the blade on Rebecca’s pants, before acknowledging what Morgan had said. In his moments of darkness, he hadn’t known what had happened, but he could hazard a guess. “I do, actually,” he said back to her, walking over and thumbing through the pile of books and broken shelves for the one book he needed most. Picking it, he stuffed it under his arm, glaring down at Morgan. Sirens blared outside, employees already heading towards them, ready to offer help or start cleaning up. He wasn’t going to stick around for it, however. “Don’t think this changes anything,” he said to Morgan, before stepping specifically on one of the books she’d been holding as he passed her by.

Morgan flinched away from him, chilled by how quickly his moods shifted. And not even a fucking thank you. “Course not,” she grumbled bitterly. And then, as he left, “Sure thing, Professor Rothbard! I’ll tell them to charge you for the property damage, no worries!” Some student intern picking up books reached for one of the ones she’d picked up and held it out to her timidly. Morgan looked at the boy with confusion. What was he so afraid of? And then it sank in. How she must have looked, yelling like that, bashing evil mime-bones in, the works. “Thanks,” she mumbled, frowning, and shrank away. Maybe it really would have been worth deleting one more stupid reminder email.