undergrounds | stop! ghost time (open post)

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stop! ghost time (open post)

JULY 21; COFFEERS' SHOP (LATE AFTERNOON)

Clara doesn't always snoop around the city and sometimes her work isn't always needed in the school. Sometimes she likes to stay in the shop. Sometimes she enjoys listening to idle conversation of the customers, not really listening in on them, that'll be rude, but nonetheless enjoying the buzz of activity the shop has during their busiest hours.

And sometimes that isn't enough. That's when she goes over and pokes around the lost and found box, seeing what's there and if anything is something that belongs to a current patron she can give back to without them looking. It's there that she finds a pair of marigold gloves during her search and about them draws her to them... Naturally she reaches out to and concentrates a bit to have a goodish grasp of it to see if there's a nametag anywhere when she notices a peculiar thing:

It feels... solid under her touch, real and tangible without the strange numbness to her fingertips she's become accustomed to at this rate. It takes her a second to realise what this means. She can touch them! She can hold them! She can do it with ease, most importantly of all.

Oh, what an exciting day for her as she mutters one little apology under her breath and zips off to the back of the shop with her new item. Already she has a little million ideas for them popping into mind, the excitement of the discovery along with the possibilities just enough to drown out her guilt for taking something out of the lost and found box that isn't hers.

JULY 25; AROUND THE CITY (ALL DAY)

After the last few days of activity, Clara decides it's time to be both proactive and to use her gloves to her advantage.

She'll now be found in areas that she usually doesn't snoop around in her attempts to glean information: The darker parts of the city, the seedier alleyways of the town, and etc. She'll peek through windows and go through walls, doing her best to stay invisible and quiet as a mouse while going through things with a newfound ease thanks to her gloves. (When she can bear the itching for long as she can, of course. Goodness do they chafe her skin.)

From Haringey to Hackney to Waltham Forest and then some, she'll be exploring and peeping into a lot of people today if she can. It's risky but she does her best. If she's to be a good observer of information, she needs to dig deep and hope she finds some things out, see what's going on in the heart of the city.

[ OOC: Or make your own scenario in your comment! Prose and brackets welcomed! A note, though, is that only one person can step in to help Clara get rid of the medium that she'll run into on July 25.]

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Believing Maera is okay, Clara smiles back and nods in agreement while puts back on her gloves so she can open the door sneakily to let her friend out. "I promise to try and keep myself out of trouble! I don't want to do anything mischievous if you're not there to appreciate it."

"Perfect response. I knew I could count on you." She heads to the door with Clara, hurrying out as soon as its opened for her. "I'll see you around soon! At the very latest, at the Lammas party, alright?"

"The one at the beach." She looks a bit nervous thanks to the destination but she smiles away her concerns and nods. The least she can do for Maera and the others is to try. "We'll see! It does sound exciting!"

And it'll be nice to get away from the bustle here for a bit. She dodges a passing barista grumbling under her breath and she sees the busy nature of the coffee shop means it's time for her to leave for a bit to give the employees some peace. Smiling at Maera for one last time, she gives a cheerful wave goodbye before quickly phasing through the wall to head somewhere else.

Faust touched the skeleton's skull gently, even tenderly. After a moment, he bent down and gave its forehead a kiss. Probably it was best if no one asked him how he obtained his wife's skeleton. Or when.

"One day," he said. "We'll be reunited. I know it."

Okay Faust. Awesome.

He turned to Clara. "I need to ask you something, Mrs. Seville. You know what my wife looks like. You know how important she is to me. I met someone recently -- someone who said they could help. She said that my wife might be wandering somewhere, or... or there might be another problem. Some reason I can't contact her, some reason I don't know her real name. I can look into that. But if she's wandering somewhere around London, I'd have no way to search for her. You, though... you're a ghost. Surely you must know things. Ways to look that I don't have. Would you..."

Faust swallowed, his voice thick with emotion. "Would you help me?"

"Find her real name?" He must mean her full name. That explains why he hasn't been able to contact her during his attempts. "Ah. That's quite a feat, truth be told. We'll need to find not only her full name but learn how she pronounced it herself…"

Oh dear, oh dear. This escalated faster than she would have imagined.

Originally meant to be spying for someone, she finds herself being offered to help another person with something more achievable, perhaps, but she can't have a nervous feeling in her gut over it. She doesn't know a lot about magic but something like this will be demanding more than a proper name and an agreeable spirit.

"--Of course." Yet she'll agree to it. There is no way she'll be able to live with herself if she turned him down after all she's known here. "I'll do my best to help you find her name. That's the best I can do, however, since I'm rather limited in everything else.

"And I hope you'll be alright with me asking a friend to help me out. We'll both be discreet, I promise. Two ghosts are better than one after all."

"Two ghosts...?" Well, two was better than one, right?

"If you think you can trust them." He paused. "I may have a lead. Can you and your friend meet me at the cemetery? You know the one. I can give you the details there. I need to make some... preparations."

"I trust her with all my heart." Aradia saved her life once. Surely she can help bring back a life too. That's the same, right?

When he mentions the cemetery, she can't help but furrow her brow and frown. "You'll need to be careful of the groundskeeper then. He's been rather testy ever since the incident but we'll meet there if that's where you want to go.

"... What sort of preparations if I can ask?" Because that pause did not soothe her concerns, honestly.

He smiled. "Why, preparations to summon my wife, of course!" ...And other things.

"Spells like that do require their own set of materials, you know. Thank you, madam. If this works... no, when this works, I'll be very grateful."

And wouldn't it be super wonderful to have the gratitude of someone like Faust? Of course it would.

"They'll recover," Azula says easily, shrugging her shoulders. Mortals really aren't her concern. Neither are other immortals, usually. "Probably with a bit of short term memory loss. Which works out quite well for you, don't you think?"

"Er..." It isn't a lie. When the medium wakes up, there's a good chance that they'll no longer remember where she is or remember her at all. That's good.

Isn't it? "As long as they're not too hurt... Thank you, by the way. I'm sorry if I sound ungrateful but I really am relieved you came in and help me."

"O-Of course. I should have known that." She got that much but how exactly will he do that is what concerns her the most. Long as it doesn't involve a living a person, she thinks this offered process will be relatively painless.

But, for the meantime, she'll take what she can get from this situation for his sake and believe him. "I hope your ingredients aren't all found in a cemetery! The poor groundskeeper of mine is still seething a bit over the incident. Please be careful when you go there. He's on the look out."

Much as she cares for Henrique and his steady dedication, she also doesn't want him to get hurt and Faust is clearly on a mission.

It didn't hurt, especially from the Nogitsune's point of view. A slow fingertap sound accompanies the creak of wood signaling that the vampire now knows he's not alone. Instead of calling out or making any further noise, the creature goes as silent as it can. Whatever (or whoever) has invaded his territory won't be leaving alive in his opinion.

It is only a matter of time before he reaches where she is, the creaking of the battered door being pushed open the only sound accompanying his arrival. Right up until the blasted cat hisses at him. The irritation at being disturbed by a flea-bitten cat of all things is written all over the Nogitsune's face, teeth dropping down as he hisses right back at it.

"Stupid cat."

Wood cracks as he rips the knob out of the old door, throwing it at the animal. The cat, thinking better of this whole thing, proves to be the smart one by running for the nearest non-vampire blocked exit. Even as his teeth retract, the Nogitsune looks around the room one last time. His head lifts, scenting the air like an animal would for any sign of someone else lurking about.

"You're quite welcome," Azula says with a smile. Of course, there's a predatory edge to that look as she regards the ghost carefully. "Of course, as I'm sure you know, no favor comes free."

Ohhh that's a look she isn't comfortable with. She's. She's going to keep her distance if that isn't rude or anything. It possibly is and she's still going to keep her distance.

"I-- I suppsoe that makes sense," she says, agreeing even if, in her head, she shouldn't be for her own good.

Clara winces at the poor cat getting almost hit like that and she almost calls out for the cat to watch out for the flying projectile. Knowing she'll expose herself to him like that, she's forced to cover her mouth and just hope the poor feline doesn't get hurt. She'll feel awful if the cat got hurt because of her carelessness.

Nope. The cat manages to dodge it and runs off to a nearby hole on the wall to get out. A sigh of relief in her head--

--that turns into a little gasp of shock when she finally pays attention to the other person and sees the fangs before they retract.

A vampire. Given her last experience with a vampire not connected(?) to a nest, she wasn't feeling up to. Seeing him look around for any more signs of others is really nervewracking.

No one but a cat here, she assures him in her head as she stays invisible while not taking any chances by moving to the next room. Let's see what he's here for. Hopefully there won't be anyone else here, animal or human.

"Mmm," Faolan says, making a noise in response to the 'evidence', though he's thinking much the same thing as Clara is saying. Even if it is the recording of a ghost -- which Faolan is not agreeing on one way or the other -- the words are broken, fractured. And by all accounts, it sounds to him like the woman is saying something about how the person she's addressing should wear a sweater since it's cold. Whether or not ghosts would give such advice is hardly for Faolan to decide, he supposes.

"What you have there, my friend," he tells the man, "is the recording of a woman. A woman talking about a sweater, and the fact that it is cold. I cannot tell you that it's a ghost, nor can I tell you that it is one, but you're going to need a lot more evidence than a few words recorded in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. That's hardly an EVP, and certainly not one of merit, I'm sorry to say." And thus does Faolan unintentionally reveal his own dealings with the supernatural. Ah, well. He'd be more careful if they had just let him finish his coffee before starting on this. He wonders, idly, what his companion thinks of all of this, and chances an apologetic glance in her direction.

When one puts it that way, the suddenly strange becomes the mundane with the menacing spirit to a woman fussing over chill. Phew! She's glad someone was able to explain that away before Bianca had to and make herself stand out more. Clara knows it doesn't mean much seeing how he can't seem to hear her, like most people, but all the same she says in relief with utter gratitude, "Thank you so much."

The man visibly wilts at the response, sad but unable to argue with that logic as he grumbles, "Well I thought no one said that when I was recording it."

Bianca doesn't mind at all, judging from the smile she throws at him that's almost grateful.

And though she's happy that the third party's ghost bubble was popped, so to speak, Bianca's eyebrows can't help and raise up in surprise as she looks at Faolan, intrigued to hear him say that type of jargon. Usually she hears it from the mediums and ghost hunters and he doesn't strike her as doing it as a hobby.

"Sounds like you have an idea or two of how this sort of things work," she says, making sure it's with a joking tone so he can brush off if needed. "Not afraid of spooks overhearing this, are you?"

Faolan nods at the man slightly, feeling a little poorly to have shot him down like that, but what he's said is true, and if he's going to go around thrusting his evidence in other people's faces, it had better be good. "Better luck next time, my friend," he tells him, before turning back to the girl sitting with him with a shrug.

"I suppose that I do," he says, honestly, because it's true. He hasn't had all that much experience in ghost hunting, his experience is mostly with vampires and werewolves. Ghosts generally keep themselves to themselves, and if they are terrorizing people, then chances are they're probably not your average ghost in the first place. Much the same as with his dealings with the rest of the supernaturals, Faolan's of the opinion that it's pretty much a case by case sort of a business. Don't do anything wrong, and there's no reason for him to have to come after you.

He glances around them, at the supposed spooks, before back at her. "And no, I'm not too concerned. Even if that were an official EVP, if the ghost is fretting about someone needing a sweater, I hardly think that you and I have anything to worry about, now do we?" There, an innocent enough statement, right? Neither confirming nor denying his involvement with the Hillingdon Clan.

Seeing that their third friend has retreated back to his personal work, muttering about 'more proof' and 'evidence' under his breath as he typed on his laptop frantically, Bianca's smile is much nicer and more relaxed now.

The coolness in the air around Bianca and Faolan's table seems to lighten up as Clara relaxes now that the coast is clear for the time being. She thought she was a goner for sure and someone else would believe in the Harrowing Ghost. (She's never going to get over that name. What a horrid title to get and for that to stick--)

"That's the way to look at it!" Bianca can't help but have her tone be a bit dry despite her perkiness. "She means no harm, I'm sure, but the idea of there being a dangerous ghost, I suppose, is more interesting than a nice ghost. People seem so afraid of things or people that they don't know."

Clara raises her eyebrows at the girl in concern, hoping the student doesn't give herself away too soon in such a public place. "Careful, Bianca. He's a very nice man, yet, but you need to be sure."

She is speaking awfully specifically, for someone who had been uncomfortable with the mention of the ghost earlier. Faolan's a smart man, he's starting to understand something of the picture here. That perhaps there is a ghost here. That perhaps this Bianca might have some sort of a connection with her. Or at least she may believe that she does, as a regular of the place and all. And while she's uncomfortable with the other man's curiosity, it was because he had come to misunderstand the entity, not because he had taken an interest in her in the first place.

"Are you familiar with them, then?" he asks. "Ghosts, I mean? You did say that you were a regular of the place. If the shop is haunted, you must have something of a fancy in them yourself then...?"

Clara and Bianca share a brief blink-and-you-miss exchange of looks as they try to decide if they should be more honest or be more obtuse. There's no turning back on what will happen next after all. Can they trust him? Can they hope for the best that he means well in a way that doesn't involve trouble for Clara or a danger for Bianca down the line?

There's only one way to find out.

"It isn't what I would call a fancy, really," Bianca says as she sneaks a look around to make sure someone isn't eavesdropping on them. She wouldn't be worried of it if not for their friend earlier. "Just happens to be knowledge in it along with all sort of other things. London has all sorts of secrets here thanks to how long its been around. I like to think I know a lot of them is all."

That's quite a brag for someone young-looking as hers. "And you? Do you consider your knowledge of EVP and such just a 'fancy' or more?"

Faolan regards her for a moment, trying to figure her out. Whatever she's just told him, she hasn't outright told him yet. But he's gotten enough from her to understand that she knows. She might not know everything, but she knows enough for him not to have to worry about being careful around her. Or conversely, for him to watch just what exactly he lets out. Depending on who might come to find this out through her later on.

"I'd say it's a bit more than a fancy," he says, taking a sip of his coffee, and then deciding to take the safest route he can. Leaving the Hillingdon part out of it for now -- that can make people nervous, and really, he's not one of the clan that would go hunting something down for no reason. So instead he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a card, sliding it across the table at her. It's got his name (Faolan O'Neill) and his contact information (phone, email), but little else. Written in black ink on a white card. Plain and simple.

"I'm a private investigator," he says. "I guess you could say that this side of things is sort of my specialty."

"I never heard of his name in the school," Clara observes quietly as Bianca takes the card to read whatever information is there. She hovers behind her shoulder to peer though all she gets is a name and contact numbers that she can't use for now. "Must work for some other people. Or he could be a freelancer. I actually hope it's the former; the rates he must have to pay if the latter, poor thing."

Biting back a smile, Bianca decides at long last how to handle this as she sets the card back down and looks at Faolan. "Explains earlier then with him over there."

Bianca looks down and fishes something from under her blouse to discreetly flash him the item to give him a good look.

It's a simple neck, a silver disc with intricate symbols carved on its surface, and to most they would just assume it's a pretty trinket and nothing more. But anyone who is in the know would know what it really is -- A witch's amulet, meant to protect the wearer from the supernatural's attempts to read or control her mind.

"You can never be too careful at times after all," she continued as she tucked the necklace back in. "Especially considering your line of work in this city. Quite a specialisation for you to take."

Faolan shrugs slightly. "I guess you could say it ran in the family," he says, although he leaves it at that. Also to be noted: past tense. Ran in the family, then his family died. There had been a reason they'd encouraged him to pursue his talents, his dreams. There'd been a reason why they had died. There had been a reason why his dreams had died with them, as far as he was concerned.

Unlike Bianca, Faolan doesn't have anything to pull out and denote himself as what he is, except for perhaps his guns and his hunting gear, which he's definitely not whipping out in the middle of a crowded cafe. But he obviously recognizes what she's wearing, and he immediately reassesses her. "Now where'd you come by a trinket like that?" he asks her, letting her hide it away once more, but definitely not letting it out of mind.

"It came from your grandmother, didn't it?" Clara asked Bianca as the witch tucked her necklace from sight. "I believe you told me that before."

The girl nods, to both answer Clara's question and Faolan's question. She's much more relaxed compared to her peppiness before, perhaps realising the gravity of meeting another person not from her well-known circle. Someone familiar and yet not familiar at the same time. "It's a family heirloom. Got it from my gran. I guess you can say what I do runs in the family too. I need a bit of help with it though since I'm new to it so I go to a school to help myself and others."

The Redbright Institute, she means.

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stop! ghost time (open post)

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