got a feeling like a ghost (september catch-all)

[megidoomed]

A. generic bookshops r us [Open]

[ Practice makes perfect, and Aradia is downright sick of her control being on the fritz.

She'd picked libraries, this time, and was slowly working her way through all sorts of official public buildings and tiny hipster bookshops in the name of getting her focus back up to scratch - books were usually the same size regardless of topic, and didn't really break if she dropped them too hard. Much easier then lightbulbs. Less expensive, too.

So frequenters of this particular locale might notice a teenager walking in circles clutching a stack of books, occasionally tossing another ontop of the pile whenever she feels confident enough, and... eventually vanishing into thin air when her manifesting ends up giving out. Oops. ]

What was that, about... three minutes? [ Talking to herself isn't weird since usually, nobody can see her. And it's a fun habit regardless. ] This is going to take forever.


B. old bones don't sleep [Open]

[ Despite all attempts to avoid making new friends, she had - only a handful, admittedly, but it'd been enough to bring a little bit of Aradia's old cheerfulness back to the forefront. And then they'd left, one by one, with not a word of warning.

She'd only found out after the fact when she'd tried to reconnect now that she'd patched up her holes, finding silence on her in-person visits and getting no replies from the handful of texts she'd managed to send out, and it kinda hurt. But slipping back into a cycle of sulking and shutting herself away was out of the question, so... she'd work something out.

Eventually, anyway. Today she's just not really feeling it, and anyone visiting the graveyard featuring her headstone might notice a fair bit more ghostly activity then usual. Do be careful of the weeds being systematically shredded by an annoyed ghost. She's not meaning to aim it at anyone. ]


C. fire festival [Backdated to 5/9, Open]

[ Aradia usually avoided the festival itself - sure, watching Straw Jack go up in flames was fun, but it'd been a lot more fun when she was alive to make her own miniature version and burn that instead.

Alas, she's still working out the details of whether ghosts can cause spontaneous combustion. For now she's getting her daily dose of mayhem by lingering in bars near the Festival's shenanigans, spooking patrons and keeping tabs on who can see her and who can't. ]

Soooo, how many fingers am I holding up? If you get it right, maybe I'll help you get the next one for free.

[ Alright, maybe she's tried this one about eight times already, but so what. Shoving her hand in people's faces to see how they react will never not be funny. ]


D. and the cat came back, the very next day [Closed to Willard, dated to 30/9]

[ She couldn't find Clara.

Sure that wasn't too unusual by itself. Ghosts often struggle to find each other even on good days, and she's still not consistent when it comes to manifesting. But Clara was experienced enough to reach out to others. Clara was capable of keeping herself together and staying cool under pressure.

And Clara still left signs that she'd been around, usually, even when she'd been having her own troubles. Except now she couldn't find any, and Aradia'd spent all her life talking to the dead. She knew enough to put the pieces together.

She'd done a remarkable job of not lashing out, for the most part. A few lightbulbs were to be expected, but the usual catastrophe was mercifully avoided because she's fine. She's not thinking about this. She's--

--traumatized a cat, if the ensuing muffled yowl is any indication. The box it'd been hiding in had been blown backwards during Aradia's internalized freakout, spilling a pool of water to the sidewalk and a cat to the middle of it. Which spared no time in staring up at her with the biggest, saddest eyes she'd ever seen and kicking her hard in the guilt. It looks so small... ]

[ Approximately ten minutes after the kitten has been awkwardly shuffled into Will's apartment and dumped on the couch, the following text gets sent by one very baffled ghost: ]

so i think i just stole someones cat
in my defense it really wasnt on purpose


E. wildcard!

[ Or, choose your own adventure/ask me to write up a specific hook! I don't mind either way. Prose also available for any of the above hooks on request - hit me up at elimyx if you'd like to plot something out in particular. ]

Comments

b. the dead live on in the hearts of the living

[summit]

[ There had been a reason he'd never gone.

If he never went, it was easier to pretend that it wasn't true. That she was still there, that she was just out of reach and fine. Living it up somewhere else, forgetting to call him, leaving him behind in her pursuit of adventure. If he didn't see it, it didn't have to be real, and all the fantasies he had of her racing through Egypt to uncover the mysteries of ages untold were true.

He liked to picture her there.

Warm.

Vibrant.

Alive.

But there comes a point where you can't deny it anymore. Tavros doesn't really know what to do when he's back in town, and after a while, he's exhausted all of his usual escape tactics. His temper is worsening as the moon draws closer to full, and when he's angry, he likes to walk. Letting his feet take him to where they think is best for him to be while he stews in rage about some inconsequential thing. A stranger shouldering by him too roughtly. Little things add up, and you gotta take them out before they do.

Maybe it's an accident. Maybe it's fate. But by the time he snaps out of his fugue, he's looking down at his feet. The toe has burst through one of them, the sole of the other had been left behind at the station, and there's a name staring at him from between his toes and bits of grass covering the headstone. ]

Oh.

[ He bites his lower lip.

( Oh )

and bends down to try to clear it off. ]

Hey. [ How does he do this? No one he really cared about has ever died - well, barring this, but he'd never... Well. There had been too much going on to visit. Too much going on to think about it, and when he finally had, he'd had miles and miles to pretend that it wasn't so. Some of the older wolves that had mentored him had died, but... that was different. Really different. He rocks back on his heels and shoves his overgrown mohawk out of his face. ] It's been a while, I guess. I, should've come earlier.

A -- Prose before hoes

[hurtfew]

Gilbert Norrell is a man who is very fond of books.

Books are, in fact, something he greatly prefers to people on the whole. His library of magical books is one of the largest known in England, and Gilbert Norrell has every intention of making sure it stays that way. He buys up every copy of any remotely magical book, or book on magic (the distinction is important, a book about magic as a concept is not the same as a book detailing actual magic) and makes sure -- if he can -- that no other copies are available.

It is not a thing that makes him popular, but he believes this is for the best. Magic should not be readily available to just anyone, and plenty of books are dangerous! It is better if he is to handle these things.

He is waiting, very impatiently, in the small second hand book shop while the proprietor goes to find the book he reserved for a great deal of money. It was the best way to make sure nobody else claimed it first.

Then he hears the crash, and notices the range of books that have fallen to the ground haphazardly.

He stares at Aradia for a moment in what appears to be genuine horror before gesturing to them, almost angrily.

"But you will ruin the bindings, girl! The spines! Pick them --"

Which is when she vanishes altogether. He blinks, draws himself up to his full (minimal height) and lofts his eyebrows. At the very least, he does not seem frightened.