001 [voice | CALL | un: ghostprince]

[shootaro]

[CALL]

[The call begins with the sound of something flapping incessantly, as if blown by very rough winds. It soon settles into eerie howling. Pleasant!

It's not entirely a creepy silent call, though, and soon enough, a cool and quiet, young-sounding voice that's a bit hard to place, filters in:]

—one hear me? Sorry, the wind picked up.

I'm going to check out the temple.

Will anyone else be coming? I won't be needing your help [—rude.] I'm asking for your safety. I don't advise sneaking up on my partner and I, unless you don't consider your soul valuable.

[End call. Not so much as an introduction! He thinks he owns the place, doesn't he?]

Comments

[switch to action with the next one? xD;]

[shootaro]

Fine, you can come too.

[Very sulkily, full of misgivings.

Please, don't make him regret this decision...]

[new_toys]

[There is not actually a chance in hell that his lack of permission would stop her, but he's welcome to believe that there is. She's not terribly concerned by the idea; she's entirely sure that if she cared what people thought about her one way or the other, her life path would have been very different and much, much less fun.

So, fine. He's letting her come. Whatever. Either way, she's rolling up not all that long afterwards in her coveralls and goggles, proton pack strapped to her back, a laser trap under one arm. She looks less like a scientist and more like an exterminator with some very shiny homemade gear, which is... not wholly inaccurate.]

[story_and_teller]

Li-ba-tions. Drinks.

[Loki gives him a considering look. While she's all for corruption of the youth, the clientele of the corvid would eat him alive. Probably literally.]

Meet me at the market in Sorcery.

[shootaro]

... huh.

[As for said ghost prince, he was a sullen, skinny, little ten year old wearing far too many layers (who needs a shirt, a hoodie, and a jacket all at once? New York street fashion's an odd thing), all neutral colours except for the jacket and shirt which was Halloween colours for some unfathomable reason.

Speaking of phantoms— beside him, flies a creature that resembles an old-fashioned glass lamp, but the ghostly blue-purple fire within burns without wick or oil. Luminous yellow eyes peer from behind the glass, but there's no more suggestion of a face.]

... is that a vacuum cleaner? It looks broken.

[shootaro]

Funny word. You use that a lot back home?

Right. [And he'll make his way there!]

[story_and_teller]

As a matter of fact, yes.

[[ooc: I'll put up a log post in a few; gotta put on real-people clothes and junk.]]

[story_and_teller]

[[ooc: boop boop boop.]]

[new_toys]

[She blinks down at him. Well, this is... cute? Cute-ish. He reminds him a little of herself at that age, up to and including the oddly layered clothes.

Actually, that part reminds her of herself now, when she's not in uniform.

But she is, and she hefts her proton pack with pride, jerking her chin towards the little phantom.]

More like a lasso. Friend of yours?

[shootaro]

[A blush creeps onto his face at the word "friend," but despite the stubborn frown, he nods. It... seems to imply something else (not that he's aware), but he's really just unused fo the concept of friendship and acknowledging them verbally (he is supposed fo a mature man of reason who does nof need Such Useless Things...).

(A.K.A. he's pretty firmly settled into tsundere territory to save his rep.)]

Lampent is drawn to recently departed spirits. If need be, we can draw it out by pulling it into Lampent's fire and you can catch it, but I hope that wo—

[A high-pitched shriek interrupts their conversation (talking about her like she's not there? Rude..]

[new_toys]

[Well, that's. Shrill. Holtz doesn't react too strongly, but her expression goes rather wooden for a second.]

She objects to this plan, I take it?

[shootaro]

Yeah, she's, uh, kind of hysterical.

[He untucks hoodie and undershirt to lift them up with a jacket, to expose an angry red bruise on his right side with long, sharp scratches not too far from it about the right number and arrangement for a human hand, dragging nails like claws.]

She threw me out when I tried talking to her, I do—

[Uprooting bricks from the walls now and flinging them your way, doc! They haven't even stepped foot inside...

Lampent stops the ones that stray near its trainer, cloaking them in faint blue psychic energy and redirecting them, but doesn't extend its help.]

[new_toys]

[Holtzmann startles back, batting the first few away with the body of her proton gun, wincing almost as much at the clangclang of the bricks against the metal as she is at the prospect of getting whacked by one of them herself. This is her baby, and it was not meant to be hit laterally. The rest of the first wave, she ducks away from entirely.

Side note:]

Never call a woman hysterical.

[Said seriously, but not angrily. He's young. This is a life lesson he should know. But she doesn't intend to dwell on it, so she flips a switch on the side of the gun, and it hums into life with an engine-revving whine. She calls out to the temple:]

I just wanna have a little chat, mmkay?

text; UN: galeas

[fivenareff]

What exactly will you be doing to my soul if I do sneak up on you?

Hypothetically speaking.

[shootaro]

Something unspeakable. Vaguely reminescrnt eternal damnation.

Hypothetically speaking.

[Sorry, he's pretty secretive.]

[fivenareff]

It's obviously not so unspeakable if we're speaking of it now.

[shootaro]

[Oh, this is childish, but... he thinks it was pretty funny too.]

Maybe. But it's still a secret. You better hope you never find out. [The wording's more playful and casual now.]

Do you think the way you talk about something changes its nature or were you just belng a comedian?

[that makes for a pretty dramatic line, given the situation!]

[shootaro]

[He quietly nods, commiting to memory. He's got a lot to learn and a lot to unlearn too, so he doesn't resist it.

[The spirit calms again, the howling dying down. A few more items thrown about in there, then, she emerges, a sour-looking woman in an appropriately long abd tattered nightgown (isn't it always) with long, unkempt hair.]

At least someone understands! [A very, very moody response, possibly alluding to that aside to Trip earlier?] Men, honestly!

[She shoots Trip a dirty look, then settles down in front of Holtzmann as if side-sitting on the edge of a bench, smiling sweetly.] I'll talk with you. I'd fix you a cup of tea, love, but. Non-corporal.

[new_toys]

[Holtzmann has encountered many a ghost before now. One had spoken; most of them hadn't. All had been deeply malevolent, and it's honestly completely new for one of them to engage in polite conversation with her.

Well, technically Rowan had, but only before trying to kill her and all her friends. Twice. Which is why she does not yet lower the gun, although she does let the trigger go so that the hum of whirring nuclear machinery fades again. She lets out a slightly nervous chuckle, suddenly looking rather less self-assured, if also incredibly fascinated.]

I'm more of a coffee girl.

[Uh.]

What's................. what's goin' on?

[anticlimactic, huh?]

[shootaro]

[Yeah, okay, Trip's just as confused because as far as he's concerned she was just a shrieking, malevolent spirit like two second ago??? Whatever, he's going to just... watch for now while Holtzmann talks to her because she seems to like her more.]

Someone brought my dreadful husband's ashes into the temple and I refuse to share it with him! I had to spend my life with him, they wouldn't recognize divorce, you know, I refuse to spend my afterlife with him too!

[Aaaand she's back to raging, howling winds, things getting knocked off shelves inside, a branch or two breaking and falling, the works. Lampent telekinetically moves away any straying debris from unintentionally hitting them.

Then, she sighs.] But I can't touch it.

[So, just... move the urn out, problem solved? Absurdly simple.]

[new_toys]

[The same idea occurs to Dr. Holtzmann, who blinks, brow furrowing.]

What if Junior here went in and got it out?

voice; un: wardenka

[boundinblood]

[Ohhh no. No, no, no. Two possessed children is already two too many, and that's exactly what this sounds like. Most children don't threaten souls. Granted, demons don't really do that, either. Not so directly. But it's cause for alarm all the same.]

You sound a little young to be exploring dangerous temples and threatening souls.

voice; ruuude and also, h i!! ;3;/

[shootaro]

[Threatening..? Oh, that's what that sounds like. He sighed a little.]

Might be hard to believe, but I'm threatening no one's soul today. That was a warning. The wrong soul might get drawn in by accident.

... uh? I'm ten. I got my Pokemon training license at the usual age. I'm an adult.

[From that huffiness, you can practically hear the pout.]

[fivenareff]

It can't be both? Something like this, I think your threat would be better off if you were less vague, but in general? Of course how you speak of something changes its nature.

[shootaro]

I'll keep that in mind. Next time I threaten someone, I'll be sure to let you know. [Did he ask for advice giving threats? No, but this is great. He's getting curious about him, so he'll keep asking questions.]

Sounds like you speak from experience. Do you threaten people a lot?

Interesting, name an example.

[fivenareff]

Oh, absolutely. It's practically in my job.

As for an example . . . oh, there are hundreds. Think of how we describe certain things. Think of how the press reports things. Soldiers who fight for your country are brave and go through hell no matter what the war is truly about; enemy soldiers are devious, cowardly, and deserve everything they get. Policemen always dispense justice; vigilantes are never anything but jumped-up thugs. Ask any English historian and they'll tell you they populated America, not colonized it.

How you speak about something makes all the difference in the world.