Eloa’s Monday morning exorcism
Date: 2025-07-07 07:17
(Eloa’s Monday morning exorcism)
[Mon Jul 7 2025]
In empty brownstone
It is morning/span>/span74F(23C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. The mist is heaviest At Foxglove and Sidney/span>/spanThe heavy wooden door of the brownstone creaks open as Hester, Eloa, and Roberta step inside, their footsteps echoing in the empty space. Dust motes swirl in the grey morning light filtering through tall windows, and the air carries the musty scent of abandonment mixed with something else–something that makes the hair on their arms stand up.
In the center of the main room, Dr. Elena Vasquez sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor, her usually pristine appearance disheveled. Her dark hair hangs in tangles around her face, and tears stream continuously down her cheeks as she rocks slightly back and forth. Her lips move constantly, whispering in what sounds like Latin, then Arabic, then languages that don’t sound quite human.
“” The words tumble out in a broken mixture of tongues, her voice hoarse as if she’s been speaking for hours.
The temperature in the room feels wrong–not cold exactly, but heavy, oppressive. Shadows seem to linger in corners despite the morning light, and there’s an almost electric tension in the air that makes breathing feel labored.
Elena’s eyes remain fixed on some invisible point in the distance, unseeing, while her hands clutch at something that isn’t there. On the floor beside her lies an open leather satchel, archaeological tools scattered around it, and what appears to be fragments of an ancient clay tablet.
Hester starts sweating when she steps into the room, “Oh no, that’s so heavy…” She struggles to breathe even more than usual, shaking her head at Eloa. “N-not up close, my Gran usually keeps me away.”
She pauses when the three come across Dr. Vasquez in the middle of the room. “Uh-oh, that’s not good. I wish I had my books with me,” she regrets not coming more prepared.
Letting out a breath, Eloa …totally puts her glasses on when she recognises a Vasquez after a glance towards Roberta for previous life lessons learned. She looks over in the area where the vasquez is peering off to, as if trying to work out if there’s anything to be seen there.
Stepping to one side, Roberta veritably vanishes, using Hester as a barricade as Eloa is left center stage to take the lead.
The Doctor clearly is going mad, possibly possessed, and though Roberta isn’t all that smart, the shattered tablet and speaking in tongues is a clear indication that the Vasquez has bitten off more than she can chew.
Consealed as she is, Roberta’s revolver is cocked, though Roberta didn’t pack for vampire extermination today. Maybe that’s not what needs to be done– Eloa is Order, too, so she cant just wantenly murder people (today), and besides, Hester would be a witness, too. That means that observation is in order. Roberta looks where Eloa looks.
“Mneme… ponos… aima…” Her voice carries an odd resonance, as if multiple people are speaking through her throat simultaneously.
Hester’s discomfort intensifies as she notices the oppressive atmosphere affecting her more than the others. The weight in the air seems to press down specifically on her, and she can almost hear whispers at the edge of her perception–fragments of conversations in languages she doesn’t recognize, but somehow understands as expressions of grief and loss.
Roberta, concealed behind Hester’s larger form, notices something the others might miss: the clay tablet fragments aren’t randomly scattered. They’re arranged in a deliberate pattern around Elena, forming what looks like incomplete symbols or sigils. One larger piece lies directly in front of the possessed professor, its surface covered in densely packed cuneiform script that seems to writhe and shift when viewed peripherally.
Elena’s rocking motion becomes more pronounced, and her tears begin to fall faster. The temperature in the room drops noticeably, and frost begins to form on the windows despite the summer morning outside.
“Help… me…” Elena’s voice cuts through her multilingual muttering for just a moment, clear and desperate, before being swallowed again by the demon’s influence.
“It is so cold. Usually have to… satisfy demon.” Eloa whispers, walking infront of Elena for a moment to wave her hand infront of the other woman’s face. “What kindof demon? How help?” She asks, not noticing the tablets well because shes not Roberta. The latina’s expression is one of concern and fear as she crouches down infront of Elena.
It’s impressive– Truly it is, but something about this means that Roberta notices something she’s not directly looking for, and she shares this with Eloa and Hester. “Those chunks of thingy,” the smashed tablet “Are around her like some kind of a ritual circle.”
Pointing with Roberta’s opera cane to the larger chunk, Roberta tells Eloa, deciding she’s the magic expert, “They look like symbols I’ve seen in the past. The bigger chunk there in front of her. Want I should try move it?”
“Um sure… we can try.” Eloa nods to Roberta, pressing her lips together as she watches the other woman.
Hester makes for a pretty good meat shield, if mostly fat. Her heart batters her chest as she stands there, with Eloa and Roberta — except where had the latter gone? She hadn’t even noticed.
But the longer she watches Dr. Vasquez, the more the chill invades herself. Her cerulean blue eyes water before tears start tumbling down round cheeks. “W-what did you lose?” she sniffles, taking careful steps closer to the doctor. While she might not immediately recognize any of the sigils without a book for reference, she does note the pattern, given her foundational knowledge in alchemical practices.
“Yes… you know loss too, don’t you, child? The weight of carrying others’ pain… watching them fade…”
The frost on the windows spreads, and the whispers Hester has been hearing grow louder, more insistent. The demon is trying to pull her traumatic memories to the surface, sensing her empathic nature as a potential source of sustenance.
Elena’s body begins to convulse slightly, her physical condition clearly deteriorating under the demon’s influence.
In a single smooth movement, Roberta steps around her bodyshield (@hester) if she realises it or not. With a nod to Eloa, the albino pokes at the larger chunk before the Vasquez with her cane, seeking to send it out of alignment and across the room.
“oh no..” Eloa moves forward to gently try to guide Elena’s body down onto the ground, “Think happy memories Hester! Think of your most happy memory! Um! Mary had a little lamb.. little lamb..” Eloa starts to sing even as Roberta kicks the tablet aside. She tries to fling a few pieces on her side away as well.
The tears continue to salt Hester’s cheeks as she stands before Dr. Vasquez, watching the woman convulse. Roberta’s sudden entrance jostles her out of the thick of that spiral, and Eloa’s voice proves a distraction enough to puzzle, “Mary.. Mary had a lamb… Did she keep the lamb?”
“It won’t let me forget… every moment… over and over… Miguel falling… Mama asking who I am… please…”
The demon’s influence wavers as the circle is broken, but it’s fighting back, trying to maintain its hold by forcing Elena to relive her most painful memories in an endless loop.
Hester’s innocent question about the lamb seems to create a small pocket of clarity in the supernatural chaos, as if simple, untainted thoughts have power against the demon’s influence.
“It’s okay! You’re dead! A vampire! You don’t have emotions! Remember!” Eloa tries to shake the shoulder of the woman, heedless if she’s actually a vampire but given the fame of her surname surely right?? She glances over at Hester, looking flustered at the question, “Um… Yes! She keep lamb! Little lamb little lamb. Mary had a little lamb it’s fleece as white as snow..” She keeps singing. Slightly offkey.
As observant as Roberta is, which is to say, not very, Roberta only now notices that Hester might be in some little trouble of her own.
There’s a moment of frozen time, where the albino needs to process. This isn’t easy for Roberta, caring for others isn’t natural for Roberta like it seems to be for Eloa, and as the circle breaks, and Eloa has the doctor in hand, Roberta asks Hester, “What’s your favourite ice cream? You said you liked it in class.”
The attempt is clear enough, distract Hester with mundanity, though successful or not is yet to be seen. And of course, if the demon fights back, more will need to be done, so the more positivity here the better. Which means that Roberta falls back to old reliable– Roberta begins to hum a lullaby– Something half-remembered, calming and sweet, a gentle thing laced with the compulsion for calm, and to not give in to the negativity the demon wants.
If only Hester were more emotionally mature to offer some real advice to Dr. Vasquez. Through labored breaths and a spell of nausea, she struggles to hold onto what simple light Eloa’s bad singing grants her. “Mary had a.. little lamb… And she never.. let Gran slaughter it over an altar,” she hums her own dissonant tune between sniffles.
If only she could be more useful than a tub of lard in the midst of a demonic break. Roberta’s query is another crack in the dark, bringing her gaze heavenward. “Ice cream.. we all scream for ice cream..” she tries to follow along to the hauntingly sweet tune from Roberta. “Pistachio, beer butter, and rocky road.. but nobody likes mint chocolate…”
The combination of broken circle, innocent memories, and Roberta’s hypnotic lullaby creates a powerful counter-force against the demon’s influence. Elena’s convulsions begin to slow, and the oppressive weight in the room starts to lift slightly.
“No… my archive… the perfect collection of pain…” The demon’s voice emerges more clearly now, distinct from Elena’s own speech. It sounds ancient, layered with the echoes of countless forgotten languages. “You cannot take this from me… I have waited so long…”
Elena’s eyes flutter, showing brief moments of awareness between the demon’s control. “The binding… the original binding is still… in the tablet…” she gasps out during one lucid moment. “Carthaginian… it was never meant to be… permanent…”
The frost on the windows begins to recede as the positive memories and Roberta’s calming influence weaken Mnemothane’s hold. But the demon isn’t giving up easily – shadows in the corners of the room start to writhe and reach toward the group, as if trying to pull traumatic memories from each of them to feed its strength.
Hester’s mention of her grandmother’s altar seems to resonate with something deeper, and the demon’s attention turns toward her with renewed interest. “Yes… the old woman who taught you to fear… to carry the weight of others’ suffering… I remember her…”
“Oh… Maybe we need join the tablet together? If binding is in tablet?” Eloa squeezes Elena’s shoulder giving the woman strength then starts to sing off key yet another cradle song, “Let it goooooo. Let it gooooooooo. Can’t hold it back anymoreeee.” She cries out as she grabs as many pieces as she can and starts to jigsaw puzzle them together.
Good idea, singing. It works, and the albino is familiar with this. Roberta nods to Eloa.
The albino heads over for the dislodged chunk, returning it to Eloa so she can puzzel it back together, and as she moves, with that resonance still in her voice, she join’s Eloa’s song, filling the empty air with up-beat Disney songs– Normality in fantasy, an eye on the shadows as they begin to stretch.
Roberta cant speak, she’s singing, but the vampire shakes her head to Hester, trying to convey the utter nonsense of the demon’s claims.
Frozen switches, and Roberta raises her voice, hamming it up as she sings. “I’m gonna be a mighty king, enemies beware.”
The refrain offered up next, “Well I’ve never seen a king of beasts with quite so little hair.”
I’m gonna be the main event, like no king was before…” and so on, as Hester fights and Eloa does the hard work with the Vasquez and the tablet.
“N-no, not Gran.. Gran would never,” the chubby freshman sobs in denial. “She’s just doing what’s for my own good..”
As soon as Eloa breaks out into Disney music, it does something to Hester. “Let it goooo.. Let it goooo.. Turn away and slam the dooooor!” she squawks back, flabby arms lifting as full mental clarity returns through the blizzard of bad thoughts. Shuddering, she darts her eyes to where Eloa has begun to pick up pieces of the tablet. She clumsily joins in, picking up some tablet pieces herself and lumbering past Roberta to help with connecting the puzzle together.
“The incantation… it’s in three parts… Carthaginian to weaken… Latin to contain… and…” she struggles to speak through the demon’s interference, “…something older… to banish…”
The shadows reaching toward Hester seem to falter as Roberta’s defiant singing fills the space with warmth and light. The demon’s attention is being pulled in too many directions – the reconstructed binding, the positive energy, and its weakening grip on Elena.
“Choose quickly,” Elena gasps during another moment of clarity. “I can feel it trying to jump… to one of you…”
The Disney songs create a powerful barrier of innocence and joy that the demon cannot penetrate. As the three women work together – Eloa and Hester frantically piecing together the tablet while Roberta’s hypnotic voice fills the air with uplifting melodies – the shadows begin to retreat.
“No… not the songs of children… not hope…” The demon’s voice grows weaker, more desperate. “I need the pain… the perfect archive…”
Elena’s body stops convulsing entirely as more pieces of the tablet click into place. The cuneiform script becomes clearer, revealing what appears to be a binding ritual in ancient Carthaginian. As the tablet nears completion, Elena’s own voice breaks through more frequently.
“The binding… it requires… acknowledgment of loss without… without being consumed by it…” Elena gasps, her academic mind still functioning despite the possession. “The original binding… it wasn’t meant to imprison… but to help the demon understand… that memory and grief… can coexist with… with healing…”
The room grows warmer as more pieces fit together. The demon’s influence is clearly weakening, but it’s making one final desperate attempt to maintain control, trying to force Elena to relive her brother’s death and her mother’s condition simultaneously.
“Choose,” the demon hisses. “Save her mind, or save her memories. You cannot have both.”
“Banish it! It no need to understand!” Eloa starts piecing more and more of the pieces together, putting the tablet infront of Elena and adjusting it so the vasquez can read it. “I’ve been staring at the edge of the water. Long as I can remember…. Never really knowing why..” The girl starts to sing Moana, flashing Hester a grin after the previous joining in of let it go. “Every turn I take every trail I track..”
Pausing for long enough to quip, Roberta defiantly tells the demon, “I chose both her mind and memories.” and then she’s returning to inanity, Disney songs, nursury songs, witty limericks disgorged from Roberta’s lips, joined by an assortment of common place, up-beat advertisement jingles.
“Oh no, I can’t speak any of those languages… W-we need a therapist in here!” Hester squeaks at the door, but unfortunately none of the Windermere staff can hear from all the way here. Eloa’s instruction and Roberta’s own sassy quip and medley gets her looking from one to the other in panic.
As Eloa finishes off the tablet’s puzzle, Hester staggers over to Dr. Vasquez and hunkers down with her, wrapping her in an old-fashioned side-hug. Perhaps the next best use of her body’s bloat. “It’s- it’s okay to remember! It’s okay to be hurt a-and ignored and uh, and cry your eyes out until they hurt,” she stutters, her own waterworks kicking up again. “You can let it out and uh- let it go.”
The completed tablet glows with a soft, ancient light as Elena’s trembling hands trace the reconstructed binding. The combination of Hester’s genuine compassion, Roberta’s defiant declaration, and the joyful songs creates an atmosphere the demon cannot corrupt.
“I… I can read it…” Elena whispers, her voice growing stronger. “The binding doesn’t banish… it teaches acceptance. Mnemothane, you were created to weaponize grief, but grief shared… grief acknowledged… loses its power to destroy.”
The demon’s voice becomes almost plaintive. “But… the archive… the perfect collection…”
“Memory without healing is just… just endless suffering,” Elena continues, reading from the tablet while Hester’s embrace grounds her. “But memory with acceptance… that’s wisdom.”
The oppressive atmosphere in the room lifts completely. The shadows retreat to their natural corners, and warm morning light floods through the windows as the frost melts away. Elena’s tears stop flowing, though she continues to lean into Hester’s comforting embrace.
“The binding is complete,” Elena says softly. “Mnemothane isn’t destroyed… but it’s no longer compelled to collect suffering. It can… it can rest now.”
The clay tablet crumbles to dust, its purpose fulfilled. Elena looks up at the three women who saved her, exhausted but free.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “All of you. I… I think I need to call my mother.”