It is about 50/span/b/span>10C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Oakwood/span/span>Rain patters on the window in a lulling song.

Though the rain creates its own melody, it is one drenched in melancholy. Some might call it seasonal depression, though Jakem may find that feeling something outside of him. The drops cascade down the pane of glass like tears.

The rain becomes to come down in heavier sheets, splattering against the glass like it intends to shatter through the pane. The song cresendos, angry and rageful, wind howling, and whistling between where window and wall meet.

Jakem is currently lulled by what started as a soft song of rain against a roof and a window pane, a tap dance melancholy sending a sorrowful SOS that he hasn’t heard or perhaps understand. When the sorrowful story does not stir him, the rain begins to rage, sending sheets of water down the window, the water hitting hard against the glass like hail. Wind howls, whistling between cracks. And poor Teagan, she is just a bystander, caught now in a supernatural ragestorm. And behind the rain, there is a whisper, barely to be heard.

Jakem glances out at the window, standing up from his desk to peer outside “Well huh, this is new. Unless Matthew’s having another… Episode.” he comments. The crash of the rain against the window jars him “Nah, not his style. This is too… Too.” he lacks the words to finish.

When Jakem approaches the window, one large drop lands against the pane, and it is definitely too …. too. It is the shape of a woman’s hand, landing flat against the glass where Jakem’s face can be seen looking out from the street below where Teagan is getting pelted by hail-like droplets.

Too intense. It lacks the appropriate dramatic flair of Isabelle Showers (who still must be stopped at all costs, the charlatan!). Unfortunately for Teagan, that does mean she’s caught out in an even worse storm on her way through Northview Park to the point she can no longer drive through it. She’s stopped her car and gotten out, umbrella — a surprisingly perky rainbow-striped one — opened and held carefully so she can peer out into the rain with a frown tugging at her features.

Winter rains are rarely quite like this.

Jakem glances over to Teagan “Oh hey, I gave you a key to my house? Musta been drunk. Or horny.” he comments idly, not incredibly worried by her at least. He frowns, peering out “I think there’s some gal outside. And she’s really wet. I was gonna let her in.” he comments.

In the street, there is a glitch in the matrix. In between the sheets of water, a form begins to take shape, the water parting in ways to reveal the sopping figure of a woman. She wavers in and out from behing Teagan. Each shift, she’s a little closer. Unfortunately for Jakem, while he may notice some shift of the water, he would not make much of the form that is there within it. If only Teagan were to turn around … she might catch a glimpse! No, this is no work of Matthew Montrose, or rather Matthew Morose, or even that charlatan Isabelle Showers. This is something far more worrisome.

Unfortunately for Teagan but fortunately for Jakem, she does not have a key nor is she inside as of yet. Fate (Fabled or being a more ill-Fated Luck Fae as she is) has deemed Teagan be stopped just outside the man’s house and thus that is where she stands. On the sidewalk, outside the window, in the pouring rain. Her umbrella helps, but Teagan is still going to end up soaking wet. She has noticed Jakem home and the frown reflected toward the window is one that says ‘this is your doing, I assume.’

And why would she turn around? There’s no reason to do so in an unseasonable downpour. And so she just begins ambling her way toward his front door.

There is, indeed a woman outside, and its not just Teagan. Jakem has surely seen the hand print. It’s still streaking down the glass like the steamy scene in Titanic. But the figure of her is beyond him. And of course, why would Teagan turn around? There’s no reason to worry. Now is there. Her bright and mostly gaudy rainbow umbrella does protect her from the vengeful downpour but not the wind. It catches the material and in its strength, it turns the umbrella inside out! Torrential is the weather, seeking to see the fabled woman get smacked by an unruly umbrella. At least it isn’t a car.

Jakem might have been talking to himself; he does that sometimes. He cracks the window a bit, just enough to let some droplets pass through, and more importantly his voice carry out clearly “Hey Teagan. If you’re gonna keep your tank top opaque with that umbrella, you might as well come inside.” he says with a dissapointed frown. “Say, what’s that thing behind yah?” He calls out “Door’s unlocked.” He adds, not wanting to wander away from the window unnecessarily.

As the umbrella turns inside out, Jakem coughs, clearing his throat “Actualy, maybe stay out there just enough to get a better look.” Just enough to soak her tank top.

A crack of lightening brightens the sky, landing with a thunderous boom that is mere seconds later. In that shock of light, the figure of the woman can be seen behind Teagan, reaching outward. But as the light fades, and the scent of ozone is still in the air, the woman is gone. Or at least it seems so.

It isn’t a white tank top, but sky blue is a light enough color that it might go a bit more sheer with enough water. Hard to say. It’s not as if the bra she wears underneath is entirely a secret: the black straps show every so often anyway. But Teagan’s glasses have slipped enough (and stayed that way due to the water) that her eyeroll is especially visible as Jakem shouts down. “He’s lucky my tits have grown back,” she mutters absently as she starts trying to get the umbrella back to rights.

It is not at all gaudy. It is tasteful and cheerful. It’s from the MoMA in NYC! That defines it as classy.

But the focus on Jakem and the umbrella mean she’s even less likely to notice some spectral hand reaching her way. Instead she just tromps herself (feet squishing because she wore her Vans today and not boots) toward the front door to head into warmer and more importantly dry environs.

In preparation, Jakem snags a coat tossed on the bed nearby. It looks like a woman’s coat, but while that makes it a bit awkward with the sleeve and hem length, Jakem’s slender form fits into nonetheless. “Oh she is absolutely going to get got.” he says with a crooked grin, yet he issues no warning, simply getting ready to rush out into the rain as Teagan is reached for.

He should be keeping an eye on the storm, but his gaze has wandered towards the redhead’s torso and doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon as he heads over to open the door, either for her to come in, or for him to go out, depending on what the reaching figure captures.

Another blinding flash of light filters through the sky in a pattern of pure chaos. The spectral woman comes into view again, and though it is likely unheard by anyone nearby, her mouth opens in what appears to be a scream, perhaps drowned out by the thunder that rumbles through the area, and shakes the ground. The woman disappears, but not before her hand finds itself on Teagan’s arm. All whilst Jakem waits to see what is to come. Either of the woman’s shirt, or otherwise.

Try using that Walmart umbrella still, ten years later, while your $55 one is still going strong! It’s an investment. A nice cheery investment for those long, dreary winter months when the world has forgotten color.

But Jakem is right about one thing: Teagan is got. Her hand lands on the doorknob to the house and as it does, something unseen (to her) lands on her arm. The redhead lets out a yelp of surprise and pain as she yanks her hand away and leaps back, trying to shake herself free.

“NOT FUNNY, JAKEM!”

Jakem hmmm’s to Teagan “You’re always blaming me for every little thing. Stop hypnotizing my classmates to talk like valleygirls Jakem, stop faking your death Jakem, stop summoning ghostly hands to grab me in the storm Jakem.” he complains as he reaches for Teagan’s shoulder, moving to yank her away from the unseen assailant, perhaps. “Tsk, mine. Get your own redhead.” He calls out to it, or at least in it’s vicinity.

The ne’erdowell, Jakem, alas, is likely often blamed for things he didn’t do, though far more likely for the things he does. Case in point, here.

When Jakem makes his move, and tries to yank Teagan, whose forearm is now blazing red in the shape of a woman’s hand, the ghostly figure comes to full form, using energy from another flash of lightening to draw the power to reveal herself to the two. She is drenched as much as Teagan. Her hair, red at one point, are slightly red but mostly moldy slimy strings that seem to melt off her head. Her eyes are sunken, one missing. Her nose is nothing but a hole. Her clothes are rotted. A tooth is missing, and the front of her skull is bashed in. Blood and water mingle, pooling in the bare socket and dripping down into the hole of her sinus cavity. The woman is in front of Jakem in no time flat, and there is a very audible scream. Not saying the scream is what makes the two possible twins, but if the ghost was not this half skeletal woman, Teagan and her might be sisters. “Mine!” Darkness again, and that word whispers underneath the howl of wind.

“Considering you did actually do those things, I think I’m justif-ayyyyyy-” Teagan is yanked away from whatever was grabbing and burning at her arm (hopefully), stumbling toward Jakem. Hopefully that svelte coat of his is sturdy because she grabs hold of it to keep from tripping over someone’s feet. Probably her own. Unfortunately, she’s just caught in a tug of war and her umbrella drops to the ground (and survives because that’s what buying quality gets you!).

“I think you will find that I am a strong, independent woman, thank you very much!”

Jakem hmmm’s to Teagan “Are you talking to me or her, cause if you’ve got this, this rain is doing a number on my hair.” It’s not. His hair is magically enchanted to remain fabulous at all times.

He looks to the apparition “Oh, hey… If I didn’t know you were fatecrafted into existence, I’d almost say this was some long lost relative of yours.” He clears his throat “So what claim do you have to this pretty lil’ redhead? If you’ve got papers for her, well I respect that.”

Its obvious to those who are in the know of the occult, and have spent years around this, it is simply a spirit. Lost, perhaps, raging, definitely. Lonely and longing for flesh. Check and check. Perhaps drawn to this site because it was, at some time, in some place fatecrafted before New Haven, hers. Water would not affect a spirit would it? She looks much like she had been drowned. Whatever the case, something miserable happened to this miserable spectre, and it now wants to possess Teagan.

“What, you the Wicked Witch of the West now? Her sister had better shoes.” Teagan says to Jakem with a sniff. Really, though, she’s just leaning into his humor because it’s better than the anxiety of ‘oh hey a drowned bitch without a face wants my body.’ And not in the way people usually want her body. This one’s actually surprisingly more stressful.

“So is this an unsolved murder situation? Unrequited love? You want to show us where the family fortune is because you were the sole heir and you died alone?” All while striving to put Jakem between herself and the ghost lady.

The question would likely put pause to anyone, and it does to the spectre too. There is an odd tilt of its head, a clump of slimy hair falling from her scalp to the ground and leaving a bare spot of bone and rotting flesh in its place. But then with a bony clawed grasp, it takes hold of Teagan’s temples and steps INSIDE. So much for trying to put Jakem between the twinsies.

A little smile forms at the edge of Jakem’s lips. “Well now.” he says as he looks to her “Color me three shades of jealous, you just got right into her didn’t you?” he says to them. He’s still got the arm, and there’s no external competition now so he gives a little yank “C’mon in, let’s talk.” He says.

“Hey, wait, hold on, I’m sure we can talk ab-” But Teagan does not get to talk about this. She’s cut off mid-sentence and there might have been a scream. Teagan certainly feels like she was screaming. But now she’s stuck on the inside looking out, frozen in that moment. Not that she’s idle, as it were. She may not be able to move, but she can shout. Sort of. She can think real loud and those thoughts are mostly sweary. Entirely sweary, raelly.

With Teagan (?) inside, Jakem begins to bustle about the house, making to play the good host. Candles are grabbed and lit “There we go, adds a warmth to the room. Can I get you anything to eat? I bet you haven’t eaten in a while.” he says as he goes to the cupboard. He starts just grabbing things, herbs mostly, though he does grab some cold hot wings to shove in the microwave. “What about to drink?” he asks as he retrieves a few drams of blood in vials. Then he takes some fruit juice out of the fridge. “Sit down sit down, don’t mind me. Let’s talk? Tell me about yourself. Whatcha want?” He says as he starts to bustle about the room.

The face of the woman and Teagan’s merge, and for the time being, Jakem’s question goes unanswered as the still form of Teagan is taken inside, and preparations are made to keep the woman’s real body warm, as well as to set up for a banishment. Blankly, Teagan sits. “This is not my home…” it says, or rather, it croaks from the pretty, but sailor-filthy, mouth of Teagan.

Teagan is a modern-day college student who is terminally online. She may not be fluent in multiple languages (just English and a beginner’s proficiency in Spanish), but she can swear in at least eight. The slideshow she gets, however, does end the tirade and a little context helps. It doesn’t make her compliant, but it does give context.

“Bit late for revenge,” Teagan says (thinks) to the void with the tension of someone still caught in the pain of it all. “Without a name, a date, anything, couldn’t help you even if I wanted to.” Hey, willingness to help the dead decreases considerably when they don’t ask consent!

Jakem gesticulates in what could be part of the ritual, or it could be a dismissive gesture “As long as I’m your host, everywhere we are is your home, don’t you fret darlin’.” he coos at her in the harmlessly charming voice he so rarely uses. Only when things get dicey does he ever bother trying to seem harmless.

He weaves around her “Don’t mind me, just nabbing some extra whatsits for the fire. Thought I’d start one, make things cozy. Dry yah out a bit. Your boobs are showin’.” he says, perhaps just to be crude, or maybe to make her self-concious now that she has a body to be self-concious about.

Possession never means consent. And then the woman, aka Teagan is up from where she’d plopped down. On bed. All bed… Confused expression and stiff legs drag Teagan toward the bathroom, where the door is opened, normal, with her hand. She stands in the room and the rage hits again, though now it is inside the home. Water condensates on the walls, streaming down like tears, pooling into the baseboards. A look into a mirror leads to a scream, and the mirror breaks. Wind howls. “Never late,” she says, though it may not make sense to Jakem. And since he’s also said that his home is her home, the confusion abounds once more, and there is a blind rush toward the man, even should Teagan try to struggle. Can she stop herself, however? From causing harm to Jakem, or herself? Maybe it was the commentary on her body that causes it.

Honestly, her, the spirits, boobs probably haven’t looked this good in years.

has been charged in anger so many times that his response is almost reflexive. Two, then three, then a dozen of Jakem spread out into the room, each offering naught but the most sincere and polite courtesy. “OH hon, we can snuggle in a bit.” says one of the 12 Jakems. “Just let me get everything ready.” Says another.

“Too late to find him here,” Teagan clarifies, though even here (wherever ‘here’ may be for her at the moment) the shriek that shatters the mirror is pain. Atop the pain. She’s going to need a drink (or five) after this. Maybe even some drugs. Drugs might be good.

And then the spirit is lunging toward Jakem with her own body and Teagan is not entirely fond of that. So she does try to put on the brakes. Really, she does! “Hey, hey, hey! Not okay. I do not want to have to explain whatever weird shit he does to me later. Hey Obie, sorry about the third nipple, Jakem thought it’d slow down the spirit attacking him. Why me? Oh because the spirit was possessing me at the time. Why is it on my forehead? Because why the fuck not I guess.”

As much as Teagan tries to stop her own legs from rushing at Jakem, or possibly Jakem, or a standing lamp… She keeps going, and soon is wrapping her arms around nothing but air. The man is out here Scooby Dooing it, and its working. There is another rush, unhearing of any logic that Teagan might be saying to her. “He killed me.” She points at a fake image, then another. Until the woman finds herself landing hard on her rump and her hands going to her face to cover it. Tears slide from her eyes, ice cold, and thick like slime. Then, with a lurch of her stomach, what may be rancid bathwater pours from her mouth, burning at her throat. “My baby…” is croaked from Teagan’s voice. Yes, drugs will probably fix this…

has a moment of pity, such as pity exists for him. “Yeah, your baby, she’s not dead.” he informs her. “Neither are you, look at you? You’re alive. It was just a bad dream.” says one of the images.

A silent baby, swaddled in cloth can be seen laying on the notbed now, perhaps sleeping. Or perhaps Jakem just can’t make crying baby sounds. Just got to keep it busy for a bit more while he completes the ritual.

Last few touches “Hope that granted you a few moments at least.” he says by way of apology as Jakem moves to do the last step of the ritual.

And Teagan thought she needed a Charm of Lethe to get over the squished vine kitten pulp in Hell yesterday. She’s gonna definitely need one for this. The actual living redhead is still in a lot of pain from the whole, you know, possession and being frozen in the pain of it. But now she’s feeling this woman’s pain as well. “I’m sorry,” she says for the sake of the woman. “But it’s gonna be okay now, really.” Will it? Teagan doesn’t know. Knowing New Haven, no, it won’t. The man who murdered them is probably like, living it up in Boston as a billionaire or some shit. But what do you do for the dead? You lie.

The lies work. Though the vision of the baby is not crying, the image of it, swaddled in a non-existent crib, is enough to cause the woman to stop sobbing. Teagan finds her limbs not her own again as she stands, and smiles. She walks over to the illusion, and leans in to pick up the fake baby. But her hands go through the illusion. Anger storms through the home again, and lightening strikes inside, crackling with electricity that makes everyone’s hair stand on end. But just as Teagan, nay, the spectre possessing her, turns to see to fulfilling some kind of revenge, the spell counter ticks down, and before she can reach Jakem or one of his mimics, the spirit is wisped away. It is not without the anquished scream of ‘You!”

When the spirit is vanquished, it leaves the flesh and blood woman to lurch forward as of course she’s been trying to fight movement.

And so Teagan continues her forward momentum (suddenly finding herself in possession of her own self again) to simply fall over facedown with an “Umfh.”

Jakem tsks “I should figure out how to do touch.” he says with a thoughtful look at Teagan on the ground as he finishes the spell. “Well she’s gone for today. You gonna stay on the floor there?” He asks with a crooked grin.

“Nmphcnthgn,” Teagan replies which is a perfectly reasonable answer delivered unreasonably. She pushes herself upright with a groan of discomfort, pushing up her jacket sleeve to grimace at the cold burn in the shape of a hand still on her forearm. “You’ll probably want to look into the history of the house, sort it out for good before she decides to start borrowing all of your guests.”

Jakem shrugs a bit “I’ll get to it when I get to it.” he declares. “You need a ride anywhere before I head out for a bit?”

“Yeeeeah, uh,” Teagan rolls her sleeve back down and starts the check over to make sure no other surprises were left behind. “The Masque Theatre, if you don’t mind.”

Jakem grins and salutes “Kinda takes the fun out of plotting against the Court when you’re running it yah know.”