Ekaterina’s Wednesday afternoon exorcism
Date: 2025-09-10 14:26
(Ekaterina’s Wednesday afternoon exorcism)
[Wed Sep 10 2025]
In empty brownstone
It is about 55F(12C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Mayflower and Rosewood/span>/spanThe afternoon sun slants through the tall windows of the empty brownstone, illuminating dust motes that dance in the still air. Ekaterina and Matias stand just inside the front entrance, having followed reports of strange sounds and flickering lights from what should be an abandoned building. The hardwood floors creak softly under their feet as they take in the spacious main room with its ornate Victorian details.
From somewhere deeper in the building comes the sound of a man’s voice, rising and falling in what might be passionate dialogue or argument. The words are indistinct but carry an odd theatrical quality, as if someone is rehearsing lines. Occasionally the voice breaks, becoming pleading or desperate before resuming its dramatic cadence.
Near the carved mantelpiece, scattered papers cover the floor around an overturned chair. Even from this distance, the pages appear covered in dense handwriting. The air carries that faint mustiness of old buildings, but underneath lurks something else – a metallic scent that might be ink, or something less pleasant.
The voice grows louder for a moment: “No, no, that’s not how the scene plays! The audience must feel the weight of inevitability!” Then it drops to an anguished whisper that barely carries to where they stand.
Matias walks into the space looking around with slate-grey eyes behind round spectacles, his hands tucked into his pockets and a brazilian accented baritone “Having trouble with a screenplay?”
Pausing within the building, having followed Matias in, Ekaterina steps to one side of the door, rifle raised, scanning attentively. She hears that voice, but for now does -nothing- listening to the words.
Thankfully, Matias has a plan here, so the weapon is shouldered, the Russian follows Matias in to the room and she waits for Matias to speak and the man to respond, again scanning the room for incongruities, be that more writing, symbology or otherwise.
the papers aren’t just scattered randomly but seem to form rough circles around the overturned chair. The handwriting is dense and frantic, with words crossed out and rewritten. Some pages appear to be stained with what looks like dried blood from small cuts on Marcus’s fingertips.
His eyes fix on them with unsettling intensity. “Tell me, do you appreciate tragedy? Real tragedy, not the sanitized pablum they serve in modern theaters?“
“I certianly do, I am an academic.” Matias replies to Marcus with his own intense gaze searching the man’s face. “Tell me Marcus, how long have you been trying to write this? You have not longed for a muse or for aid have you? No bargains in the dark of night, if only you could finish this you would do anything?”
“Nyet.” Ekaterina responds in kind to Marcus, her own gaze lingering, piercing and keen to the situation; She notes the chair, the cramped writing, the circle and those hazel eyes narrow in a frown.
“I think this is more your area of expertese.” the scarred brunette suggests to Matias.
Being the expert in matters arcane, Ekaterina allows the professor to take the lead, not interupting as Matias speaks, though gesturing to the papers with a raised brow and the silent question ‘should I break the circle’?
Marcus’s face contorts as Matias speaks, a flicker of recognition and fear crossing his features before his expression smooths into something theatrical and predatory. “Ah, an academic! How delightful. You understand the pursuit of perfection, don’t you?” His voice carries an odd resonance, as if speaking from a stage.
He notices Ekaterina’s gesture toward the papers and his eyes widen with genuine alarm – the first truly human emotion they’ve seen from him. “Don’t!” The word tears from his throat, desperate and raw. “Please, you don’t understand what you’re dealing with. It feeds on… on the performance, on the emotion. The circle keeps it… keeps me…” His voice wavers between his own terrified whisper and something else entirely.
The papers themselves seem to pulse faintly in the afternoon light, and Ekaterina’s keen perception catches something else – an ornate theatrical mask partially hidden beneath the overturned chair, its painted features seeming to shift in the shadows.
Marcus grips his head with both hands, fingernails digging into his scalp. “Three weeks. Three weeks since I found that damned thing. I thought it was inspiration, but it’s been writing through me, planning something terrible. The final act approaches and I…” His voice drops to barely audible. “I don’t think I can stop it much longer.“
“Did you invite it in Marcus, did you make a deal with it? Did it force you, did it trick you?” Matias says in a conversational baritone of a voice while pulling out a saint minted tin coin and holding it within line of sight of the man. “Does it have a name, what do you call it?”
nods between Matias and the mask, pointing it out with a dip of the chin if Matias hadn’t noticed it.
She hesitates then,continuing to allow Matias the lead, the arcane expert’s question directing the encounter to a (hopefully) peaceful resolution, though Ekaterina’s expression suggests that she’s not pleased at the item, this only made all the more clear with the quickfire Russian cursing and the exclamation of, “Cursed artifacts get everywhere.”
Ekaterina watches Matias as he produces the coin, attentive and ready to move if instructed, listening as the professor speaks, the questions filed away as she considers Marcus, watching him for sudden moves or hostile actions, ready to protect Matias if the need comes to pass, though making no aggressive moves.
“Thespis. I am called Thespis, and this vessel invited me with his passion, his desperate hunger for artistic truth. He begged the universe for inspiration, and I answered.“
Marcus doubles over, clutching his stomach. “It’s been growing stronger. Making me write this play about… about my worst memories, my failures, my shame. It wants me to perform it, to…” His voice drops to a horrified whisper. “To end it all on stage. Says it will be the perfect tragedy.“
The mask beneath the chair seems to gleam more brightly, and the papers rustle without any wind. The metallic scent in the air grows stronger.
“You cannot stop what has already begun,” Thespis speaks through Marcus, his posture suddenly regal and commanding. “The final act approaches. Will you not stay to witness true art?“
“Thespis. Thank you.” Matias steps away from Marcus and motions for Ekaterina to step in. “If he tries to stop me, restrain him. I will begin banishing.” he explains while lifting the saint minted coin up and pronouncing. “Thespis. I name thee. By the Holy Trinity I bind thee. By the laws of Earth I forsake thee nameless.” he pronounces beginning a rite of banishment of the demonic presence. “This man did not pact with you, you slid into him uninvited claiming ownership only because of passion. You are unwanted, unwelcome, unnamed. You are cast down!”
“Say the word.” Ekaterina whispers to Matias, barely above a whisper. “I can neutralize if you think it would help.”
Though they come from two different backgrounds, Ekaterina and Matias appear to be somewhat on the same page. “I would like to end this with a peaceful resolution if you think it can be done.”
Thankfully, the professor is an adept expert in ritualism.
Matias’s invocation of the trinity, Ekaterina crosses herself- Her faith is strong if not directed to magical means, but never the less, she is Catholic, and this is a demon, and inexpert as Ekaterina is, she can still notice what Matias is attempting in order to banish the creature.
“It’s working… I can feel it loosening… but the mask! The mask is the anchor!“
The theatrical mask beneath the chair begins to glow with a sickly yellow light, and the temperature in the room drops noticeably. Frost begins forming on the windows despite the mild September afternoon outside.
Thespis forces Marcus to his feet, moving with unnatural grace toward the mask. “If I cannot have my perfect performance, then let chaos reign! The final curtain falls on all!“
The demon is clearly weakened by Matias’s ritual but still fighting desperately to maintain its hold, using the mask as its focal point of power.
“Break the mask.” Matias says to Ekaterina in a mildly strained voice before lifting his baritone again. “This human has forsaken you. You are nameless. You are powerless. You have no anchor, it is crushed!” he declares and hopefully Ekaterina will get right on that. Holding the saint minted coin closer to Marcus the demonhost he declares, “Be gone and release this man, Marcus from your torment nameless demon!”
“Da.” Matias has ordered, and Ekaterina is a soldier. She responds in an instant.
She doesn’t reach for the artifact, that way lays another cursing, the brunette is aware enough to know that, but she can still act.
As Matias weakens the demon, holds someone and the demon at bay– Doing the hard work– Ekaterina steps in, flips her rifle,and with the butt of the heavily augmented weapon, hammers down, aiming for the center of the mask, to smash it.
“Da.” Matias has ordered, and Ekaterina is a soldier. She responds in an instant.
She doesn’t reach for the artifact, that way lays another cursing, the brunette is aware enough to know that, but she can still act.
As Matias weakens the demon, holds Marcus and the demon at bay– Doing the hard work– Ekaterina steps in, flips her rifle,and with the butt of the heavily augmented weapon, hammers down, aiming for the center of the mask, to smash it.
The rifle butt connects with the mask in a resounding crack that echoes through the brownstone like a gunshot. The ornate painted face splits down the middle, and immediately a shriek fills the air – not from Marcus, but from something else entirely, a sound like tearing silk and breaking glass.
The yellow glow flares blindingly bright for an instant before dying completely. The frost on the windows begins to melt, and the papers scattered on the floor catch fire spontaneously, burning away to ash in seconds.
Marcus collapses to his knees, gasping and shaking. His eyes are his own again – wide with terror but undeniably human. “It’s… it’s gone. I can’t feel it anymore.” He looks up at them with tears streaming down his face. “Thank you. God, thank you. I thought I was going to… it wanted me to…“
The oppressive atmosphere in the room lifts like a weight being removed. Outside, the afternoon sun seems brighter, and the normal sounds of the city filter back in through the windows.
Marcus struggles to his feet, still shaky but clearly himself again. “I need to get rid of the rest of this stuff. Burn it all. Start over.” He looks at the shattered remains of the mask with a shudder. “How did you know what to do?“
“Fortunately for you Marcus, I was nearly an ordained priest.” Matias informs the man and looks over to someone, “I assume you can help him dispose of this… Occult contraband?” he suggests the terminology to make foisting busywork off on his colleague a little more palatable. “I hope this was… Peaceful enough a resolution?”
“Fortunately for you Marcus, I was nearly an ordained priest.” Matias informs the man and looks over to Ekaterina, “I assume you can help him dispose of this… Occult contraband?” he suggests the terminology to make foisting busywork off on his colleague a little more palatable. “I hope this was… Peaceful enough a resolution?”
shrugs. Gesturing to Matias, Ekaterina admits to someone, “I had a skilled ally.”
She nods to Matias, shoulders her rifle again and gives Matias a thumbs up. “Da. I will handle clean up.” she promices.
shrugs. Gesturing to Matias, Ekaterina admits to Marcus, “I had a skilled ally.”
She nods to Matias, shoulders her rifle again and gives Matias a thumbs up. “Da. I will handle clean up.” she promices.
Marcus nods gratefully, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “A priest… that explains a lot. I’ve never been particularly religious, but after this…” He gestures weakly at the destroyed mask fragments. “Maybe I should reconsider.“
He begins gathering the few remaining papers that didn’t burn, his hands still trembling slightly. “I was researching a role – method acting, you know? Found that thing in the basement of this building. Thought it was just an antique prop.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I should have known better. The theater company warned me this place had a reputation.“
The afternoon light streaming through the windows has returned to its normal golden hue, and the oppressive chill has completely dissipated. Marcus looks around the room one last time before heading toward the door.
“I owe you both my life. If there’s ever anything I can do…” He pauses, then adds quietly, “I think I’m done with method acting for a while. Maybe I’ll try comedy instead.“
The brownstone feels like just an empty building again – old and dusty, but no longer threatening. The supernatural presence has been completely banished, leaving only the faint scent of burnt paper and the satisfaction of a crisis averted.