Encounterlogs
Alexanders Odd Encounter Sr Crystal 240310
In a cozy yet peculiar bedroom, Alexander finds himself confronting the unexpected yet again. It's just a normal morning in the bohemian-styled room until a mysterious flickering and buzzing noise starts, signaling the beginning of today's oddities. Alexander, no stranger to Haven's quirks, calls out to the unseen presence, hoping for a peaceful resolution. However, the mysterious sounds only intensify, and a small glass marble rolls out from under the bed towards him, accompanied by a persistent scratching noise. Opting for a diplomatic approach, Alexander attempts to communicate, but is met with a ghostly child, manifesting as a young boy with disapproval etched on his face. The situation escalates as the boy-turned-spirit reveals its true, more ominous form—a middle-aged man with malicious intent. Alexander, deciding he's had enough, stands his ground and performs a banishment ritual, expelling the spirit. Though left without any tangible acknowledgment of his deed, Alexander finds solace in knowing he's helped restless spirits find peace.
The day continues to unravel as Alexander ventures outside, only to be surrounded by mysterious serpentine lines that coalesce around him, heralding the approach of dark-cloaked figures in what seems an ambush. Using his Sensitive abilities, Alexander perceives their presence within both the material and the Nightmare plane, understanding their sinister intentions. In desperation, he resorts to gunfire and summons protective overgrowth, but it's the sound of his gun that ultimately causes the figures to retreat, leaving him to contend with the mundane consequences of his actions. This encounter, though unexplained, highlights Alexander's resolve and ability to confront the unknown. Whether dealing with spirits or unknown assailants, Alexander stands ready, armed with his Sensitive insight and a will to protect himself and potentially others from the hidden dangers lurking within Haven.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRCrystal):SRCrystal)
[Sat Mar 9 2024]
In a cozy little bedroom
Decorated and draped in a colorful array of fabrics, this bohemian room looks rich with it's jewel-toned hues. Though cramped, the room feels cozy, with walls painted a muted marigold and the cool tiled floor warmed by a thick, dark blue rug. While sparse, the furniture (comprised of a bed, a dresser and a mirrored vanity), is dark cherry wood and in good, but thrifted, condition. Each piece has been restored to reveal its original luster. The bed is only a double, but any larger and there would be only a sliver of walking space.
It is morning, about 38F(3C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
In a rather sumptuous, warm and restful looking bedroom, it's another bright and somewhat late morning start to the day, all in the comfort of the bohemian room. At least that's the goal that most inhabitants within Haven can aspire for when they wake up for the day. It looks like Alexander is already dressed for an occasion, ready to head out and get some business done, what with a durable jacket ready to be shrugged into. Though perhaps the flickering light and a soft buzz ensuing might give the man a bit of a pause. Does that typically happen?
Alexander is gazing at the ceiling, quiet contemplation and thought. He watches the flickering motes of dust under the light, then climbs up slowly, he hesitates at the sound of buzzing and rubs his eyes. He knows it's typical, and he knows it's probably some bullshit. It always is.
And so it is someone who is quite familiar with the inner workings of Haven, and the intricacies that may or may not come with hanging around town to experience all of the peculiarities it has to offer. Like occurrence was offended that Alexander took notice, the light fixtures that were turned on today flicker again, and with that partner of an odd buzz that came with it before. This time with a bit more spirit. The lights blink off, then back on, the low thrum of electricity sounding off its displeasure at something or someone. Then shortly after the lights blink back on to assure those inside that the light will remain, another subtle noise joins the fray. An indistinct, barely decipherable little rustling.
Alexander lets out a sharp loud whistle, he strides into the main-room, his eyes, sensitive to such sights from birth, flick from side to side, searching. "Whoever, or wherever, why don't you simply show yourself. We can resolve this a lot simpler if you just talk to me."
*Scritch* *Scritch*
That noise is as clear as day, coming out in no particular direction, and in every direction at once. It's a faint sound, the source frustratingly unclear, especially as it seems like it might have resounded within Alexander's minid as well. But it becomes ever so persistent, the only answer to Alexander's verbal proposal for some good old fashioned parlaying.
This noise is definitely one you'd be more irritated to hear at night, so it might be fortunate that it's happening just before noon. It's like a rat that's nibbling on some paper, or even the scurry of cockroach legs on cardboard. But where could it be coming from?
*Scritch...*
Alexander for a moment, might believe he has been tricked by an errant mouse. That'd be nice, right? Haha, he'd laugh at himself and tell nobody. He shifts his footing and gazes upon the room about him. "Animal or..." He closes his eyes a moment and decides. "Nightmare, then." He grips the ring and focuses, stepping sideways through reality and into the intermeshed nightmarish overlay that exists in all directions.
Finally, something much more concrete happens, almost in response to Alexander's niggling curiosities on the current happenings. From underneath the bed situated in this cozy little bedroom, a clear, glass marble rolls out from underneath, a miniature boulder on its path to crush Alexander's foot. Or at least if it was much bigger and substantial it'd be the threat of crushing the man's foot. On and on it goes, making for the tip of Alexander's shoe, destination clear for a collision if he doesn't move out of the way.
Should he even bother though? It's just a tiny little marble, but it might beg the question of where did it come from if Alexander wasn't a collector of the smalltime, even niche hobby. The scratching noise starts to increase as well with the marble on its course with some footwear, and it too seems to be sourced from underneath the bed.
Alexander gazes at the marble a moment and hesitates, he looks towards its origin and stops. He sits down, he gazes at the bed, he gazes at what is underneath it. Then, he takes the marble, and rolls it back.
Innocent as it is, when Alexander lowers himself down to snatch that marble -- more oddness abounds. Nothing really happens when he touches it, but after he has set it off on a new course his heartbeat feels louder. And louder. The beat even starts to thump on his chest, and for a split-second an image flashes in his psyche.
A young child, no older than ten stares at Alexander with clear disapproval wrought on his face. Mousy brown hair, wearing grey trousers and a white t-shirt. He even has some suspenders clipped to his pants to mean he's probably not from this time. A slight, insistent force pushes back at Alexander, and that marble too changes back to its course, rolling back towards Alexander and the door. Something in the back of Alexander's mind says, "Stop that, or else!"
Alexander grimaces, gripping the side of his head gently as his body undergoes, for a moment, the symptoms of a panic attack. He shifts to his feet almost immediately. "Relax," he hisses tensely. A phrase which has never had the desired affect on anyone it's been used towards. He gazes at the young child and nods softly. Then, turns, strides across the room slowly, watching the marble and opens the door.
"Get the heck outta my room, Mr. Wiley!" a young boy's voice screeches back angrily none too happy to be told to relax, finger jabbing right at Alexander's face. He's dealing with a rebellious manifestation it seems, not working here as well, sadly. Perhaps Alexander needs a new tune to sing when de-escalating.
Good thing the digit is incorporeal, or Alexander might have had his eye poked out. There's an unwelcoming chill that comes with the gesture though, and the dresser nearby starts to rattle.
The marble continues on, making a beeline for the door, innocuous in all nature until -- the signet Alexander used to flag the nightmarish demense into some clarity reveals something. There's something in that glass marble. It looks like it is someone's form curled up in the foetal position, and its eager to leave the door. As if sensing that Alexander is working in its favor, the boy's demeanor starts to relent from its angry pitch at the man. "Yeah, that's right, now open the other doors outta this place, Mr. Wiley," it urges, deciding that's what Alexander's name is.
Alexander glowers at the boy. He's not so great at de-escalating maybe. But, he mollifies himself, the kids dead already. That's a sobering reminder. He shifts and moves around the boy after being slashed by his digit. "Hmm. Are you tormenting that poor figure in the marble?" he asks, moving swiftly to follow it, with concern.
The scratchy sound from earlier returns. Like the rustling of a rat nibbling at the wallpaper, or something even struggling. "nah, we gotta let him out though," the boy imparts unto Alexander, pointing out the door, then darting towards it and the marble which is waiting patiently out the front door, as the boy rushes past Alexander with the clear indication that Alexander should follow and play along with his or it's whims, a scratchy cough that sounds like it should come from someone much older than the image presented to Alexander sounds out, followed by an ugly wretching. "Hurry up, we've not much time," the now cooperative manifestation tells Alexander. Like it were agreeing, the marble waiting for another doorway to be opened briefly glows red.
Alexander humms softly. He hates listening to these things, but, he obliges, the door open, he takes his steps out, waits for the marble...then offers it his hand if it wishes to? He then closes the door behind it either way and moves to follow after the spirit.
Once Alexander steps out of the bedroom with the spirit and the odd marble with a little decrepit, figure curled up inside, the boy now totally placated watches Alexander offer his hand to provide further assistance. "You're a real lifesaver, mister," he voices out, talking like they're two pals now. "Been stuck here forever, and it took me and him awhile to decide if you were trustworthy." He then lowers his voice, gesture all to spill out a little secret. "The others weren't. So they had to go," then he makes a zipping motion over his lips, as if Alexander needs to keep that to himself too. He points to the door, their newest barrier that he seems to be able to manipulate, and the marble rolls against it insistently.
Then the sweet voice of a female singer comes from the bedroom they've all departed, fragrance permeating the air. Together, these two elements envelop Alexander in its embrace, the scent is sweet, profound and luxurious, and that old timey singing reminiscent of the 50's starts to sing out some lyrics, "Oh don't do it, don't do it," it croons.
Alexander nods to the spirit gently. He listens to the boy and almost smirks at the ABSOLUTELY PANTS SHITTING terrifying statement he makes. Alex rubs the back of his neck and then makes a zip motion over his lips following along. He stops cold at the voice and a shiver runs down his spine. He lets out a soft gasp and pivots to the sound. "...Uh?" he asks
The 'boy' too seems to share Alexander's reaction, freezing in place, smile faltering. Then sheer annoyance riddles over the once kindlooking, rambunctious face. "Eh. Don't listen to that stuff, it's annoying," he insists to Alexander, pointing at the door again. The marble even bounces up and down with noisy, heavy clatters against the doorframe. The pulsing red inside of it deepens. It radiates annoyance. "Come onnnnnn," the boys' voice caresses against Alexander's left ear. "Don't chicken out on me now. Open the door and let's get outta here, Mr. Wiley."
"Hey-la-day-la my friend's a liar..." comes out in a chirpy tune, right from beneath the door of Alexander's bedroom. The female's voice crescendos into a trio of singers now. "That's all gonna stop when we get outta here," the boy promises Alexander, making an effort to look more convincing by plugging his ears with his fingers. "Really hate this tune..."
Alexander snorts. "Now, listen, I'm not smart." He turns to gaze at the kid then leans down to snatch the marble. "But I wouldn't say I'm that guillible either. And I hate when people don't play straight with me."
His eyes flit toward the singers. "Tell me more?" he asks the singers, then gazes at the boy. "Unless you'd rather start being honest?" he insists, raising his brow. A protective half step back.
In an eerie response timed with Alexander's bid for more details, the triplet behind the door sings out what could be an answer, or just some off the record song lost to time. "He's a big man now, but he'll cut you down to size," the girly voices sing in perfect pitch tune with one another. "Cause he's kinda big and he's awful strong..." The boy stomps down the hallway, each step sounding heavier than they ought to be for a boy his size. He slams his fist against the door, and the song is cut off. Horribly. Replaced by shrieks that belong to three individuals, but all horribly cut off one after the other. "Quiet down, you're annoying my friend," she shouts, quite miffed. When he turns, he is all smiles for Alexander, but for the briefest of moments, his form flashes into a scruffy middle-aged man. The boy's image returns, and he points to the door. "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" he begs, trying to cut at Alexander's heartstrings.
Alexander shakes his head. "No. I don't deal with bullshit. Besides, you're dead. Why don't you just move on?" he says. He himself pulls himself up a bit taller. Heart racing, a sharp expression on his face, he tries to snag and hold the marble in his palm. He collects his will, a banishment is a hasty thing, but it requires focus, precision, and clarity. He studies the boys features and its clear his expression has shifted. Less curious. More resolved.
"Didn't really want it to come to this, you know, we all make mistakes." The justification comes from a man's voice, and a scratchy hack follows after. Reminiscent to that little nibbling scritching from earlier, but at full volume. "All you had to do was open the doors," he says, the boy now replaced by a man. It's a much older version of the boy, and he's rolling his sleeves up like he's about to throw down, and his sights are set right on Alexander. Some discomfort flashes on its visage as he gazes at the marble by the doorframe, but it has stopped moving. That is until he coughs into his hand, and it makes a slooooow roll back across the hallway, trying to skirt past Alexander. "Should have stayed gullible," he goes on to say, making sure he's keeping Alexander's attention away from the odd glass marble.
The hostile tension from earlier starts to return. Especially when Alexander reaches for that marble, collecting it. It's much too slow to avoid him, but it does try to swerve away. In response it tries to grow white hot in his hands, but only radiates a pleasant warmth. It's a weak, trifling thing, but there is a yearning there to be released. Released into the world for... But then the spirit starts stalking towards Alexander, teeth gritted. "Put that thing down," he or it commands, looking troubled. The furniture around them starts to rattle, a stand toppling over, right for Alexander. It's not a heavy thing, but it might distract Alexander for the entity to get close for who knows what.
Alexander is not terribly experienced. He hasn't spent his life battling ghosts, he spent his life running from them, pretending he didn't see them. Hiding and scurrying half between this world and the 'normal' one. But that's changed. Well, he's still in a lot of ways the scared little boy who was told to pretend the world wasn't what it is, but he's also grown into a man who has decided he's responsible for his own little part of the world. He squeezes the marble tight as it begins to grow warm in his hand. "No," he tells the spirit.
It's an act of will, an extension of intent. He throws his hand forward and speaks the words. "Rest in peace, spirit. You died. You have no place here anymore. Move. On." And intones the final words to echo out a banishment.
"No," the spirit that was once masquerading as an innocent young version of itself spits back at Alexander, one foot going forward. But that's all he has left before the ritualist manages to banish him. Banishing a spirit isn't the easiest thing to do, but once you've done it once you may as well be a scourge to the wandering, aimless manifestations. His face contorts in a grimace, clutching at his heart. "Oh, you little-" He's unable to finish his last words in the prime material plane before he's gone, but the wave of emotions are harder to contain. Gunshots ring out. Five of them.
Rage. Satisfaction. Contentment.
Those radiate within Alexander's psyche just as a memory of the passing spirit plays in his head.
And now Alexander is alone, standing in his hallway. The marble in his hand is still clutched in his hand, but it's entirely benign and mundane. Pretty and clear, solid in weight, any entanglement with spirits completely absent.
Alexander lets out a ragged gasp. The act of such a banishment is costly, but frankly, he wasn't going to tangle with him. Not taking any chances. He staggers a moment and holds his face softly. Then takes a deep breath. Works not done, he reminds himself. One step, then another, he turns back to the singers. "It is done," he tells them. "I won't banish you," he assures them. "But he is gone, and you are safe."
The memories flashing through him give him chills. He grinds his teeth gently, and lets the anger and indignation wash over him then he takes his own advice. And let's it go. He'll have nightmares later, surely.
"So, come, let's put an end to this long horror," he tells them softly.
If Alexander was expecting any answer from any potentially remaining spirits, he is left wanting. Nothing comes out to greet him. No wayward spirits, or silhouettes of feminine forms cautiously emerging from the bedroom door to realize it is over. Not like in the movie's epic finale. Instead, Alexander is left with a profound silence. An emptiness in the pit of his heart is the only fragment of an acknowledgment for his deeds today.
Not a single thank you, but perhaps the man can rest easy knowing he has given these spirits -- all of them some way to move on and rest.
Alexander nods softly and sinks into the couch in his living room. Time to start the day...
(Members of an opposing faction or subfaction are after your target. They must escape them or fight them off for long enough for their allies to arrive and help keep them protected.
)
Alexander is strolling down the road near the edge of the woods. Not so deep for monsters, he is pretty sure, but deep enough for trouble. He keeps his gaze forward, eyes up. It's already been a busy day, and he knows how Haven works. When it rains...
...It pours. Well, it's not pouring right now, but it's looking like rain. The dark clouds roll over the horizon, darkening the afternoon sun. A dreary sight -- but spring must spring somehow.
As Alexander walks down the street, he might miss it, especially with his eyes up and his gaze forward. Something is slinking along the street. Something dark and serpentine, slithering through the cracks in the paved road, and along the surface of it where there are no cracks. From all directions these little lines seem to come, and they are coalescing around Alexander.
Alexander exhales harshly. Glowering upward at the sky. "Yeah, funny." he knows it isn't raining, but he knows it none the less. He turns his gaze back to the cracks in the road, the slithering, encroaching, ever approaching seeming pack. He pulls a gun from his jacket and opens fire. It's an experiment of sort. Well, one, he's terrified and shooting things makes him feel better, and two, you can tell a lot about something by how it responds to being shot out. He holds his left hand up, and the signet on his ring begins to glow as he readies to summon nature, protective overgrowth forming around his body.
Where those lines meet, they begin to form a circle around Alexander's feet. More lines radiate out from the circumference, like an ink drawing of a dark sun. And then, through the Nightmare, Alexander's Sensitive eyes glimpse something...figures coming towards him. Each dark-cloaked individual walks his own tendril-carven path from his own direction, following his own tendril to Alexander. Then a realization dawns, perhaps -- these lines are also in the Nightmare. Only Alexander's Sensitivity allows him to observe the tracing of these lines as if they were present in the material plane. These people may not even know that Alexander is aware of their presence -- that he has the capacity to see either them or the paths that they follow.
Well, they mightn't have known if Alexander did not shoot a gun. The sound rings out, deafening, and draws the attention of many a passer-by. The figures halt. Either they heard it in the Nightmare, or they see the reaction to it -- but whatever it is, they start to back off, the lines receding along with him. Whatever mystery this is, it may be the unfortunate case that today is not the day it can be solved. Soon it has all retracted and disappeared, and Alexander is left handling the much more mundane hubbub of shooting his gun in public.
People are staring at Alexander. Some of them rush off, not wanting to get involved in whatever people are shooting at today. Others look ready to investigate. For better or for worse, Alexander, rather than those who so ominously advanced upon him from all directions, has drawn the attention of the public. People are starting to peek out of the doors and windows of shops and other buildings. It may be time to get moving. The sun peers down from amid the stormclouds that expand overhead. Traffic begins to pick up again. The passers-by may not be so easily satisfied, but those in their vehicles would rather just get where they are going.
The day continues to unravel as Alexander ventures outside, only to be surrounded by mysterious serpentine lines that coalesce around him, heralding the approach of dark-cloaked figures in what seems an ambush. Using his Sensitive abilities, Alexander perceives their presence within both the material and the Nightmare plane, understanding their sinister intentions. In desperation, he resorts to gunfire and summons protective overgrowth, but it's the sound of his gun that ultimately causes the figures to retreat, leaving him to contend with the mundane consequences of his actions. This encounter, though unexplained, highlights Alexander's resolve and ability to confront the unknown. Whether dealing with spirits or unknown assailants, Alexander stands ready, armed with his Sensitive insight and a will to protect himself and potentially others from the hidden dangers lurking within Haven.
(Alexander's odd encounter(SRCrystal):SRCrystal)
[Sat Mar 9 2024]
In a cozy little bedroom
Decorated and draped in a colorful array of fabrics, this bohemian room looks rich with it's jewel-toned hues. Though cramped, the room feels cozy, with walls painted a muted marigold and the cool tiled floor warmed by a thick, dark blue rug. While sparse, the furniture (comprised of a bed, a dresser and a mirrored vanity), is dark cherry wood and in good, but thrifted, condition. Each piece has been restored to reveal its original luster. The bed is only a double, but any larger and there would be only a sliver of walking space.
It is morning, about 38F(3C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
In a rather sumptuous, warm and restful looking bedroom, it's another bright and somewhat late morning start to the day, all in the comfort of the bohemian room. At least that's the goal that most inhabitants within Haven can aspire for when they wake up for the day. It looks like Alexander is already dressed for an occasion, ready to head out and get some business done, what with a durable jacket ready to be shrugged into. Though perhaps the flickering light and a soft buzz ensuing might give the man a bit of a pause. Does that typically happen?
Alexander is gazing at the ceiling, quiet contemplation and thought. He watches the flickering motes of dust under the light, then climbs up slowly, he hesitates at the sound of buzzing and rubs his eyes. He knows it's typical, and he knows it's probably some bullshit. It always is.
And so it is someone who is quite familiar with the inner workings of Haven, and the intricacies that may or may not come with hanging around town to experience all of the peculiarities it has to offer. Like occurrence was offended that Alexander took notice, the light fixtures that were turned on today flicker again, and with that partner of an odd buzz that came with it before. This time with a bit more spirit. The lights blink off, then back on, the low thrum of electricity sounding off its displeasure at something or someone. Then shortly after the lights blink back on to assure those inside that the light will remain, another subtle noise joins the fray. An indistinct, barely decipherable little rustling.
Alexander lets out a sharp loud whistle, he strides into the main-room, his eyes, sensitive to such sights from birth, flick from side to side, searching. "Whoever, or wherever, why don't you simply show yourself. We can resolve this a lot simpler if you just talk to me."
*Scritch* *Scritch*
That noise is as clear as day, coming out in no particular direction, and in every direction at once. It's a faint sound, the source frustratingly unclear, especially as it seems like it might have resounded within Alexander's minid as well. But it becomes ever so persistent, the only answer to Alexander's verbal proposal for some good old fashioned parlaying.
This noise is definitely one you'd be more irritated to hear at night, so it might be fortunate that it's happening just before noon. It's like a rat that's nibbling on some paper, or even the scurry of cockroach legs on cardboard. But where could it be coming from?
*Scritch...*
Alexander for a moment, might believe he has been tricked by an errant mouse. That'd be nice, right? Haha, he'd laugh at himself and tell nobody. He shifts his footing and gazes upon the room about him. "Animal or..." He closes his eyes a moment and decides. "Nightmare, then." He grips the ring and focuses, stepping sideways through reality and into the intermeshed nightmarish overlay that exists in all directions.
Finally, something much more concrete happens, almost in response to Alexander's niggling curiosities on the current happenings. From underneath the bed situated in this cozy little bedroom, a clear, glass marble rolls out from underneath, a miniature boulder on its path to crush Alexander's foot. Or at least if it was much bigger and substantial it'd be the threat of crushing the man's foot. On and on it goes, making for the tip of Alexander's shoe, destination clear for a collision if he doesn't move out of the way.
Should he even bother though? It's just a tiny little marble, but it might beg the question of where did it come from if Alexander wasn't a collector of the smalltime, even niche hobby. The scratching noise starts to increase as well with the marble on its course with some footwear, and it too seems to be sourced from underneath the bed.
Alexander gazes at the marble a moment and hesitates, he looks towards its origin and stops. He sits down, he gazes at the bed, he gazes at what is underneath it. Then, he takes the marble, and rolls it back.
Innocent as it is, when Alexander lowers himself down to snatch that marble -- more oddness abounds. Nothing really happens when he touches it, but after he has set it off on a new course his heartbeat feels louder. And louder. The beat even starts to thump on his chest, and for a split-second an image flashes in his psyche.
A young child, no older than ten stares at Alexander with clear disapproval wrought on his face. Mousy brown hair, wearing grey trousers and a white t-shirt. He even has some suspenders clipped to his pants to mean he's probably not from this time. A slight, insistent force pushes back at Alexander, and that marble too changes back to its course, rolling back towards Alexander and the door. Something in the back of Alexander's mind says, "Stop that, or else!"
Alexander grimaces, gripping the side of his head gently as his body undergoes, for a moment, the symptoms of a panic attack. He shifts to his feet almost immediately. "Relax," he hisses tensely. A phrase which has never had the desired affect on anyone it's been used towards. He gazes at the young child and nods softly. Then, turns, strides across the room slowly, watching the marble and opens the door.
"Get the heck outta my room, Mr. Wiley!" a young boy's voice screeches back angrily none too happy to be told to relax, finger jabbing right at Alexander's face. He's dealing with a rebellious manifestation it seems, not working here as well, sadly. Perhaps Alexander needs a new tune to sing when de-escalating.
Good thing the digit is incorporeal, or Alexander might have had his eye poked out. There's an unwelcoming chill that comes with the gesture though, and the dresser nearby starts to rattle.
The marble continues on, making a beeline for the door, innocuous in all nature until -- the signet Alexander used to flag the nightmarish demense into some clarity reveals something. There's something in that glass marble. It looks like it is someone's form curled up in the foetal position, and its eager to leave the door. As if sensing that Alexander is working in its favor, the boy's demeanor starts to relent from its angry pitch at the man. "Yeah, that's right, now open the other doors outta this place, Mr. Wiley," it urges, deciding that's what Alexander's name is.
Alexander glowers at the boy. He's not so great at de-escalating maybe. But, he mollifies himself, the kids dead already. That's a sobering reminder. He shifts and moves around the boy after being slashed by his digit. "Hmm. Are you tormenting that poor figure in the marble?" he asks, moving swiftly to follow it, with concern.
The scratchy sound from earlier returns. Like the rustling of a rat nibbling at the wallpaper, or something even struggling. "nah, we gotta let him out though," the boy imparts unto Alexander, pointing out the door, then darting towards it and the marble which is waiting patiently out the front door, as the boy rushes past Alexander with the clear indication that Alexander should follow and play along with his or it's whims, a scratchy cough that sounds like it should come from someone much older than the image presented to Alexander sounds out, followed by an ugly wretching. "Hurry up, we've not much time," the now cooperative manifestation tells Alexander. Like it were agreeing, the marble waiting for another doorway to be opened briefly glows red.
Alexander humms softly. He hates listening to these things, but, he obliges, the door open, he takes his steps out, waits for the marble...then offers it his hand if it wishes to? He then closes the door behind it either way and moves to follow after the spirit.
Once Alexander steps out of the bedroom with the spirit and the odd marble with a little decrepit, figure curled up inside, the boy now totally placated watches Alexander offer his hand to provide further assistance. "You're a real lifesaver, mister," he voices out, talking like they're two pals now. "Been stuck here forever, and it took me and him awhile to decide if you were trustworthy." He then lowers his voice, gesture all to spill out a little secret. "The others weren't. So they had to go," then he makes a zipping motion over his lips, as if Alexander needs to keep that to himself too. He points to the door, their newest barrier that he seems to be able to manipulate, and the marble rolls against it insistently.
Then the sweet voice of a female singer comes from the bedroom they've all departed, fragrance permeating the air. Together, these two elements envelop Alexander in its embrace, the scent is sweet, profound and luxurious, and that old timey singing reminiscent of the 50's starts to sing out some lyrics, "Oh don't do it, don't do it," it croons.
Alexander nods to the spirit gently. He listens to the boy and almost smirks at the ABSOLUTELY PANTS SHITTING terrifying statement he makes. Alex rubs the back of his neck and then makes a zip motion over his lips following along. He stops cold at the voice and a shiver runs down his spine. He lets out a soft gasp and pivots to the sound. "...Uh?" he asks
The 'boy' too seems to share Alexander's reaction, freezing in place, smile faltering. Then sheer annoyance riddles over the once kindlooking, rambunctious face. "Eh. Don't listen to that stuff, it's annoying," he insists to Alexander, pointing at the door again. The marble even bounces up and down with noisy, heavy clatters against the doorframe. The pulsing red inside of it deepens. It radiates annoyance. "Come onnnnnn," the boys' voice caresses against Alexander's left ear. "Don't chicken out on me now. Open the door and let's get outta here, Mr. Wiley."
"Hey-la-day-la my friend's a liar..." comes out in a chirpy tune, right from beneath the door of Alexander's bedroom. The female's voice crescendos into a trio of singers now. "That's all gonna stop when we get outta here," the boy promises Alexander, making an effort to look more convincing by plugging his ears with his fingers. "Really hate this tune..."
Alexander snorts. "Now, listen, I'm not smart." He turns to gaze at the kid then leans down to snatch the marble. "But I wouldn't say I'm that guillible either. And I hate when people don't play straight with me."
His eyes flit toward the singers. "Tell me more?" he asks the singers, then gazes at the boy. "Unless you'd rather start being honest?" he insists, raising his brow. A protective half step back.
In an eerie response timed with Alexander's bid for more details, the triplet behind the door sings out what could be an answer, or just some off the record song lost to time. "He's a big man now, but he'll cut you down to size," the girly voices sing in perfect pitch tune with one another. "Cause he's kinda big and he's awful strong..." The boy stomps down the hallway, each step sounding heavier than they ought to be for a boy his size. He slams his fist against the door, and the song is cut off. Horribly. Replaced by shrieks that belong to three individuals, but all horribly cut off one after the other. "Quiet down, you're annoying my friend," she shouts, quite miffed. When he turns, he is all smiles for Alexander, but for the briefest of moments, his form flashes into a scruffy middle-aged man. The boy's image returns, and he points to the door. "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?" he begs, trying to cut at Alexander's heartstrings.
Alexander shakes his head. "No. I don't deal with bullshit. Besides, you're dead. Why don't you just move on?" he says. He himself pulls himself up a bit taller. Heart racing, a sharp expression on his face, he tries to snag and hold the marble in his palm. He collects his will, a banishment is a hasty thing, but it requires focus, precision, and clarity. He studies the boys features and its clear his expression has shifted. Less curious. More resolved.
"Didn't really want it to come to this, you know, we all make mistakes." The justification comes from a man's voice, and a scratchy hack follows after. Reminiscent to that little nibbling scritching from earlier, but at full volume. "All you had to do was open the doors," he says, the boy now replaced by a man. It's a much older version of the boy, and he's rolling his sleeves up like he's about to throw down, and his sights are set right on Alexander. Some discomfort flashes on its visage as he gazes at the marble by the doorframe, but it has stopped moving. That is until he coughs into his hand, and it makes a slooooow roll back across the hallway, trying to skirt past Alexander. "Should have stayed gullible," he goes on to say, making sure he's keeping Alexander's attention away from the odd glass marble.
The hostile tension from earlier starts to return. Especially when Alexander reaches for that marble, collecting it. It's much too slow to avoid him, but it does try to swerve away. In response it tries to grow white hot in his hands, but only radiates a pleasant warmth. It's a weak, trifling thing, but there is a yearning there to be released. Released into the world for... But then the spirit starts stalking towards Alexander, teeth gritted. "Put that thing down," he or it commands, looking troubled. The furniture around them starts to rattle, a stand toppling over, right for Alexander. It's not a heavy thing, but it might distract Alexander for the entity to get close for who knows what.
Alexander is not terribly experienced. He hasn't spent his life battling ghosts, he spent his life running from them, pretending he didn't see them. Hiding and scurrying half between this world and the 'normal' one. But that's changed. Well, he's still in a lot of ways the scared little boy who was told to pretend the world wasn't what it is, but he's also grown into a man who has decided he's responsible for his own little part of the world. He squeezes the marble tight as it begins to grow warm in his hand. "No," he tells the spirit.
It's an act of will, an extension of intent. He throws his hand forward and speaks the words. "Rest in peace, spirit. You died. You have no place here anymore. Move. On." And intones the final words to echo out a banishment.
"No," the spirit that was once masquerading as an innocent young version of itself spits back at Alexander, one foot going forward. But that's all he has left before the ritualist manages to banish him. Banishing a spirit isn't the easiest thing to do, but once you've done it once you may as well be a scourge to the wandering, aimless manifestations. His face contorts in a grimace, clutching at his heart. "Oh, you little-" He's unable to finish his last words in the prime material plane before he's gone, but the wave of emotions are harder to contain. Gunshots ring out. Five of them.
Rage. Satisfaction. Contentment.
Those radiate within Alexander's psyche just as a memory of the passing spirit plays in his head.
And now Alexander is alone, standing in his hallway. The marble in his hand is still clutched in his hand, but it's entirely benign and mundane. Pretty and clear, solid in weight, any entanglement with spirits completely absent.
Alexander lets out a ragged gasp. The act of such a banishment is costly, but frankly, he wasn't going to tangle with him. Not taking any chances. He staggers a moment and holds his face softly. Then takes a deep breath. Works not done, he reminds himself. One step, then another, he turns back to the singers. "It is done," he tells them. "I won't banish you," he assures them. "But he is gone, and you are safe."
The memories flashing through him give him chills. He grinds his teeth gently, and lets the anger and indignation wash over him then he takes his own advice. And let's it go. He'll have nightmares later, surely.
"So, come, let's put an end to this long horror," he tells them softly.
If Alexander was expecting any answer from any potentially remaining spirits, he is left wanting. Nothing comes out to greet him. No wayward spirits, or silhouettes of feminine forms cautiously emerging from the bedroom door to realize it is over. Not like in the movie's epic finale. Instead, Alexander is left with a profound silence. An emptiness in the pit of his heart is the only fragment of an acknowledgment for his deeds today.
Not a single thank you, but perhaps the man can rest easy knowing he has given these spirits -- all of them some way to move on and rest.
Alexander nods softly and sinks into the couch in his living room. Time to start the day...
(Members of an opposing faction or subfaction are after your target. They must escape them or fight them off for long enough for their allies to arrive and help keep them protected.
)
Alexander is strolling down the road near the edge of the woods. Not so deep for monsters, he is pretty sure, but deep enough for trouble. He keeps his gaze forward, eyes up. It's already been a busy day, and he knows how Haven works. When it rains...
...It pours. Well, it's not pouring right now, but it's looking like rain. The dark clouds roll over the horizon, darkening the afternoon sun. A dreary sight -- but spring must spring somehow.
As Alexander walks down the street, he might miss it, especially with his eyes up and his gaze forward. Something is slinking along the street. Something dark and serpentine, slithering through the cracks in the paved road, and along the surface of it where there are no cracks. From all directions these little lines seem to come, and they are coalescing around Alexander.
Alexander exhales harshly. Glowering upward at the sky. "Yeah, funny." he knows it isn't raining, but he knows it none the less. He turns his gaze back to the cracks in the road, the slithering, encroaching, ever approaching seeming pack. He pulls a gun from his jacket and opens fire. It's an experiment of sort. Well, one, he's terrified and shooting things makes him feel better, and two, you can tell a lot about something by how it responds to being shot out. He holds his left hand up, and the signet on his ring begins to glow as he readies to summon nature, protective overgrowth forming around his body.
Where those lines meet, they begin to form a circle around Alexander's feet. More lines radiate out from the circumference, like an ink drawing of a dark sun. And then, through the Nightmare, Alexander's Sensitive eyes glimpse something...figures coming towards him. Each dark-cloaked individual walks his own tendril-carven path from his own direction, following his own tendril to Alexander. Then a realization dawns, perhaps -- these lines are also in the Nightmare. Only Alexander's Sensitivity allows him to observe the tracing of these lines as if they were present in the material plane. These people may not even know that Alexander is aware of their presence -- that he has the capacity to see either them or the paths that they follow.
Well, they mightn't have known if Alexander did not shoot a gun. The sound rings out, deafening, and draws the attention of many a passer-by. The figures halt. Either they heard it in the Nightmare, or they see the reaction to it -- but whatever it is, they start to back off, the lines receding along with him. Whatever mystery this is, it may be the unfortunate case that today is not the day it can be solved. Soon it has all retracted and disappeared, and Alexander is left handling the much more mundane hubbub of shooting his gun in public.
People are staring at Alexander. Some of them rush off, not wanting to get involved in whatever people are shooting at today. Others look ready to investigate. For better or for worse, Alexander, rather than those who so ominously advanced upon him from all directions, has drawn the attention of the public. People are starting to peek out of the doors and windows of shops and other buildings. It may be time to get moving. The sun peers down from amid the stormclouds that expand overhead. Traffic begins to pick up again. The passers-by may not be so easily satisfied, but those in their vehicles would rather just get where they are going.