Encounterlogs
Deans Odd Encounter Sr Freya 240712
In a dramatic turn of events at the Hometown Diner, an ethereal presence attempts to make contact with the living, specifically targeting Freya, who is engrossed in her meal. The ghost, bearing the despair of past tragedies, manifests near Freya, initially causing a minor disturbance by knocking over a salt shaker. However, his desperate attempts to communicate and seek help or recognition are met with no acknowledgment. Despite his screams of agony and pleas for assistance, Freya remains oblivious, her focus undeterred from her steaks. The spectral figure's anguish and attempts to connect with the physical world prove futile against her indifference.
As the ghost's presence becomes more pronounced, evoking a heavy air of sorrow in the diner, Freya remains unaffected, attributing the change to the weather and her own homesickness. Her inability to see or interact with the ghost leaves him in a state of despair, culminating in his decision to depart. In a poignant moment of surrender, the ghost fades into the sunlight, his form dissolving into the morning light, leaving behind a tranquil atmosphere. Freya, meanwhile, concludes her meal and exits the diner, oblivious to the profound impact her mere presence had on the ghost's eternal journey. The diner resumes its normalcy, with the spectral encounter leaving no lasting impression on its patrons, save for a fleeting chill that soon dissipates into the warmth of the day.
(Dean's odd encounter(SRFreya):SRFreya)
[Thu Jul 11 2024]
In Living Room
This well-appointed fraternity lounge is illuminated via ambient lighting from antique brass fixtures with blue light, lending an air of academic refinement. Bookshelves line the mahogany-paneled walls, housing an extensive collection of leather-bound volumes. Plush leather armchairs and sofas are strategically arranged for scholarly discussions. An oak table stands to one side, adorned with a polished wooden chess set and several scholarly journals.
It is before dawn, about 68F(20C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(A member of The Golden Shadow has been planted in your target's group under the guise of a helpful ally. The imposter slowly sows seeds of discord and suspicion among the group, causing them to question each other's motives and actions. The aim is to eventually tear the group apart from the inside, leaving them vulnerable to The Golden Shadow's schemes. The characters must discover the mole within their ranks and confront them, hopefully before irreversible damage has been done to their group dynamic.)
The crescent moon hangs in the night sky barely a silver of silver even as the dawning sun starts to light up the horizon to the east. A small scatters of clouds here and there are spread, dotting through the sky although that may be what lulls people into a false sense of security as they venture out into the street to start their day.
There had been reports of tennis ball sized hailstones hitting people all over town and indeed the emergency room of poor Haven is bustling tonight with people who have been bludgeoned by hail. Black eyes are a common sight as well as giant hematomas on the head. There are a couple with missing front teeth as well given that there are no proper dentists in this small town. There we so many people injured by hail infact - the emergency department had run out of icepacks and nurses were filling ziplock bags with hail - mayhaps even the hailball that hit the patient and getting them to use that to ice their various injured body parts. The x-ray department is working
Tourists, here for the beach to surf and swim, can only hustle in doors, staring out at the surf while dying of heat - yet unable to leave the safety of shelter from seemingly random hailstones that tumble out of the pretty clear looking sky. Someone at the Haven precinct will probably need to do some major PR work to not let that spread all over the news. Not that natural disasters were a rare occurrence right now however with the damage from Beryl still filling news channels with lovely pictures of cars underwater all over Houston.
In the safety and sanctity of the white oak, students are rushing about trying to dodge the hailstones by staying under the awnings and only darting out in brave attempts to make it across the walkway to the cafeteria. Infact, there may or may not already be a game of - see who gets knocked out first happening right out outside of Alpha's Gamma Omega's Forbearance house. Inside the house, the hallways are bustling too, normally keen outdoor jocks, rugby players all cooped up indoors. A few have snuck girls in from across the walkway and have become the laughter of the dorm when they're found dead asleep ontop of each other in the dorms after perhaps just a slightly too enthusiastic kissing session.
Today, the living room of Forbearance house is a complete and utter mess. Clothing, shoes, sports equipment is scattered everywhere while at the same time various different decorations and trophies have been knocked over by what looks like the aftermath of a indoor game of dodgeball or the like.
Dean, having made his way into the living room, is not the only one there. There are a couple of dormmates around although they are all unfamiliar faces to Dean. The one sitting on one of the couches he may have seen around the dorm once or twice. The boy had a mop of blonde hair and eyes of the summer sky and he was busying texting away at his phone.
Another had just stumbled in, holding a hailstone to the large bump on his forehead. His brown eyes are slightly crossed and he doesn't quite walk straight. There is a small amount of blood in his brown hair and he practically collapses on the couch. Dressed in a white polo that isn't quite so white anymore with splotches of water all over it and a black shorts, the kid doesn't look particularly well.
"Hey you alright? I'm Josh." The blonde had looked up from the couch as the other one had collapsed ontop of it and was leaning over in concern.
"Urg.... Fucking hailstone bopped me on the head...I'm... Aaron." Aaron groans as he holds his head, rubbing that hailstone against the hematoma there as if he could push it back down, "What a first day.. What kindof fucked up weather is this?" There is another groan as he flops back against the back of the couch, "Fuck if they hadn't promised me a private room I wouldn't have come to this fucked up College."
"Wait what they promised you a private room? In this place?" Josh's eyebrow raises up into his hairline to the point where it almost disappears, "Nah man that can't be right, usually there's 2 or so to a room, sometimes less but no one is promised a single room."
"No no I was promised room 1." Aaron groans again, "Someone was meant to renovate and paint it and I was promised some other kid that'll do whatever I say who lives next door or something.."
The weather may be as bad as it is, but Dean, he's free from it all. The leather jacket, a monstrous strength, and generally having a massive helmet helps. In the midst of the discussion the two were having, he had found his way to the seating area and taken a seat. Right smack middle in the large sofa, while others were short of places to sleep and this was a prime location, now dominated only by him. Maybe it was the terrible weather outside that had him waiting, maybe it was something else, but now that he's here, he hangs his forearms over his knees and sits forward-facing. Green eyes dully watch the people in their coming and going with an impassive attitude. As unbetraying as the helmet he had placed on his side to the sofa. The gloves on his hands flex while he furls his fingers into fists and back open again, leather creaks -- but that sudden notion professed by this 'Aaron' has Dean tilt his head. Stare at them, with nothing that may pass for amusement. "Room one?" His question hangs in the air, and his eyes travel across to take the whole sight of the man, high first, low, then high again to meet his eyes. One of his hands lifts to tug at the tassle of his hoodie's hood to adjust it, and he answers rather morosely, still displeased as he ever is. "I'm in room one, and I already have a room mate."
Brown eyes look over Dean taking in all the leather, the helmet and it may be the concussion but Aaron looks over Dean again. And then again. He winces as he lowers the hailstone and sets it with a clunk on the table. The couch he had collapsed on was opposite a low coffee table to Dean and the kid continues to study Dean. One hand goes up to cradle that bump on his head and he tilts his head as he picks up his phone. His thumb scrolls through some emails, "Yuppp. Room one... Apparently the guy who gets to do whatever I say is called... Dean?" He reads from his phone and then puts it down, "Either of you heard of a Dean?" He asks with a slight squint.
"Uhhh I think I saw it on the housing list...." Josh mentions, seeing as he had seen the leather jacketed man come in and out but had never been beholden to say hi before. Not while everyone else was rushing in and out given it was summer and half the students living here would be gone come new semester anyways probably, moved out from this ghasted place that makes it impossible for people to have any sort of intimacy or even masterbation. "But mannn what kindof push over will let you just ...tell him what to do? We ain't that kindof college..."
"Yeah but I have connnections." Aaron puts that in air quotes, "Very fancy rich connections you know? To the founding families. I didn't even want to be here. They had to promise me a lackey and a private room for me to considerrr coming here." He cackles a laugh, "God I can't wait to order Dean around.."
Silence is their reply. While he's observed, Dean meets those brown eyes without a shift or change in his expression. His brows remain wound together, knitted while his lips are an unamused line. Beyond it, that face may as well be slate, but now, he raises his arms up to set his elbows down, and rest his chin over his laced finger. Never once does he look at the blonde man - doesn't voice an agreement, either, when his frat brother says his piece in exchanged information. Though, by the end of Aaron's charade, he cracks a slow smile. "You know, that's not such a good idea. To have a lackey. It should be the norm." Then, he explains.
Green eyes take the other man with his words. "Back when, in Britain.." He ponders his words, "Younger people in boarding schools were made to act as personal servants to the eldest. Seventeeth century stuff." His gaze tracks over now, barest hint of a smile still clinging to the corner of his mouth that bares open his fangs. "Your fancy rich connections would know, wouldn't they?" Then he leans back, crosses his leg at the knees and spreads his arms on the back of his seat. Back to mirthless observation, careful and cautious. "I'm Dean. I don't think you want to order me around."
Aaron was about to make a snarky reply to Dean about his connections and the seventeeth century stuff when Dean mentions that he is infact the lackey being talked about. The man's face goes slightly pale and then blushes up, "Oh why didn't you say so in the first place! Dude go get me a proper ice pack! I shouldn't be using hail as a icepack! And make sure the room is cleaned up!" Apparently he didn't hear the second part about not wanting to order the other man around, "Also you're sooo wrong, back then people sent their kids to school with servants. Poor people didn't attend school, no one cares about your age. Just how important you are." Aaron sniffs and thrusts out his chest in his Polo Ralph Lauren shirt with the logo on the chest and all. "And my family's been here since the schools creation." He grins over at someone, "Hey mate, if you be a good mate to me I'll make sure you get a GPA of 4 without even needing to studyyy. Just make sure Dean here... does his job yeah?"
The blonde's blue eyes flick from Dean to Aaron as if trying to decide if he wanted to play with this particular kettle of fish. Still a perfect GPA without any study was ratherrr tempting. Dean can almost see the cogs moving inside of Josh's head as his eyes flick back and forth back and forth and the jock - who was sturdily built and showed off muscles underneath his t-shirt finally gives a slow nod towards someone. "Uh yeah.. you better go get him that ice pack..." He mumbles.
Aaron was about to make a snarky reply to Dean about his connections and the seventeeth century stuff when Dean mentions that he is infact the lackey being talked about. The man's face goes slightly pale and then blushes up, "Oh why didn't you say so in the first place! Dude go get me a proper ice pack! I shouldn't be using hail as a icepack! And make sure the room is cleaned up!" Apparently he didn't hear the second part about not wanting to order the other man around, "Also you're sooo wrong, back then people sent their kids to school with servants. Poor people didn't attend school, no one cares about your age. Just how important you are." Aaron sniffs and thrusts out his chest in his Polo Ralph Lauren shirt with the logo on the chest and all. "And my family's been here since the schools creation." He grins over at Josh, "Hey mate, if you be a good mate to me I'll make sure you get a GPA of 4 without even needing to studyyy. Just make sure Dean here... does his job yeah?"
The blonde's blue eyes flick from Dean to Aaron as if trying to decide if he wanted to play with this particular kettle of fish. Still a perfect GPA without any study was ratherrr tempting. Dean can almost see the cogs moving inside of Josh's head as his eyes flick back and forth back and forth and the jock - who was sturdily built and showed off muscles underneath his t-shirt finally gives a slow nod towards someone. "Uh yeah.. you better go get him that ice pack..." He mumbles.
Aaron was about to make a snarky reply to Dean about his connections and the seventeeth century stuff when Dean mentions that he is infact the lackey being talked about. The man's face goes slightly pale and then blushes up, "Oh why didn't you say so in the first place! Dude go get me a proper ice pack! I shouldn't be using hail as a icepack! And make sure the room is cleaned up!" Apparently he didn't hear the second part about not wanting to order the other man around, "Also you're sooo wrong, back then people sent their kids to school with servants. Poor people didn't attend school, no one cares about your age. Just how important you are." Aaron sniffs and thrusts out his chest in his Polo Ralph Lauren shirt with the logo on the chest and all. "And my family's been here since the schools creation." He grins over at Josh, "Hey mate, if you be a good mate to me I'll make sure you get a GPA of 4 without even needing to studyyy. Just make sure Dean here... does his job yeah?"
The blonde's blue eyes flick from Dean to Aaron as if trying to decide if he wanted to play with this particular kettle of fish. Still a perfect GPA without any study was ratherrr tempting. Dean can almost see the cogs moving inside of Josh's head as his eyes flick back and forth back and forth and the jock - who was sturdily built and showed off muscles underneath his t-shirt finally gives a slow nod towards Aaron. "Uh yeah.. you better go get him that ice pack..." He mumbles.
Yet, to all that, Dean doesn't move. His lack of merriment and mirth is directed at Aaron still. That lingering silence is the herald to worse things, and it seems to only stretch on forever - like he chooses his words carefully. Or more akin to each of them being gold, and he is stingy motherfucker. When Josh makes the decision to join the Aaron, that attention lacking in attentiveness briefly passes over to the burly fratboy. With an expression of subtle distaste, the sort you'd give to trash left on the road, or even worse, trash left on the road for far far too long under the sun.
"You can look it up," Dean affords to break his silence with languid nonchalance, "But fuck," Now he smiles, all fang, sharp and elongated, hardly a fit for his mouth. "I am not letting you in that room, or anywhere near me." And to Josh, he adds without looking - but a finger pointing from his hand splayed on the back of his couch as if he expected him to make a move or stand up. "You move from where you sit and the faculty staff are going to collect bone shards from inside of you for a year." Can he uphold that promise, what with the sanctuary and all, isn't really up to debate. He probaby couldn't. Keyword is probably - he certainly seems eager to try. "And you, Aaron," A subtle upnod. "Your parents ever saw you with a broken nose?"
There is a look of distaste on Aaron's face at Dean's words and expression and even Josh, who generally is easy going bristles at the other man's words. "That aint possible mate. Ha are you like unaware or something?" There's a cackling laugh from Aaron as he claps his hands together and rubs them, "No wonder they suggested you'd be a good candidate for a lackey.. Look mate." The man's voice lowers and his canines slide out longer as he stares over at Dean. "The monsters are real. And I'm a monster. Only I can protect you in this place." For the first time, Dean might finally realize the horrible stench of BO wasn't just from all the sweaty boys that trumped through the room and the random sweaty gym outfits that were strewn about but something - more as well. Aaron sneers again with those too, sharp, too long fangs on display and but they shrink back in before he turns towards Josh. "4.0 GPA. Bash him up for me." The kid that had been hit by the hailstone crosses his arms over his chest and smirks again at Dean as Josh slowly gets to his feet with a sigh. His hand fists his other, crackling his knuckle as he looks across the table at Dean, "We really need to do this mate?" He asks in his low rumbling voice. "Can't you just listen to this fuckhead and we can all get along?"
"Shame.." Dean sounds almost crestfallen. And yet, another misdemeanor wouldn't really upset his already pretty terrible file. The words had been said to Josh even while he stared at the blatantly vampiric display, the source of his lingering aggression and vomit-inducing grossness. He's slow, but he clambers up off of his seat and starts to move -- Towards Josh. "You should've listened to me when I told you what would happen." Yet, he doesn't throw the first punch. Only stalks forward- step, by, step, all while his shoulders are stretches, his neck is craned, one end to the other cracking with each weary joint. At the end of his words, a growl, slow and steady from his larynx, starts to vibrate out of his torso and rise to something feral. "Come here." The jock is goaded into action, while every word rides on the sharp delivery of aa snarl. "I'll show you why."
There is a howl of delight from Aaron as he slides back away from the action and claps his hands together like a little kid about to see Santa for Christmas. Josh meanwhile postures back, rising up to meet Dean head to head and the two of them are almost the same height so it means their foreheads are almost pressed together. The blonde doesn't throw the first punch either, merely stalking up in return to threaten Dean's space. His shoulders are tensed, his fists clenched as the coffee and beer on his breath brutally assaults Dean's sensitive nose. "You don't want to do this. He has connections. You wanna be thrown out of college?" Josh sneers as the two of them stand off against each other.
Meanwhile in the background, Aaron is cackling so hard in laughter he doesn't realize that something falls out of his shirt - a gold chain with a single dangling ornament at the end - a golden dagger that had slipped out from within that polo ralph lauren shirt to glitter in the artificial lights of the living room they were in.
A howl of delight from Aaron as he slides back away from the action and claps his hands together like a little kid about to see Santa for Christmas. Josh meanwhile postures back, rising up to meet Dean head to head and the two of them are almost the same height so it means their foreheads are almost pressed together. The blonde doesn't throw the first punch either, merely stalking up in return to threaten Dean's space. His shoulders are tensed, his fists clenched as the coffee and beer on his breath brutally assaults Dean's sensitive nose. "You don't want to do this. He has connections. You wanna be thrown out of college?" Josh sneers as the two of them stand off against each other.
Meanwhile in the background, Aaron is cackling so hard in laughter he doesn't realize that something falls out of his shirt - a gold chain with a single dangling ornament at the end - a golden dagger that had slipped out from within that polo ralph lauren shirt to glitter in the artificial lights of the living room they were in.
It happens so fast, there is barely any room to react. With all the commotion happening in the institute, a little brawl would surely be amiss. Although Dean gives a look aside at Aaron, his attention is on the fratboy that he socks square in the jaw with a rapid punch, enough to reel someone, enough to blow the strike the daylights out of some regular man, for sure. "You can take it right." He calls out, but that's not at all where he stays on the possibly unconscious man. "You know, there are -ways- around the Sanctuary spell." It becomes clear that even with his last words he wasn't speak to Josh at all, but the newcomer aggressor. "I just have to believe, really, really hard that you can take what I'm going to give you." It's his turn to crack his knuckles againt the vampire, practically snarl quietly in a rising tone. "And I do." Of course he had seen the glimmer of that chain, knew exactly what it signified too. It makes it all too vindictive, when he throws his second punch and it is for Aaron to have - with the obvious intent to knock him out blind, too -- with all of his strength, of course. Vampries were tough, right?? They could take it, right?
Dean is playing a dangerous game. One that might land him in hot water, which.. mayhaps was really the plan of the vampire who holds the symbol of the sinster group that has been plaguing the college recently. Josh, near josh dodges just fast enough to catch the punch on the side of his head as a side swipe, but it still floors the man with likely a concussion as he crumbles to the floor. He's not unconcious but he's definately out. "Fuck man..." He groans as he clutches at his head. Mayhaps the hailstone on the desk would come into use. The vampire meanwhile, had jumped wayyyy back as soon as Dean's fists started punching - he was no where in range of the man. "Man you kids are too easy to manipulate." The vampire cackles just before he catches Dean's eye and puts him in a trance. "Have fun fighting each other." There's a delicate wave of the tip of his fingers at the man who is tranced and thus unable to respond - and the vampire leaves to navigate his way through the hailstorm, disappearing into the early morning bustle of the college.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
The Hometown Diner's room was a juxtaposition of coziness and modernity. Oak paneling lined the bottom half of the walls, grounding the space with its rustic charm, while the upper half gleamed with a rich, bright shade of white that seemed to glow in the early morning light. Open windows on the eastern wall invited the golden rays to spill across the room, casting elongated shadows that danced over the pergola and firepit outside. Beyond the pergola, the horizon stretched endlessly, a painterly backdrop that mesmerized the diners lucky enough to secure a window seat.
Tables were strategically placed, ensuring the waitstaff could navigate the room with ease, their paths choreographed to avoid the occasional spill or stumble. The air was a symphony of scents: sizzling bacon, fresh-baked bread, and the faintest hint of vanilla that seemed to linger long after the breakfast rush had waned.
Amidst the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation, an otherworldly chill began to seep into the diner. It started at the windows, creeping across the floor like an invisible fog, unnoticed by the patrons engrossed in their meals and morning papers.
A figure materialized near the firepit, translucent and wavering as though caught in a heat haze. The ghost, a man with hollow eyes and a forlorn expression, seemed out of place in the lively atmosphere. He wore clothing from a bygone era, trousers held up by suspenders and a shirt that might once have been crisp and white. His gaze was fixed, not on the diners or the room, but on a memory replaying endlessly in the haunted recesses of his mind.
Slowly, he drifted towards the center of the diner, his form passing effortlessly through chairs and tables. His lips moved, whispering words that no one could hear, recounting a tale of loss and regret that had bound him to this place. Or at least, some place that used to be here once in a long, long time ago.
As he neared the table closest to the windows, the air grew colder still, and the cheerful clatter of the diner seemed to fade into an eerie silence. No one, not a single soul could tell what lay here and now, drifting in the ever constant agony of being alone. At each turn, at each passing it screamed, it wailed, it erupted into torrentous screams that should've shaken the walls in his ruptured lungs - tore cracks through the earth.
Yet, nothing of the sort happened. Only, when it came close to Freya, only when it stood stock still hovering inches above ground next to her booth -- he made one gesture. A pointed finger. Long, old, willowy. Not at her, but at her table.
Her salt shaker falls on its side.
Freya was sitting at her booth with about 5 plates of steak infront of her. Steak blue. Steak rare. Steak medium rare. Another rare steak and another blue steak. The sides had been piled into a heap on the other side of the booth and it looked like she was about to invite a whollee bunch of friends over for breakfast except... Not. Her mouth opens, teeth tear into the steak and it's early enough that only the coffee goers are coming in - and she had positioned herself perfectly so they couldn't see her - for her to eat the steak completely with her hands and her teeth. Juices drip from her chin as she tears into the steak, pulling it to pieces and ripping all the meat off the bone itself when... her salt shaker falls over. She freezes mid bite, her teal eyes narrowing as she looks at the salt shaker for a long time then reaches a single hand covered in meat juice over to righten the salt shaker. She stares at it for a moment as if making sure it stays up before tossing the bone aside and going for the next T-bone.
Even for a ghost, there is a sudden pause. Those hollow eyes stare down at Freya, and he ripples in his perpetual haze and vibrating shake. The boney finger that caused the minor mischief and mayhem of toppling her salt shaker over, it curls into a fist - and he seems more furious, more agonized that he is left amiss. In that, the diner's warmth and cheer seemed at odds with the spectral presence that lingered near the eastern windows, by Freya. The ghost had been unnoticed and unheard in his silent torment. As the bustle of the diner continued unabated, his form began to tremble, his hollow eyes widening with a growing sense of desperation.
Without warning, a gut-wrenching scream erupted from the ghost, echoing through the diner with a resonance that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the building -- or it would, had anything ever happened by his will. His voice, filled with agony and fear, tore through the space, yet not a single head turned. The diners remained engrossed in their conversations, their meals, their mundane lives, oblivious to the soul in torment among them.@line
The ghost's scream was a symphony of sorrow, each note sung to the tragedy that bound him to this place. His translucent hands clawed at the air towards Freya, grasping for some connection to the living world, to her, that seemed forever out of reach while he flickered in like a candlelight nearly snuffed out. "Help me!" he cried, his voice breaking with a raw, desperate edge. "Please, someone see me!" And as his anguish filled the diner, a palpable weight that seemed to press down on the air, making it thick and heavy. Just slightly annoying, like some heat-wave had passed through. The summer, rife with moisture - it surely was just that.
"Why can't you see me?" he wailed, again, his hands passing through her, her meal, the bone she's scattering. The chill of his presence doesn't even register for her, she's that mute to the weak-willed specter's agony. "I need help! Please, help me!" Tears of spectral essence streamed down his face, shimmering as they fell and evaporated into the ether. His agony was a tangible thing, a force that seemed to darken the bright white of the walls, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted in the corners of the room, still ephemeral, still unseen, unheard, untouched, unfelt.. Raw agony in solitude.. An act played to an audience of none.
His screams turned to sobs, the sound a haunting lament, mingled with the distant clatter of dishes and the soft hum of conversation at the backdrop of it. Hurt and pitiful. If Freya couldn't notice him even after all that - which, seemed like a tough ordeal, given he, in his pitiful existence had little power to manifest, and she, muted to his presence with an aversion to the unnatural by virtue of her entirety being natural -- he seemed all that more primed to drift away, and take his haunting elsewhere.
Freya chomps her way through another steak as the air in the diner seems to grow heavier - more humid. "Urg.. This Haven weather is god awful..." The sorrow, the pain makes her just a little bit homesick- She missed the sprawling golden beaches of her home city with their hot dry summers and plentiful fish and chips. The nights cooled right down none of this... 40 degrees at 9am shit. Or giant hailstones for that matter. Her head was blissfully unsplattered by hailstones thanks to her riding helmet though, which she had never thought she'd enjoy the use of so much. Chomp chomp goes another steak and she picks up yet another. Meat juice completely covers her chin now and she sucks the juice from her fingers as she digs into the almost raw steak as if she hadn't eaten in a while. Her phone, buzzing in her pocket gives her pause though. "Call 911... They won't be able to hear me? What?" She asks as she squints down at the phone, "Oh right she's mute...." Juicy fingers press 911 on her phone.... only to get no signal. Her fingers go into her mouth to lick as she tries again to the same tune and she tries to send a message back - no signal again. There are only one and a half steaks left and she sets into them with vigor, gnawing down on them at rapid speeds as if she's hoping to move to make that call - but not before finishing off her steaks.
The ghost's anguished cries continued to ripple through the air, but as the minutes passed, and as Freya didn't bore a single witness to him, his voice grew hoarse and his form more fragile. His once sharp and distinct edges began to blur, his translucent body wavering like mist caught in an unseen breeze. "Please..." he whispered one last time, his voice a mere echo of its former strength, as pitiful as it was. His eyes, wide with sorrow, cast a final, longing glance around the bustling diner. The people, the sounds, the scents of home cookingall remained oblivious to his presence and his plea.
The ghost's form began to dissipate, then, his edges softening and merging with the shadows that played across the oak-paneled walls. He moved towards the eastern windows, his steps slow and faltering, never touching the ground that he hovers inches above, even if each facsimile of a step took an immense effort. As he neared the glass, his body grew more ethereal, fading with each passing moment. With a final, soft sigh that escaped his lips, barely audible, a sound filled with centuries of regret and unfulfilled longing. His fingers, now barely more than wisps of mist, brushed against the cool glass of the window, leaving no mark.
For a moment, he lingered, a faint, shimmering outline against the bright white paint of the upper walls. His eyes closed, and a single tear, glistening like a drop of morning dew, fell from his cheek and vanished before it could touch the ground. At that exact moment, the ghost's form wafted upwards, merging with the streams of sunlight that poured through the windows. He became one with the light, a shimmering, ghostly presence that slowly diffused into the morning air. His sorrow, his pain, all that had tied him to this place, seemed to dissolve with him, leaving behind a faint, lingering chill that soon faded.
The Hometown Diner returned to its usual rhythm, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices resuming their dominance. No one noticed the absence of the spectral presence, and life continued as it always had. Outside, the horizon stretched on, endless and indifferent, as the ghost's final traces vanished into the ether, his sad and silent departure leaving behind only the faintest echo of his presence, and a peaceful solitude for Freya to enjoy her meal. In a way, she had succeeded. What more could one inflict upon a poor soul that is more violent than ignorance and forced solitude in despair? Inadvertantly, or not, it worked.
Freya finishes off her steaks, wipes her mouth, puts a few bills down to pay the bill and gets to her feet with a stretch. Maybe there'll be better reception outside.. under the awning is her thought as she makes her way to the door, trying to text again.
As the last traces of the ghost dissolved into the morning light, a profound stillness settled over the Hometown Diner. The familiar sounds of clinking cutlery and murmured conversations faded into a deep, pervasive silence. The air, once filled with the comforting scents of home-cooked meals, now felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from the room. Something less nostalgic for Freya, who had somehow found comfort and reminisced about home with it.
One by one, the patrons finished their meals and left, unaware of the spectral presence that had briefly shared their space. The young woman in the corner among them, busy with her phone more so than the threat that could've come to pass. Her footsteps echoe softly towards the door. Behind her, the waitstaff, having cleared the a majority of the tables after the morning rush, began to wrap up their tasks for the morning. The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow through the eastern windows, bathing the room in a soft, golden light. The oak paneling gleamed, and the white walls seemed to shine with renewed brightness.
The firepit outside flickered, its flames dancing gently in the breeze, casting playful shadows on the pergola. The horizon stretched out endlessly, serene and undisturbed, a promise of new beginnings and peaceful days ahead. With the last customer, Freya, gone and the final table wiped clean, the waitstaff now ran a skeleton crew, most of them disappearing behind the backroom to prepare brunch, then lunch rush - the hardest task of their days yet still ahead of them. In that stillness, the diner felt different, lighter, brighter, as if it had been cleansed of its unseen burden, awaited the return of its patrons.
It was a place of warmth and comfort once more, a haven for the living, and Freya, when she finally left, would find that her phone signal works once again. A miracle! Just for her. Only for her. The reason why it had not worked, gone to the ether, haunting elsewhere, another person, another time. Yet, maybe, in his perpetual baleful ire and grudge, it would not forget Freya's face.
For now, all is well.
As the ghost's presence becomes more pronounced, evoking a heavy air of sorrow in the diner, Freya remains unaffected, attributing the change to the weather and her own homesickness. Her inability to see or interact with the ghost leaves him in a state of despair, culminating in his decision to depart. In a poignant moment of surrender, the ghost fades into the sunlight, his form dissolving into the morning light, leaving behind a tranquil atmosphere. Freya, meanwhile, concludes her meal and exits the diner, oblivious to the profound impact her mere presence had on the ghost's eternal journey. The diner resumes its normalcy, with the spectral encounter leaving no lasting impression on its patrons, save for a fleeting chill that soon dissipates into the warmth of the day.
(Dean's odd encounter(SRFreya):SRFreya)
[Thu Jul 11 2024]
In Living Room
This well-appointed fraternity lounge is illuminated via ambient lighting from antique brass fixtures with blue light, lending an air of academic refinement. Bookshelves line the mahogany-paneled walls, housing an extensive collection of leather-bound volumes. Plush leather armchairs and sofas are strategically arranged for scholarly discussions. An oak table stands to one side, adorned with a polished wooden chess set and several scholarly journals.
It is before dawn, about 68F(20C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(A member of The Golden Shadow has been planted in your target's group under the guise of a helpful ally. The imposter slowly sows seeds of discord and suspicion among the group, causing them to question each other's motives and actions. The aim is to eventually tear the group apart from the inside, leaving them vulnerable to The Golden Shadow's schemes. The characters must discover the mole within their ranks and confront them, hopefully before irreversible damage has been done to their group dynamic.)
The crescent moon hangs in the night sky barely a silver of silver even as the dawning sun starts to light up the horizon to the east. A small scatters of clouds here and there are spread, dotting through the sky although that may be what lulls people into a false sense of security as they venture out into the street to start their day.
There had been reports of tennis ball sized hailstones hitting people all over town and indeed the emergency room of poor Haven is bustling tonight with people who have been bludgeoned by hail. Black eyes are a common sight as well as giant hematomas on the head. There are a couple with missing front teeth as well given that there are no proper dentists in this small town. There we so many people injured by hail infact - the emergency department had run out of icepacks and nurses were filling ziplock bags with hail - mayhaps even the hailball that hit the patient and getting them to use that to ice their various injured body parts. The x-ray department is working
Tourists, here for the beach to surf and swim, can only hustle in doors, staring out at the surf while dying of heat - yet unable to leave the safety of shelter from seemingly random hailstones that tumble out of the pretty clear looking sky. Someone at the Haven precinct will probably need to do some major PR work to not let that spread all over the news. Not that natural disasters were a rare occurrence right now however with the damage from Beryl still filling news channels with lovely pictures of cars underwater all over Houston.
In the safety and sanctity of the white oak, students are rushing about trying to dodge the hailstones by staying under the awnings and only darting out in brave attempts to make it across the walkway to the cafeteria. Infact, there may or may not already be a game of - see who gets knocked out first happening right out outside of Alpha's Gamma Omega's Forbearance house. Inside the house, the hallways are bustling too, normally keen outdoor jocks, rugby players all cooped up indoors. A few have snuck girls in from across the walkway and have become the laughter of the dorm when they're found dead asleep ontop of each other in the dorms after perhaps just a slightly too enthusiastic kissing session.
Today, the living room of Forbearance house is a complete and utter mess. Clothing, shoes, sports equipment is scattered everywhere while at the same time various different decorations and trophies have been knocked over by what looks like the aftermath of a indoor game of dodgeball or the like.
Dean, having made his way into the living room, is not the only one there. There are a couple of dormmates around although they are all unfamiliar faces to Dean. The one sitting on one of the couches he may have seen around the dorm once or twice. The boy had a mop of blonde hair and eyes of the summer sky and he was busying texting away at his phone.
Another had just stumbled in, holding a hailstone to the large bump on his forehead. His brown eyes are slightly crossed and he doesn't quite walk straight. There is a small amount of blood in his brown hair and he practically collapses on the couch. Dressed in a white polo that isn't quite so white anymore with splotches of water all over it and a black shorts, the kid doesn't look particularly well.
"Hey you alright? I'm Josh." The blonde had looked up from the couch as the other one had collapsed ontop of it and was leaning over in concern.
"Urg.... Fucking hailstone bopped me on the head...I'm... Aaron." Aaron groans as he holds his head, rubbing that hailstone against the hematoma there as if he could push it back down, "What a first day.. What kindof fucked up weather is this?" There is another groan as he flops back against the back of the couch, "Fuck if they hadn't promised me a private room I wouldn't have come to this fucked up College."
"Wait what they promised you a private room? In this place?" Josh's eyebrow raises up into his hairline to the point where it almost disappears, "Nah man that can't be right, usually there's 2 or so to a room, sometimes less but no one is promised a single room."
"No no I was promised room 1." Aaron groans again, "Someone was meant to renovate and paint it and I was promised some other kid that'll do whatever I say who lives next door or something.."
The weather may be as bad as it is, but Dean, he's free from it all. The leather jacket, a monstrous strength, and generally having a massive helmet helps. In the midst of the discussion the two were having, he had found his way to the seating area and taken a seat. Right smack middle in the large sofa, while others were short of places to sleep and this was a prime location, now dominated only by him. Maybe it was the terrible weather outside that had him waiting, maybe it was something else, but now that he's here, he hangs his forearms over his knees and sits forward-facing. Green eyes dully watch the people in their coming and going with an impassive attitude. As unbetraying as the helmet he had placed on his side to the sofa. The gloves on his hands flex while he furls his fingers into fists and back open again, leather creaks -- but that sudden notion professed by this 'Aaron' has Dean tilt his head. Stare at them, with nothing that may pass for amusement. "Room one?" His question hangs in the air, and his eyes travel across to take the whole sight of the man, high first, low, then high again to meet his eyes. One of his hands lifts to tug at the tassle of his hoodie's hood to adjust it, and he answers rather morosely, still displeased as he ever is. "I'm in room one, and I already have a room mate."
Brown eyes look over Dean taking in all the leather, the helmet and it may be the concussion but Aaron looks over Dean again. And then again. He winces as he lowers the hailstone and sets it with a clunk on the table. The couch he had collapsed on was opposite a low coffee table to Dean and the kid continues to study Dean. One hand goes up to cradle that bump on his head and he tilts his head as he picks up his phone. His thumb scrolls through some emails, "Yuppp. Room one... Apparently the guy who gets to do whatever I say is called... Dean?" He reads from his phone and then puts it down, "Either of you heard of a Dean?" He asks with a slight squint.
"Uhhh I think I saw it on the housing list...." Josh mentions, seeing as he had seen the leather jacketed man come in and out but had never been beholden to say hi before. Not while everyone else was rushing in and out given it was summer and half the students living here would be gone come new semester anyways probably, moved out from this ghasted place that makes it impossible for people to have any sort of intimacy or even masterbation. "But mannn what kindof push over will let you just ...tell him what to do? We ain't that kindof college..."
"Yeah but I have connnections." Aaron puts that in air quotes, "Very fancy rich connections you know? To the founding families. I didn't even want to be here. They had to promise me a lackey and a private room for me to considerrr coming here." He cackles a laugh, "God I can't wait to order Dean around.."
Silence is their reply. While he's observed, Dean meets those brown eyes without a shift or change in his expression. His brows remain wound together, knitted while his lips are an unamused line. Beyond it, that face may as well be slate, but now, he raises his arms up to set his elbows down, and rest his chin over his laced finger. Never once does he look at the blonde man - doesn't voice an agreement, either, when his frat brother says his piece in exchanged information. Though, by the end of Aaron's charade, he cracks a slow smile. "You know, that's not such a good idea. To have a lackey. It should be the norm." Then, he explains.
Green eyes take the other man with his words. "Back when, in Britain.." He ponders his words, "Younger people in boarding schools were made to act as personal servants to the eldest. Seventeeth century stuff." His gaze tracks over now, barest hint of a smile still clinging to the corner of his mouth that bares open his fangs. "Your fancy rich connections would know, wouldn't they?" Then he leans back, crosses his leg at the knees and spreads his arms on the back of his seat. Back to mirthless observation, careful and cautious. "I'm Dean. I don't think you want to order me around."
Aaron was about to make a snarky reply to Dean about his connections and the seventeeth century stuff when Dean mentions that he is infact the lackey being talked about. The man's face goes slightly pale and then blushes up, "Oh why didn't you say so in the first place! Dude go get me a proper ice pack! I shouldn't be using hail as a icepack! And make sure the room is cleaned up!" Apparently he didn't hear the second part about not wanting to order the other man around, "Also you're sooo wrong, back then people sent their kids to school with servants. Poor people didn't attend school, no one cares about your age. Just how important you are." Aaron sniffs and thrusts out his chest in his Polo Ralph Lauren shirt with the logo on the chest and all. "And my family's been here since the schools creation." He grins over at someone, "Hey mate, if you be a good mate to me I'll make sure you get a GPA of 4 without even needing to studyyy. Just make sure Dean here... does his job yeah?"
The blonde's blue eyes flick from Dean to Aaron as if trying to decide if he wanted to play with this particular kettle of fish. Still a perfect GPA without any study was ratherrr tempting. Dean can almost see the cogs moving inside of Josh's head as his eyes flick back and forth back and forth and the jock - who was sturdily built and showed off muscles underneath his t-shirt finally gives a slow nod towards someone. "Uh yeah.. you better go get him that ice pack..." He mumbles.
Aaron was about to make a snarky reply to Dean about his connections and the seventeeth century stuff when Dean mentions that he is infact the lackey being talked about. The man's face goes slightly pale and then blushes up, "Oh why didn't you say so in the first place! Dude go get me a proper ice pack! I shouldn't be using hail as a icepack! And make sure the room is cleaned up!" Apparently he didn't hear the second part about not wanting to order the other man around, "Also you're sooo wrong, back then people sent their kids to school with servants. Poor people didn't attend school, no one cares about your age. Just how important you are." Aaron sniffs and thrusts out his chest in his Polo Ralph Lauren shirt with the logo on the chest and all. "And my family's been here since the schools creation." He grins over at Josh, "Hey mate, if you be a good mate to me I'll make sure you get a GPA of 4 without even needing to studyyy. Just make sure Dean here... does his job yeah?"
The blonde's blue eyes flick from Dean to Aaron as if trying to decide if he wanted to play with this particular kettle of fish. Still a perfect GPA without any study was ratherrr tempting. Dean can almost see the cogs moving inside of Josh's head as his eyes flick back and forth back and forth and the jock - who was sturdily built and showed off muscles underneath his t-shirt finally gives a slow nod towards someone. "Uh yeah.. you better go get him that ice pack..." He mumbles.
Aaron was about to make a snarky reply to Dean about his connections and the seventeeth century stuff when Dean mentions that he is infact the lackey being talked about. The man's face goes slightly pale and then blushes up, "Oh why didn't you say so in the first place! Dude go get me a proper ice pack! I shouldn't be using hail as a icepack! And make sure the room is cleaned up!" Apparently he didn't hear the second part about not wanting to order the other man around, "Also you're sooo wrong, back then people sent their kids to school with servants. Poor people didn't attend school, no one cares about your age. Just how important you are." Aaron sniffs and thrusts out his chest in his Polo Ralph Lauren shirt with the logo on the chest and all. "And my family's been here since the schools creation." He grins over at Josh, "Hey mate, if you be a good mate to me I'll make sure you get a GPA of 4 without even needing to studyyy. Just make sure Dean here... does his job yeah?"
The blonde's blue eyes flick from Dean to Aaron as if trying to decide if he wanted to play with this particular kettle of fish. Still a perfect GPA without any study was ratherrr tempting. Dean can almost see the cogs moving inside of Josh's head as his eyes flick back and forth back and forth and the jock - who was sturdily built and showed off muscles underneath his t-shirt finally gives a slow nod towards Aaron. "Uh yeah.. you better go get him that ice pack..." He mumbles.
Yet, to all that, Dean doesn't move. His lack of merriment and mirth is directed at Aaron still. That lingering silence is the herald to worse things, and it seems to only stretch on forever - like he chooses his words carefully. Or more akin to each of them being gold, and he is stingy motherfucker. When Josh makes the decision to join the Aaron, that attention lacking in attentiveness briefly passes over to the burly fratboy. With an expression of subtle distaste, the sort you'd give to trash left on the road, or even worse, trash left on the road for far far too long under the sun.
"You can look it up," Dean affords to break his silence with languid nonchalance, "But fuck," Now he smiles, all fang, sharp and elongated, hardly a fit for his mouth. "I am not letting you in that room, or anywhere near me." And to Josh, he adds without looking - but a finger pointing from his hand splayed on the back of his couch as if he expected him to make a move or stand up. "You move from where you sit and the faculty staff are going to collect bone shards from inside of you for a year." Can he uphold that promise, what with the sanctuary and all, isn't really up to debate. He probaby couldn't. Keyword is probably - he certainly seems eager to try. "And you, Aaron," A subtle upnod. "Your parents ever saw you with a broken nose?"
There is a look of distaste on Aaron's face at Dean's words and expression and even Josh, who generally is easy going bristles at the other man's words. "That aint possible mate. Ha are you like unaware or something?" There's a cackling laugh from Aaron as he claps his hands together and rubs them, "No wonder they suggested you'd be a good candidate for a lackey.. Look mate." The man's voice lowers and his canines slide out longer as he stares over at Dean. "The monsters are real. And I'm a monster. Only I can protect you in this place." For the first time, Dean might finally realize the horrible stench of BO wasn't just from all the sweaty boys that trumped through the room and the random sweaty gym outfits that were strewn about but something - more as well. Aaron sneers again with those too, sharp, too long fangs on display and but they shrink back in before he turns towards Josh. "4.0 GPA. Bash him up for me." The kid that had been hit by the hailstone crosses his arms over his chest and smirks again at Dean as Josh slowly gets to his feet with a sigh. His hand fists his other, crackling his knuckle as he looks across the table at Dean, "We really need to do this mate?" He asks in his low rumbling voice. "Can't you just listen to this fuckhead and we can all get along?"
"Shame.." Dean sounds almost crestfallen. And yet, another misdemeanor wouldn't really upset his already pretty terrible file. The words had been said to Josh even while he stared at the blatantly vampiric display, the source of his lingering aggression and vomit-inducing grossness. He's slow, but he clambers up off of his seat and starts to move -- Towards Josh. "You should've listened to me when I told you what would happen." Yet, he doesn't throw the first punch. Only stalks forward- step, by, step, all while his shoulders are stretches, his neck is craned, one end to the other cracking with each weary joint. At the end of his words, a growl, slow and steady from his larynx, starts to vibrate out of his torso and rise to something feral. "Come here." The jock is goaded into action, while every word rides on the sharp delivery of aa snarl. "I'll show you why."
There is a howl of delight from Aaron as he slides back away from the action and claps his hands together like a little kid about to see Santa for Christmas. Josh meanwhile postures back, rising up to meet Dean head to head and the two of them are almost the same height so it means their foreheads are almost pressed together. The blonde doesn't throw the first punch either, merely stalking up in return to threaten Dean's space. His shoulders are tensed, his fists clenched as the coffee and beer on his breath brutally assaults Dean's sensitive nose. "You don't want to do this. He has connections. You wanna be thrown out of college?" Josh sneers as the two of them stand off against each other.
Meanwhile in the background, Aaron is cackling so hard in laughter he doesn't realize that something falls out of his shirt - a gold chain with a single dangling ornament at the end - a golden dagger that had slipped out from within that polo ralph lauren shirt to glitter in the artificial lights of the living room they were in.
A howl of delight from Aaron as he slides back away from the action and claps his hands together like a little kid about to see Santa for Christmas. Josh meanwhile postures back, rising up to meet Dean head to head and the two of them are almost the same height so it means their foreheads are almost pressed together. The blonde doesn't throw the first punch either, merely stalking up in return to threaten Dean's space. His shoulders are tensed, his fists clenched as the coffee and beer on his breath brutally assaults Dean's sensitive nose. "You don't want to do this. He has connections. You wanna be thrown out of college?" Josh sneers as the two of them stand off against each other.
Meanwhile in the background, Aaron is cackling so hard in laughter he doesn't realize that something falls out of his shirt - a gold chain with a single dangling ornament at the end - a golden dagger that had slipped out from within that polo ralph lauren shirt to glitter in the artificial lights of the living room they were in.
It happens so fast, there is barely any room to react. With all the commotion happening in the institute, a little brawl would surely be amiss. Although Dean gives a look aside at Aaron, his attention is on the fratboy that he socks square in the jaw with a rapid punch, enough to reel someone, enough to blow the strike the daylights out of some regular man, for sure. "You can take it right." He calls out, but that's not at all where he stays on the possibly unconscious man. "You know, there are -ways- around the Sanctuary spell." It becomes clear that even with his last words he wasn't speak to Josh at all, but the newcomer aggressor. "I just have to believe, really, really hard that you can take what I'm going to give you." It's his turn to crack his knuckles againt the vampire, practically snarl quietly in a rising tone. "And I do." Of course he had seen the glimmer of that chain, knew exactly what it signified too. It makes it all too vindictive, when he throws his second punch and it is for Aaron to have - with the obvious intent to knock him out blind, too -- with all of his strength, of course. Vampries were tough, right?? They could take it, right?
Dean is playing a dangerous game. One that might land him in hot water, which.. mayhaps was really the plan of the vampire who holds the symbol of the sinster group that has been plaguing the college recently. Josh, near josh dodges just fast enough to catch the punch on the side of his head as a side swipe, but it still floors the man with likely a concussion as he crumbles to the floor. He's not unconcious but he's definately out. "Fuck man..." He groans as he clutches at his head. Mayhaps the hailstone on the desk would come into use. The vampire meanwhile, had jumped wayyyy back as soon as Dean's fists started punching - he was no where in range of the man. "Man you kids are too easy to manipulate." The vampire cackles just before he catches Dean's eye and puts him in a trance. "Have fun fighting each other." There's a delicate wave of the tip of his fingers at the man who is tranced and thus unable to respond - and the vampire leaves to navigate his way through the hailstorm, disappearing into the early morning bustle of the college.
(Your target encounters a ghost who's fixated on some past tragedy from their life, they need to either give the spirit some sense of closure, or send it on it's way through more violent means.
)
The Hometown Diner's room was a juxtaposition of coziness and modernity. Oak paneling lined the bottom half of the walls, grounding the space with its rustic charm, while the upper half gleamed with a rich, bright shade of white that seemed to glow in the early morning light. Open windows on the eastern wall invited the golden rays to spill across the room, casting elongated shadows that danced over the pergola and firepit outside. Beyond the pergola, the horizon stretched endlessly, a painterly backdrop that mesmerized the diners lucky enough to secure a window seat.
Tables were strategically placed, ensuring the waitstaff could navigate the room with ease, their paths choreographed to avoid the occasional spill or stumble. The air was a symphony of scents: sizzling bacon, fresh-baked bread, and the faintest hint of vanilla that seemed to linger long after the breakfast rush had waned.
Amidst the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation, an otherworldly chill began to seep into the diner. It started at the windows, creeping across the floor like an invisible fog, unnoticed by the patrons engrossed in their meals and morning papers.
A figure materialized near the firepit, translucent and wavering as though caught in a heat haze. The ghost, a man with hollow eyes and a forlorn expression, seemed out of place in the lively atmosphere. He wore clothing from a bygone era, trousers held up by suspenders and a shirt that might once have been crisp and white. His gaze was fixed, not on the diners or the room, but on a memory replaying endlessly in the haunted recesses of his mind.
Slowly, he drifted towards the center of the diner, his form passing effortlessly through chairs and tables. His lips moved, whispering words that no one could hear, recounting a tale of loss and regret that had bound him to this place. Or at least, some place that used to be here once in a long, long time ago.
As he neared the table closest to the windows, the air grew colder still, and the cheerful clatter of the diner seemed to fade into an eerie silence. No one, not a single soul could tell what lay here and now, drifting in the ever constant agony of being alone. At each turn, at each passing it screamed, it wailed, it erupted into torrentous screams that should've shaken the walls in his ruptured lungs - tore cracks through the earth.
Yet, nothing of the sort happened. Only, when it came close to Freya, only when it stood stock still hovering inches above ground next to her booth -- he made one gesture. A pointed finger. Long, old, willowy. Not at her, but at her table.
Her salt shaker falls on its side.
Freya was sitting at her booth with about 5 plates of steak infront of her. Steak blue. Steak rare. Steak medium rare. Another rare steak and another blue steak. The sides had been piled into a heap on the other side of the booth and it looked like she was about to invite a whollee bunch of friends over for breakfast except... Not. Her mouth opens, teeth tear into the steak and it's early enough that only the coffee goers are coming in - and she had positioned herself perfectly so they couldn't see her - for her to eat the steak completely with her hands and her teeth. Juices drip from her chin as she tears into the steak, pulling it to pieces and ripping all the meat off the bone itself when... her salt shaker falls over. She freezes mid bite, her teal eyes narrowing as she looks at the salt shaker for a long time then reaches a single hand covered in meat juice over to righten the salt shaker. She stares at it for a moment as if making sure it stays up before tossing the bone aside and going for the next T-bone.
Even for a ghost, there is a sudden pause. Those hollow eyes stare down at Freya, and he ripples in his perpetual haze and vibrating shake. The boney finger that caused the minor mischief and mayhem of toppling her salt shaker over, it curls into a fist - and he seems more furious, more agonized that he is left amiss. In that, the diner's warmth and cheer seemed at odds with the spectral presence that lingered near the eastern windows, by Freya. The ghost had been unnoticed and unheard in his silent torment. As the bustle of the diner continued unabated, his form began to tremble, his hollow eyes widening with a growing sense of desperation.
Without warning, a gut-wrenching scream erupted from the ghost, echoing through the diner with a resonance that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the building -- or it would, had anything ever happened by his will. His voice, filled with agony and fear, tore through the space, yet not a single head turned. The diners remained engrossed in their conversations, their meals, their mundane lives, oblivious to the soul in torment among them.@line
The ghost's scream was a symphony of sorrow, each note sung to the tragedy that bound him to this place. His translucent hands clawed at the air towards Freya, grasping for some connection to the living world, to her, that seemed forever out of reach while he flickered in like a candlelight nearly snuffed out. "Help me!" he cried, his voice breaking with a raw, desperate edge. "Please, someone see me!" And as his anguish filled the diner, a palpable weight that seemed to press down on the air, making it thick and heavy. Just slightly annoying, like some heat-wave had passed through. The summer, rife with moisture - it surely was just that.
"Why can't you see me?" he wailed, again, his hands passing through her, her meal, the bone she's scattering. The chill of his presence doesn't even register for her, she's that mute to the weak-willed specter's agony. "I need help! Please, help me!" Tears of spectral essence streamed down his face, shimmering as they fell and evaporated into the ether. His agony was a tangible thing, a force that seemed to darken the bright white of the walls, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted in the corners of the room, still ephemeral, still unseen, unheard, untouched, unfelt.. Raw agony in solitude.. An act played to an audience of none.
His screams turned to sobs, the sound a haunting lament, mingled with the distant clatter of dishes and the soft hum of conversation at the backdrop of it. Hurt and pitiful. If Freya couldn't notice him even after all that - which, seemed like a tough ordeal, given he, in his pitiful existence had little power to manifest, and she, muted to his presence with an aversion to the unnatural by virtue of her entirety being natural -- he seemed all that more primed to drift away, and take his haunting elsewhere.
Freya chomps her way through another steak as the air in the diner seems to grow heavier - more humid. "Urg.. This Haven weather is god awful..." The sorrow, the pain makes her just a little bit homesick- She missed the sprawling golden beaches of her home city with their hot dry summers and plentiful fish and chips. The nights cooled right down none of this... 40 degrees at 9am shit. Or giant hailstones for that matter. Her head was blissfully unsplattered by hailstones thanks to her riding helmet though, which she had never thought she'd enjoy the use of so much. Chomp chomp goes another steak and she picks up yet another. Meat juice completely covers her chin now and she sucks the juice from her fingers as she digs into the almost raw steak as if she hadn't eaten in a while. Her phone, buzzing in her pocket gives her pause though. "Call 911... They won't be able to hear me? What?" She asks as she squints down at the phone, "Oh right she's mute...." Juicy fingers press 911 on her phone.... only to get no signal. Her fingers go into her mouth to lick as she tries again to the same tune and she tries to send a message back - no signal again. There are only one and a half steaks left and she sets into them with vigor, gnawing down on them at rapid speeds as if she's hoping to move to make that call - but not before finishing off her steaks.
The ghost's anguished cries continued to ripple through the air, but as the minutes passed, and as Freya didn't bore a single witness to him, his voice grew hoarse and his form more fragile. His once sharp and distinct edges began to blur, his translucent body wavering like mist caught in an unseen breeze. "Please..." he whispered one last time, his voice a mere echo of its former strength, as pitiful as it was. His eyes, wide with sorrow, cast a final, longing glance around the bustling diner. The people, the sounds, the scents of home cookingall remained oblivious to his presence and his plea.
The ghost's form began to dissipate, then, his edges softening and merging with the shadows that played across the oak-paneled walls. He moved towards the eastern windows, his steps slow and faltering, never touching the ground that he hovers inches above, even if each facsimile of a step took an immense effort. As he neared the glass, his body grew more ethereal, fading with each passing moment. With a final, soft sigh that escaped his lips, barely audible, a sound filled with centuries of regret and unfulfilled longing. His fingers, now barely more than wisps of mist, brushed against the cool glass of the window, leaving no mark.
For a moment, he lingered, a faint, shimmering outline against the bright white paint of the upper walls. His eyes closed, and a single tear, glistening like a drop of morning dew, fell from his cheek and vanished before it could touch the ground. At that exact moment, the ghost's form wafted upwards, merging with the streams of sunlight that poured through the windows. He became one with the light, a shimmering, ghostly presence that slowly diffused into the morning air. His sorrow, his pain, all that had tied him to this place, seemed to dissolve with him, leaving behind a faint, lingering chill that soon faded.
The Hometown Diner returned to its usual rhythm, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices resuming their dominance. No one noticed the absence of the spectral presence, and life continued as it always had. Outside, the horizon stretched on, endless and indifferent, as the ghost's final traces vanished into the ether, his sad and silent departure leaving behind only the faintest echo of his presence, and a peaceful solitude for Freya to enjoy her meal. In a way, she had succeeded. What more could one inflict upon a poor soul that is more violent than ignorance and forced solitude in despair? Inadvertantly, or not, it worked.
Freya finishes off her steaks, wipes her mouth, puts a few bills down to pay the bill and gets to her feet with a stretch. Maybe there'll be better reception outside.. under the awning is her thought as she makes her way to the door, trying to text again.
As the last traces of the ghost dissolved into the morning light, a profound stillness settled over the Hometown Diner. The familiar sounds of clinking cutlery and murmured conversations faded into a deep, pervasive silence. The air, once filled with the comforting scents of home-cooked meals, now felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from the room. Something less nostalgic for Freya, who had somehow found comfort and reminisced about home with it.
One by one, the patrons finished their meals and left, unaware of the spectral presence that had briefly shared their space. The young woman in the corner among them, busy with her phone more so than the threat that could've come to pass. Her footsteps echoe softly towards the door. Behind her, the waitstaff, having cleared the a majority of the tables after the morning rush, began to wrap up their tasks for the morning. The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow through the eastern windows, bathing the room in a soft, golden light. The oak paneling gleamed, and the white walls seemed to shine with renewed brightness.
The firepit outside flickered, its flames dancing gently in the breeze, casting playful shadows on the pergola. The horizon stretched out endlessly, serene and undisturbed, a promise of new beginnings and peaceful days ahead. With the last customer, Freya, gone and the final table wiped clean, the waitstaff now ran a skeleton crew, most of them disappearing behind the backroom to prepare brunch, then lunch rush - the hardest task of their days yet still ahead of them. In that stillness, the diner felt different, lighter, brighter, as if it had been cleansed of its unseen burden, awaited the return of its patrons.
It was a place of warmth and comfort once more, a haven for the living, and Freya, when she finally left, would find that her phone signal works once again. A miracle! Just for her. Only for her. The reason why it had not worked, gone to the ether, haunting elsewhere, another person, another time. Yet, maybe, in his perpetual baleful ire and grudge, it would not forget Freya's face.
For now, all is well.