Encounterlogs
Liams Odd Encounter Sr Elias 250130
In the plush comfort of their living room, Liam and Siofra are jolted away from their casual conversation by a chilling, nearly imperceptible shift in the atmosphere, marking the beginning of an extraordinary encounter. What begins as a subtle change—strange depressions in the carpet and an unsettling pulse beneath the creamy green of the walls—quickly spirals into a palpable sense of dread. The living room’s inviting warmth is usurped by a creeping chill, and the once benign pit couch becomes the epicenter of a sinister presence. As bottles of alcohol stand witness to the scene, this eerie ambiance is magnified by a disembodied voice that fills the room with a haunting laugh. It is then that Siofra, with a luminous spine revealed beneath her cardigan, decides to confront the unknown entity with a taser, an act both brave and desperate in the face of their spectral adversary.
The entity’s reaction to Siofra’s defiance is swift and volatile. The room contracts around them as if alive, its laughter escalating into a deafening chorus of hysteria. Caught between bewilderment and fear, Liam and Siofra find themselves grappling with the realization that they are facing an angered spirit, one with grievances echoing from beyond the grave. Desperate, Siofra attempts a ritual involving a wilted bouquet, offering peace to the spirit, while Liam, in a display of pragmatic solidarity, fetches salt in an attempt to contain or ward off the spirit. Their efforts culminate in a moment of unexpected tenderness—Siofra’s symbolic gesture appeases the lost soul, transforming its anger into a resonant sorrow and gratitude, allowing it to move on. Their living room, once a site of supernatural turmoil, returns to a state of normalcy, leaving Liam and Siofra to reflect on the night’s harrowing events, with Siofra expressing a mix of relief and disappointment at the peaceful resolution. Through courage and a touch of the unorthodox, they manage to navigate and quell the wrath of a forgotten spirit, affirming the power of empathy and understanding even in the face of the inexplicable.
(Liam's odd encounter(SRElias):SRElias)
[Wed Jan 29 2025]
In A Plushly Carpeted Living Room Dedicated To A Pit Couch
As one enters into the apartment they immediately find themselves on a dusty square of hardwood, a small shoerack just to their left. Outside of that little island is an ocean of exremely plush beige carpet, the kind in which you can feel yourself sinking almost an inch in with every single step. The walls are painted over with a creamy green shade, and generally left entirely bare otherwise. Outside of that, the room is mostly arranged around a massive pit couch, the remainder of the space of the room only lightly decorated to keep walking paths clear, with the exception of the northeastern corner of the room being deficated to a small shrine of potted plants.
It is night, about -3F(-19C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Siofra's eyes flutter open from a rest, massing the furrows behind her cheekbones where the second skin would connect. "It's shite, sure as. My pores were dreadful a year and a bit ago before I went back to fix them. The change is that my body uses water well- like a toad, right?"
Liam lies back within the indented square of his pit couch, within apartment 104 of Elm. He is vaguely surrounded by bottles and glasses of alchol in various degrees of fullness, and dressed jn only sweatpants, apparently having an entirely healthy self-care day, surely. Liam chats idly with Siofra where she sits at the edge of the couch, theoretically soon to join him.
Siofra's glowing spine and its too many ribs glow a dim red through her cardigan. "What were the puppies like?"
"Cute, they'd have to be. They were puppies. Think I'd named them something stupid in context, but made perfect sense within the dream. I really can't say, its fuzzy as hell." Liam answers, "You fixed your pores? Or you got your godfather to?"
The first sign that something was wrong came with the air, a shift so subtle that it is barely noticed at first, but it is first sensed by Siofra. The warmth of the living room that gave way to a creeping chill, the kind that settled in deep, like a whisper against the skin. usually a place of comfort, now felt... wrong. The thick beige carpet, so soft it swallowed footsteps, bore strange depressions, shallow, shifting indents, as though unseen hands were pressing into the fibers. With any movement from Liam or Siofra, the indents disappeared, only to reappear elsewhere, closer each time. The walls, painted a creamy green, seemed to pulse, just slightly, as though something lurked beneath the surface, waiting. If this wasn't creepy enough, then came the groan. The deep, low protest of the pit couch as if a great weight had settled onto it. The cushions slumped, indenting under an invisible presence. Then, a whisper. Low, guttural, slithering beneath the edges of perception. It wasnt a voice, not exactly, but perhaps a feeling. The shadows in the corners lengthened, stretching toward them like fingers. The walls shuddered. And then, all at once, the whisper became a scream.
"Favor of The Circus, sure." Siofra mumbles, wetting chapped lips. "Canne get me da to do that himself, just his presence would-"
Liam sits up headache inducingly fast, especially after all the alcohol he'd consumed today. He groans, a hand thrown to his forehead as the warping of the room is made all the worse by the wooziness of his head. "Am I drunk or are you seeing this too?" Liam gives his walls a glare. "I JUST painted you. And you turn against me? Ungrateful."
Siofra screams- a short burst of surprise before It begins to clown and giggle sharply. She whips out a taser from bulging pockets and sets off the pops in the air above her as she backs up from the pit of the couch and half-sets on her feet.
"ALRIGHTY NOW, UHH-"
Siofra points the taser at the pit of the couch, and half-heartedly threatens it. "Yer couch is a craic bit'o pain, it is?"
Siofra totally tases the couch now.
Siofra's scream doubles down on Liam' headache, and he flinches back, groaning, flopping onto the couch itself. "God, I hope not. Do you know any witchery, Domino?"
Siofra says "A little? Banishment would off me quick-like."
The way the walls seem to ripple as though something massive is shifting just beneath the surface, it isn't something that moves the way it does... or move at all for that matter. The lights flicker violently in response. The air in the room tightens, pressing in around them like a held breath. The whispering returns, a shivering sound that snakes into their ears, unintelligible but undeniably furious. Another groan, louder this time. The plants in the corner shudder violently, their leaves curling inward, as if recoiling from something neither of them can see. And then something moves. A shape, just barely visible, shifting within the rippling walls. The whispering turns to a low, guttural growl. Then there is a phantom laughter when Siofra points her taser at the couch, threatening the furniture. The laughter is wrong. It spills from the shifting walls and the sinking couch in jagged bursts, high-pitched and broken, like a warped recording of something that was once human. It overlaps itself, giggles stacking on top of each other until they turn into a chorus of sharp, grating hysteria. The laughter sharpens, shifting direction, no longer coming from the couch but from the walls, the plants, the air itself. Its close, too close, right behind them.
"Now the Domino here falls others like a cute hoor, she does.." Siofra 's dread smile creeps uncertain, "But i dinnae how ta' deal with yer screamin' fer yer tolg, here?"
Siofra's English steadily retracts into its ancient Gaelic as the chorus nears a verse.
Ludicrously creepy laughter coming from every conceivable surface is very quick to sober anyone up, and that includes Liam. He rolls himself out of the couch to pad over to stand by Siofra, a silent snarl curling his lips. More awake and aware, he is intensely displeased with the violation of his personal territory by such a magical phenomena, and after a quick glance down at his phone, grumbles out a "No. And I'm obviously no witch myself. We're gonna have to hope this thing can be solved by dunderheaded brute force, or that we can endure it til it gets bored."
Siofra taps the trigger on her taser like a snap for thought as she tries to rein in her thoughts among the noise. "Alright, alright ye' fake changelet, what's first step? Call arcanist- sure look, skip that step-"
Siofra says "Right, so- in worst case I'll banish eht with my intent but ye need to watch over me unconscious little body in that case, okay?"
Siofra rushes over to the door to open it.
The laughter doesn't stop. It bounces off the walls, seeping out from the carpet, bubbling up from the very air around them. Its layered overlapping voices, high and low, distant and far too close. It shifts like its searching for the perfect pitch to make their teeth rattle. Smoke still gently drifting from the couch as Siofra let out her brutal assault against it, it becomes obvious that something is going to have to be done. The pit couch shudders again, the fabric warping as if something massive was rolling just beneath the surface. Then, the giggling shifts turning mocking. A new voice emerges, cutting through the chaos, a low and rasping wheeze that somehow still carries the same sharp-edged amusement. "Ohhh, little things, little things, you are so lost in the dark, arent you?" The words crawl. They arent spoken so much as slithered into their ears, burrowing deep. A sharp wind howls through the apartment, sending papers flying and rattling the plants in the corner. The air tightens, crushing, squeezing, pushing in. It feels as if the as if the room shrinks around them, the ceiling pressing lower, the walls closing in. When Siofra heads to the door, the sound of the door frame groans sharply, as if the frame has compacted around the door to some degree. The laughter rises to a fever pitch. Something is about to break.
"Fuck me. I think we're heading towards that worst cast scenario, Domino." Liam winces, holding his hands over his ears, for all the good that will do when the voice isn't truly sound and his ears aren't whats really being assaulted. He backs away warily from... the couch, the walls, aiming to zero in the distance to Siofra. "Ghost, its gotta be. I heard the former owner of this apartment is dead. Maybe related? I don't... I don't know what to do about ghosts. If you've got something, do it-I'll protect you long as neccessary." Liam sounds as lost as the ghost insisted he was.
Siofra takes a shaky breath as she sharply retracts her hand from the door, the Fae standard of beauty setting her gawk exaggerated with too full eyes and their comparably beady pupils and a tooth hooked around a lip. "Liam, my bai- go do some scut work and get yer salt from yer kitchen. I've got a shite psychic presence but that's where it may be."
Siofra says "If ye've not got much salt to make a ring then just wave it about, alright?"
Siofra makes a loose lasso'ing mime, envisioning salt.
The plush carpet swallowing Liam's footsteps even as the apartment seems to twist around him.The laughter doesn't stop. It slithers through the air, clinging to his skin like damp static, shifting and whispering now, threading between the walls, seeping into his ears like fingers digging into soft clay. "Run, run, run, little thing. But where will you go?" Siofra, left standing near the warped door, sways on her feet but holds firm. A force presses against her, a weight leaning into her presence something testing her, something watching.
Liam skiddadles off at Siofra's command, every step through the clinging carpet as tiring or more so than a step through sand, almost as if he's running in slow motion. As a bachelor who cooks literally nothing for himself, Liam unfortunately only has a minimal amount of salt available, which he returns to begin throwing around as soon as he can. Hopefully soon enough.
Siofra takes out a shriveled and wilted bouquet of flowers from her pant leg and extends them, all three vines presented like a gift. "Deadly respect fer ye, whimsy one. C'mere to me, 'ere taek and respond to the bell of aos sidhe and respond."
As soon as the first grains of salt scatter across the warped carpet, the spirit reacts violently. The laughter turns to an inhuman shriek, like a chorus of voices being dragged through a steel grinder. The walls ripple outward as if something massive just recoiled, and the air snaps, a sudden vacuum sucking inward before blasting out with the force of an unseen gust. With the violent reaction from the spirit, Liam is tossed to the ground. Fortunately for him, the plush carpeting takes the blunt of the fall. A shadow, long, jagged, and wrong, lurches out of the pit couch, its form warping too fast for the eye to follow. It reels backward, skittering up the walls like a dying spider, flinching away from every grain of salt like its been burned. The shriek twists into something else. Anger. "Thief" the voice howls, shuddering through the air like broken glass. "Liar. You called me whimsy, but I was robbed. I was drowned. I was forgotten." It lashes out, but the moment it moves toward Siofra, its gaze catches on the dead flowers in her hands. Everything stops. The walls stop shaking. The air goes still. For a moment, a breath of silence. A different sound breaks through. A low, crooning sob. A sound of grief. The spirit hesitates. The shadows stagger. It is no longer simply rage. Something else has taken hold.
Liam yelps as he's tumbled ass over teakettle backwards, the humble remains of salt in his hands falling in a clump to the carpet. He thunks down onto his back and loses his breath, trying to gasp for air-that eventually being the only noise breaking the silence.
Siofra's neck bends over an urge as she takes the bouquet to clasp into both hands. A black heart, backlit by her spine, beats rapidly under her sternum. "Oul departed, dear dead, I don't remember for I canne know beyond I am told. These flowers are mine to give, and for them, I would ask not that ye' return rage."
Siofra purses her lips in a quick thought. "If ye've words, I will remember."
Siofra checks her belt awkwardly.
The silence that follows is oppressive, as if the very air is holding its breath, waiting. The shadows that had once twisted violently around the room now hover, still as a stone, retreating into every crevice and corner. The only sounds are Liam's ragged breathing. The spirit lingers. There is a shift, a strange pull, like an invisible tug at the very core of the space, a slow drift towards Siofra. Its form shudders, the sharp edges of its shadow flickering between the walls as it battles with its rage, its sorrow. The sobs soften, turning into whispers, words that seem familiar but are lost on the edge of understanding. "Give....give..." it whispers, "...I was...forgotten... I was....drown... in the dark." It's no longer a furious thing, but something much older, something lost. The rage is still there, buried beneath layers of grief and despair. The spirit drifts closer to Siofra, the faint outline of its form trembling as if searching for something.
Once Liam has caught his breath, he sloooowly rolls over to push himself up to his feet. He's not well suited for this battle, but it won't prevent him from being ready to take whatever action he can. He moves forward carefully towards Siofra and the spirit, saying nothing in fear of ruining her ritual.
Siofra extends the wrapped-end of the bouquet to the ghost like a rifle. "Oh please don't go an snap me neck." She whispers more to herself than anyone else, as she releases an arm to embrace the psychic presence and give it a kiss.
As Siofra offers the bouquet to the spirit, the air thickens with a charged energy, tension crackling between her and the entity that now seems to linger in suspended animation. Liam stands behind her, a silent guardian, his feet silent against the soft carpet. But for now, everything stays still. The room, once writhing with anger, now seems to be holding its breath. The shadows twist, almost like they are reaching out, but the spirit remains silent, waiting. The bouquet quivers, and for a heartbeat, it seems like the room itself holds its breath. And then the kiss. The spirit responds. A gust of cold wind spirals out from it, icy tendrils wrapping around the bouquets dead flowers, curling and reaching, like its drawn to the offering. A shadow lashes outward but quivers when it makes contact with the bouquet. The spirit's form solidifies for a moment, a hazy visage of a face twisted with agony, but then it softens. The sharpness of its form fades, replaced with something quieter, a mere trace of a presence that lingers. "I....remember." the voice echoes through the air, soft and broken, no longer a scream but a sigh. The coldness in the room begins to recede, the oppressive atmosphere lightening as if its released from a burden. The ghost whispers again, but now its grateful, its voice no longer a scream but a murmur. "Thank you" With the weight lifted, the room seems to breathe, the oppressive force easing, the once malevolent presence now just a memory, fading into the air. Whatever it wanted, whatever grief, anger, and suffering it endured, it seems that time is over.
Siofra drops the icy bouquet and holds a hand to her lips. "Eeuuuggh... Liam- Eggh.."
Siofra says "I dinnae get to hurt the ghost."
"Thank god." Liam lets out an incredibly relieved sigh, dragging his hands across his face. "We didn't die. We laid it to rest. We're whole, hale, and hearty. Why are your priorities always such a mess?" Liam can't help but laugh, a loud and relieved sound.
The entity’s reaction to Siofra’s defiance is swift and volatile. The room contracts around them as if alive, its laughter escalating into a deafening chorus of hysteria. Caught between bewilderment and fear, Liam and Siofra find themselves grappling with the realization that they are facing an angered spirit, one with grievances echoing from beyond the grave. Desperate, Siofra attempts a ritual involving a wilted bouquet, offering peace to the spirit, while Liam, in a display of pragmatic solidarity, fetches salt in an attempt to contain or ward off the spirit. Their efforts culminate in a moment of unexpected tenderness—Siofra’s symbolic gesture appeases the lost soul, transforming its anger into a resonant sorrow and gratitude, allowing it to move on. Their living room, once a site of supernatural turmoil, returns to a state of normalcy, leaving Liam and Siofra to reflect on the night’s harrowing events, with Siofra expressing a mix of relief and disappointment at the peaceful resolution. Through courage and a touch of the unorthodox, they manage to navigate and quell the wrath of a forgotten spirit, affirming the power of empathy and understanding even in the face of the inexplicable.
(Liam's odd encounter(SRElias):SRElias)
[Wed Jan 29 2025]
In A Plushly Carpeted Living Room Dedicated To A Pit Couch
As one enters into the apartment they immediately find themselves on a dusty square of hardwood, a small shoerack just to their left. Outside of that little island is an ocean of exremely plush beige carpet, the kind in which you can feel yourself sinking almost an inch in with every single step. The walls are painted over with a creamy green shade, and generally left entirely bare otherwise. Outside of that, the room is mostly arranged around a massive pit couch, the remainder of the space of the room only lightly decorated to keep walking paths clear, with the exception of the northeastern corner of the room being deficated to a small shrine of potted plants.
It is night, about -3F(-19C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Siofra's eyes flutter open from a rest, massing the furrows behind her cheekbones where the second skin would connect. "It's shite, sure as. My pores were dreadful a year and a bit ago before I went back to fix them. The change is that my body uses water well- like a toad, right?"
Liam lies back within the indented square of his pit couch, within apartment 104 of Elm. He is vaguely surrounded by bottles and glasses of alchol in various degrees of fullness, and dressed jn only sweatpants, apparently having an entirely healthy self-care day, surely. Liam chats idly with Siofra where she sits at the edge of the couch, theoretically soon to join him.
Siofra's glowing spine and its too many ribs glow a dim red through her cardigan. "What were the puppies like?"
"Cute, they'd have to be. They were puppies. Think I'd named them something stupid in context, but made perfect sense within the dream. I really can't say, its fuzzy as hell." Liam answers, "You fixed your pores? Or you got your godfather to?"
The first sign that something was wrong came with the air, a shift so subtle that it is barely noticed at first, but it is first sensed by Siofra. The warmth of the living room that gave way to a creeping chill, the kind that settled in deep, like a whisper against the skin. usually a place of comfort, now felt... wrong. The thick beige carpet, so soft it swallowed footsteps, bore strange depressions, shallow, shifting indents, as though unseen hands were pressing into the fibers. With any movement from Liam or Siofra, the indents disappeared, only to reappear elsewhere, closer each time. The walls, painted a creamy green, seemed to pulse, just slightly, as though something lurked beneath the surface, waiting. If this wasn't creepy enough, then came the groan. The deep, low protest of the pit couch as if a great weight had settled onto it. The cushions slumped, indenting under an invisible presence. Then, a whisper. Low, guttural, slithering beneath the edges of perception. It wasnt a voice, not exactly, but perhaps a feeling. The shadows in the corners lengthened, stretching toward them like fingers. The walls shuddered. And then, all at once, the whisper became a scream.
"Favor of The Circus, sure." Siofra mumbles, wetting chapped lips. "Canne get me da to do that himself, just his presence would-"
Liam sits up headache inducingly fast, especially after all the alcohol he'd consumed today. He groans, a hand thrown to his forehead as the warping of the room is made all the worse by the wooziness of his head. "Am I drunk or are you seeing this too?" Liam gives his walls a glare. "I JUST painted you. And you turn against me? Ungrateful."
Siofra screams- a short burst of surprise before It begins to clown and giggle sharply. She whips out a taser from bulging pockets and sets off the pops in the air above her as she backs up from the pit of the couch and half-sets on her feet.
"ALRIGHTY NOW, UHH-"
Siofra points the taser at the pit of the couch, and half-heartedly threatens it. "Yer couch is a craic bit'o pain, it is?"
Siofra totally tases the couch now.
Siofra's scream doubles down on Liam' headache, and he flinches back, groaning, flopping onto the couch itself. "God, I hope not. Do you know any witchery, Domino?"
Siofra says "A little? Banishment would off me quick-like."
The way the walls seem to ripple as though something massive is shifting just beneath the surface, it isn't something that moves the way it does... or move at all for that matter. The lights flicker violently in response. The air in the room tightens, pressing in around them like a held breath. The whispering returns, a shivering sound that snakes into their ears, unintelligible but undeniably furious. Another groan, louder this time. The plants in the corner shudder violently, their leaves curling inward, as if recoiling from something neither of them can see. And then something moves. A shape, just barely visible, shifting within the rippling walls. The whispering turns to a low, guttural growl. Then there is a phantom laughter when Siofra points her taser at the couch, threatening the furniture. The laughter is wrong. It spills from the shifting walls and the sinking couch in jagged bursts, high-pitched and broken, like a warped recording of something that was once human. It overlaps itself, giggles stacking on top of each other until they turn into a chorus of sharp, grating hysteria. The laughter sharpens, shifting direction, no longer coming from the couch but from the walls, the plants, the air itself. Its close, too close, right behind them.
"Now the Domino here falls others like a cute hoor, she does.." Siofra 's dread smile creeps uncertain, "But i dinnae how ta' deal with yer screamin' fer yer tolg, here?"
Siofra's English steadily retracts into its ancient Gaelic as the chorus nears a verse.
Ludicrously creepy laughter coming from every conceivable surface is very quick to sober anyone up, and that includes Liam. He rolls himself out of the couch to pad over to stand by Siofra, a silent snarl curling his lips. More awake and aware, he is intensely displeased with the violation of his personal territory by such a magical phenomena, and after a quick glance down at his phone, grumbles out a "No. And I'm obviously no witch myself. We're gonna have to hope this thing can be solved by dunderheaded brute force, or that we can endure it til it gets bored."
Siofra taps the trigger on her taser like a snap for thought as she tries to rein in her thoughts among the noise. "Alright, alright ye' fake changelet, what's first step? Call arcanist- sure look, skip that step-"
Siofra says "Right, so- in worst case I'll banish eht with my intent but ye need to watch over me unconscious little body in that case, okay?"
Siofra rushes over to the door to open it.
The laughter doesn't stop. It bounces off the walls, seeping out from the carpet, bubbling up from the very air around them. Its layered overlapping voices, high and low, distant and far too close. It shifts like its searching for the perfect pitch to make their teeth rattle. Smoke still gently drifting from the couch as Siofra let out her brutal assault against it, it becomes obvious that something is going to have to be done. The pit couch shudders again, the fabric warping as if something massive was rolling just beneath the surface. Then, the giggling shifts turning mocking. A new voice emerges, cutting through the chaos, a low and rasping wheeze that somehow still carries the same sharp-edged amusement. "Ohhh, little things, little things, you are so lost in the dark, arent you?" The words crawl. They arent spoken so much as slithered into their ears, burrowing deep. A sharp wind howls through the apartment, sending papers flying and rattling the plants in the corner. The air tightens, crushing, squeezing, pushing in. It feels as if the as if the room shrinks around them, the ceiling pressing lower, the walls closing in. When Siofra heads to the door, the sound of the door frame groans sharply, as if the frame has compacted around the door to some degree. The laughter rises to a fever pitch. Something is about to break.
"Fuck me. I think we're heading towards that worst cast scenario, Domino." Liam winces, holding his hands over his ears, for all the good that will do when the voice isn't truly sound and his ears aren't whats really being assaulted. He backs away warily from... the couch, the walls, aiming to zero in the distance to Siofra. "Ghost, its gotta be. I heard the former owner of this apartment is dead. Maybe related? I don't... I don't know what to do about ghosts. If you've got something, do it-I'll protect you long as neccessary." Liam sounds as lost as the ghost insisted he was.
Siofra takes a shaky breath as she sharply retracts her hand from the door, the Fae standard of beauty setting her gawk exaggerated with too full eyes and their comparably beady pupils and a tooth hooked around a lip. "Liam, my bai- go do some scut work and get yer salt from yer kitchen. I've got a shite psychic presence but that's where it may be."
Siofra says "If ye've not got much salt to make a ring then just wave it about, alright?"
Siofra makes a loose lasso'ing mime, envisioning salt.
The plush carpet swallowing Liam's footsteps even as the apartment seems to twist around him.The laughter doesn't stop. It slithers through the air, clinging to his skin like damp static, shifting and whispering now, threading between the walls, seeping into his ears like fingers digging into soft clay. "Run, run, run, little thing. But where will you go?" Siofra, left standing near the warped door, sways on her feet but holds firm. A force presses against her, a weight leaning into her presence something testing her, something watching.
Liam skiddadles off at Siofra's command, every step through the clinging carpet as tiring or more so than a step through sand, almost as if he's running in slow motion. As a bachelor who cooks literally nothing for himself, Liam unfortunately only has a minimal amount of salt available, which he returns to begin throwing around as soon as he can. Hopefully soon enough.
Siofra takes out a shriveled and wilted bouquet of flowers from her pant leg and extends them, all three vines presented like a gift. "Deadly respect fer ye, whimsy one. C'mere to me, 'ere taek and respond to the bell of aos sidhe and respond."
As soon as the first grains of salt scatter across the warped carpet, the spirit reacts violently. The laughter turns to an inhuman shriek, like a chorus of voices being dragged through a steel grinder. The walls ripple outward as if something massive just recoiled, and the air snaps, a sudden vacuum sucking inward before blasting out with the force of an unseen gust. With the violent reaction from the spirit, Liam is tossed to the ground. Fortunately for him, the plush carpeting takes the blunt of the fall. A shadow, long, jagged, and wrong, lurches out of the pit couch, its form warping too fast for the eye to follow. It reels backward, skittering up the walls like a dying spider, flinching away from every grain of salt like its been burned. The shriek twists into something else. Anger. "Thief" the voice howls, shuddering through the air like broken glass. "Liar. You called me whimsy, but I was robbed. I was drowned. I was forgotten." It lashes out, but the moment it moves toward Siofra, its gaze catches on the dead flowers in her hands. Everything stops. The walls stop shaking. The air goes still. For a moment, a breath of silence. A different sound breaks through. A low, crooning sob. A sound of grief. The spirit hesitates. The shadows stagger. It is no longer simply rage. Something else has taken hold.
Liam yelps as he's tumbled ass over teakettle backwards, the humble remains of salt in his hands falling in a clump to the carpet. He thunks down onto his back and loses his breath, trying to gasp for air-that eventually being the only noise breaking the silence.
Siofra's neck bends over an urge as she takes the bouquet to clasp into both hands. A black heart, backlit by her spine, beats rapidly under her sternum. "Oul departed, dear dead, I don't remember for I canne know beyond I am told. These flowers are mine to give, and for them, I would ask not that ye' return rage."
Siofra purses her lips in a quick thought. "If ye've words, I will remember."
Siofra checks her belt awkwardly.
The silence that follows is oppressive, as if the very air is holding its breath, waiting. The shadows that had once twisted violently around the room now hover, still as a stone, retreating into every crevice and corner. The only sounds are Liam's ragged breathing. The spirit lingers. There is a shift, a strange pull, like an invisible tug at the very core of the space, a slow drift towards Siofra. Its form shudders, the sharp edges of its shadow flickering between the walls as it battles with its rage, its sorrow. The sobs soften, turning into whispers, words that seem familiar but are lost on the edge of understanding. "Give....give..." it whispers, "...I was...forgotten... I was....drown... in the dark." It's no longer a furious thing, but something much older, something lost. The rage is still there, buried beneath layers of grief and despair. The spirit drifts closer to Siofra, the faint outline of its form trembling as if searching for something.
Once Liam has caught his breath, he sloooowly rolls over to push himself up to his feet. He's not well suited for this battle, but it won't prevent him from being ready to take whatever action he can. He moves forward carefully towards Siofra and the spirit, saying nothing in fear of ruining her ritual.
Siofra extends the wrapped-end of the bouquet to the ghost like a rifle. "Oh please don't go an snap me neck." She whispers more to herself than anyone else, as she releases an arm to embrace the psychic presence and give it a kiss.
As Siofra offers the bouquet to the spirit, the air thickens with a charged energy, tension crackling between her and the entity that now seems to linger in suspended animation. Liam stands behind her, a silent guardian, his feet silent against the soft carpet. But for now, everything stays still. The room, once writhing with anger, now seems to be holding its breath. The shadows twist, almost like they are reaching out, but the spirit remains silent, waiting. The bouquet quivers, and for a heartbeat, it seems like the room itself holds its breath. And then the kiss. The spirit responds. A gust of cold wind spirals out from it, icy tendrils wrapping around the bouquets dead flowers, curling and reaching, like its drawn to the offering. A shadow lashes outward but quivers when it makes contact with the bouquet. The spirit's form solidifies for a moment, a hazy visage of a face twisted with agony, but then it softens. The sharpness of its form fades, replaced with something quieter, a mere trace of a presence that lingers. "I....remember." the voice echoes through the air, soft and broken, no longer a scream but a sigh. The coldness in the room begins to recede, the oppressive atmosphere lightening as if its released from a burden. The ghost whispers again, but now its grateful, its voice no longer a scream but a murmur. "Thank you" With the weight lifted, the room seems to breathe, the oppressive force easing, the once malevolent presence now just a memory, fading into the air. Whatever it wanted, whatever grief, anger, and suffering it endured, it seems that time is over.
Siofra drops the icy bouquet and holds a hand to her lips. "Eeuuuggh... Liam- Eggh.."
Siofra says "I dinnae get to hurt the ghost."
"Thank god." Liam lets out an incredibly relieved sigh, dragging his hands across his face. "We didn't die. We laid it to rest. We're whole, hale, and hearty. Why are your priorities always such a mess?" Liam can't help but laugh, a loud and relieved sound.