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Aristotles Ghost Banishing 240522
Under the haunting glow of a waxing gibbous moon, Aristotle and Meridith find themselves standing amidst the eerie calm of Arkwright Cemetery, confronted by the spectral menace of three ghostly pirates. The air, heavy with the scent of the unearthed and the sound of an otherworldly piano melody, sets the stage for a night of ghostly confrontation. The spectral adversaries, garbed in a decaying mix of ballroom and buccaneer, brandish their ethereal weapons menacingly. Despite the initial shock, Aristotle, aided by the unflappable Meridith, decides to face the apparitions head-on. An exchange of spectral gunfire and blade clashes ensues, with Meridith revealing the key to their banishment lies not in physical combat, but in music. Aristotle, nursing a shoulder burned by ghostly flintlock shots, finds both his mettle and his melody tested in the spectral skirmish.
As the night wears on, their otherworldly foes relentless, Aristotle and Meridith's battle takes a turn when Meridith, with a strategy as bold as it is unexpected, selects Mariah Carey’s "All I Want for Christmas Is You" as their auditory weapon. Amidst the surreal backdrop of a graveyard at night, Aristotle’s voice joins the pop melody in a bizarre, yet strangely fitting, harmonious duel against the paranormal. The spectral pirates, unable to withstand the combined might of sword, shot, and song, ultimately succumb. They convulse into a singular vortex of ghostly energy, spiraling faster and faster, before being unceremoniously banished back into the earth from whence they came. The night, once filled with the tension of battle and the strange juxtaposition of seasonal music against a macabre setting, eases into a quiet calm. Aristotle and Meridith, standing amidst the silent gravestones, are left to reflect on a night where pirate ghosts were bested by the unlikely duo of blade and ballad.
(Aristotle's ghost banishing)
[Tue May 21 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 67F(19C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
"Cant complain," Aristotle starts to say, before he finds himself coming to a halt in speech by the haunting, piano melody that begins to play around the graveyard. "...Woah, that's... gonna guess that's not normal." He then adds, before those three specrals begin to raise up. He takes a step back, surprised by what he sees, and an appreciative glance is given to Meridith. "...Hey, thanks again for showing up. I think I'm a little over my head, here."
Meridith shakes her head. "These little bastards have been tormenting us for some time," she complains. Somewhat laissez faire about the whole thing, honestly. She gestures gently and as the spectrals rise she takes a protective stance beside Aristotle. "Well, make up your mind on how you're gonna help. I usually just fight them," she explains.
Aristotle's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into him, there's no visible wound.
It seems Aristotle doesn't get the chance to answer quickly, before the spectral materialiezes in front of him long enough to fire a shot that burns at his shoulder. "Gah, fuck!" He exclaims, hand going to his shoulder despite there being no visible wound. He wipes at his shoulder, eyes returning to Meridith before registering her gear. "...Well, shit, I don't know how to banish a ghost, so... yeah if fighting is what you do then I can shoot one." He decides. His free hand then goes for his holster, and he tugs out his pistol. "Fuck that hurt." He then bitches.
Meridith chuckles softly, she springs forth and slashes her blade through the flintlock wielder, blade cutting clean as it retreats back into the shadows. She pivots lightly on her feet and shrugs gently at Aristotle. "Music is the key for these ones, but you have to burn out their energy some."
"Music is the key?" Aristotle echoes, curiously, watching Meridith slice her blade through the spectral wielder. "Does that mean we have to sing to them? Like a little graveyard lullaby?" He asks. He's a bit amused by it, though not poking fun as he aims his pistol at one of the spectral forms before they fade from view for the moment.
Meridith shrugs gently. "I will not be singing," she insists to Aristotle. "But you may if you wish to," she offers, blade flicking around some, head on a swivel.
The dual-knife wielder disappears before her arms suddenly emerge from the ground, stabing into the feet of Aristotle to keep him in place as the cutlass wielder swoops forward.
"And my dreams of starring in a duet tragically dashed by the blade of a rapier." Aristotle says, his comment in jest. His laughter is cut short, though, turned to an angry sounding scream of pain as his foot decides to house a spectral blade. He swears in a hiss as he buckles down to his knee, and instinctively he aims his pistol to fire at the arms in the ground. Naturally, the bullet passes through the spirit, but does enough to at least dispel it for now.
Meridith raises a brow at Aristotle. "Dork, didn't you graduate recently?" she asks, making small talk before his scream. She springs forward at the cutlass wielder who approaches him menacingly, engaging him in swordplay./
When Meridith engages that spectral in swordplay, Aristotle tends to his foot. Though, like the bullet he'd taken moments before, there's no wound. "Okay. I either hate ghosts or I hate pirates, because these spirits fucking suck." He says. He aims his gun at the spirit, but given Meridith close by, he opts not to fire. That gun gets holstered, and instead he pulls out a blade. Quieter.
Aristotle's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into him, there's no visible wound.
Meridith snorts at Aristotle. "Consider this educational," she explains. She effortlessly moves to give Aristotle a clean shot. Like she's used to such things. But as the ambusher appears she pivots, flashing past him to stab upon his attacker. "Back off!"
Another shot, to the /same shoulder/ no less, has Aristotle recoiling a bit from the force. He lunges forward with his dagger-wielded hand to jab at the spirit, likely at the same time Meridith does. While his own dagger probably wouldn't do much, his paired with Meridith's rapier is probably enough to temporarily dispel it. He huffs, "Jesus, it's like they don't even see you here." He says. Then, finding a moment to joke, asks, "Sure you don't wanna try that graveyard lullaby? You'll catch them off guard."
Meridith nods to Aristotle. "They won't, they're tied to you. You start it, you end it. I'm just here to be helpful," she insists to Aristotle. Letting out a little laugh. She pivots back a little bit. "Catch your breath, play the part."
Aristotle's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into him, there's no visible wound.
"This'll be a long night, then." Aristotle says with an exhale at Meridith's words. He nods, though, accepting his part to play, and begins to brace himself. And, again, that /same fucking shoulder/ is shot at. While it leaves no wound, the repeated burning shot has his arm going a bit numb. He snarls in an angered huff and lashes out with his dagger, slicing through the spirit to little effect. "Next time I'm bringing holy water." He says in a grunt.
Meridith laughs. "Tapwater'll do just as good, as will...salt. No matter what sea it's from," she sticks her tongue out into the night. She twists around, blade flashing against the spectres which appear. "Consider guarding your shoulder some!"
"Little late for that." Aristotle says, lamenting his shoulder as his head moves on a swival, trying his best not to get caught off guard. Blade held close to his chest, he carefully circles while staying close to Meridith. "How's class going, by the way?" He wonders.
Meridith shrugs gently. "Fine enough. I'm keeping my grades up," she offers, circling around him slowly.
The three spirits surround Aristotle, attacking and harrying him from all sides.
Meridith says "You graduated, right?"
That attempt at keeping Aristotle's alertness held high seems to have paid off, because when he's surrounded, he's not as fucked as he would be if he were caught off guard. "Woah," he quietly says. As they attack, he does his best to avoid, but isn't as fast as some of the more experienced combatants. Especially with ghosts. He takes some hits that pass through him but leave no wounds, and he lashes out with his blade to try and cut through some of the spectrals. "Yeah!" He manages to say, answering Meridith as best he can through grunts of effort and grits of pain.
Meridith is there as best she can be. "How was that, any blood offerings or whatever?" she asks as she does not seem phased by the twist in fighting, holding up the casual conversation as she flashes her blade against the spirits. She pivots protective about someone.
Meridith is there as best she can be. "How was that, any blood offerings or whatever?" she asks as she does not seem phased by the twist in fighting, holding up the casual conversation as she flashes her blade against the spirits. She pivots protective about someone
Meridith is there as best she can be. "How was that, any blood offerings or whatever?" she asks as she does not seem phased by the twist in fighting, holding up the casual conversation as she flashes her blade against the spirits. She pivots protective about Aristotle
The three spirits encircle the group, flicking in and out of reality as they coral them.
A little breath of relief is given when Meridith protectively stands before him. He continues to twist his blade about to lash back at his attackers, careful not to have her caught in the crossfire. "Graduation? It was alright," he says, taking the time to catch his breathing in between speaking. "No sacrifices or anything like that, but graduating top of the class calmed my family down which was nice." He says. "Back in their good graces." Aristotle explains.
Meridith nods to Aristotle. "Well that's good," she offers some as she moves defensively in front of him, blade ready. She's always quite ready to be in the correct position, protective and letting Aristotle act without concern, that is, ideally. She pivots slowly around him and gazes at the spirits as they coral. "Here we go." She snags her phone and begins to blast out...All I Want For Christmas Is You. She simply shrugs at him
Aristotle barks a little laugh at Meridith's song choice, and he can't help but admit. "That's the second time I've heard this song." He says. He's lashing out with his blade as the song plays on Meridith's song, and as Mariah sings on the device, so too does he. He's a pretty lovely voice, in all actuality, words coming out with a mournful tune, though it's influenced by the sharp exhales and inhales that he gives from the effort given in trying to stab at spectral spirits. "C'mon, banish already." He says in between verses, before continuing to sing along the melody.
The three spirits begin to convulse and shake, they quickly move to grip each other, forming a tight circle as they spin faster and faster, strange orchestral music flowing through the air from nowhere before suddenly they are sucked down into the ground and vanish.
As the night wears on, their otherworldly foes relentless, Aristotle and Meridith's battle takes a turn when Meridith, with a strategy as bold as it is unexpected, selects Mariah Carey’s "All I Want for Christmas Is You" as their auditory weapon. Amidst the surreal backdrop of a graveyard at night, Aristotle’s voice joins the pop melody in a bizarre, yet strangely fitting, harmonious duel against the paranormal. The spectral pirates, unable to withstand the combined might of sword, shot, and song, ultimately succumb. They convulse into a singular vortex of ghostly energy, spiraling faster and faster, before being unceremoniously banished back into the earth from whence they came. The night, once filled with the tension of battle and the strange juxtaposition of seasonal music against a macabre setting, eases into a quiet calm. Aristotle and Meridith, standing amidst the silent gravestones, are left to reflect on a night where pirate ghosts were bested by the unlikely duo of blade and ballad.
(Aristotle's ghost banishing)
[Tue May 21 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 67F(19C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
"Cant complain," Aristotle starts to say, before he finds himself coming to a halt in speech by the haunting, piano melody that begins to play around the graveyard. "...Woah, that's... gonna guess that's not normal." He then adds, before those three specrals begin to raise up. He takes a step back, surprised by what he sees, and an appreciative glance is given to Meridith. "...Hey, thanks again for showing up. I think I'm a little over my head, here."
Meridith shakes her head. "These little bastards have been tormenting us for some time," she complains. Somewhat laissez faire about the whole thing, honestly. She gestures gently and as the spectrals rise she takes a protective stance beside Aristotle. "Well, make up your mind on how you're gonna help. I usually just fight them," she explains.
Aristotle's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into him, there's no visible wound.
It seems Aristotle doesn't get the chance to answer quickly, before the spectral materialiezes in front of him long enough to fire a shot that burns at his shoulder. "Gah, fuck!" He exclaims, hand going to his shoulder despite there being no visible wound. He wipes at his shoulder, eyes returning to Meridith before registering her gear. "...Well, shit, I don't know how to banish a ghost, so... yeah if fighting is what you do then I can shoot one." He decides. His free hand then goes for his holster, and he tugs out his pistol. "Fuck that hurt." He then bitches.
Meridith chuckles softly, she springs forth and slashes her blade through the flintlock wielder, blade cutting clean as it retreats back into the shadows. She pivots lightly on her feet and shrugs gently at Aristotle. "Music is the key for these ones, but you have to burn out their energy some."
"Music is the key?" Aristotle echoes, curiously, watching Meridith slice her blade through the spectral wielder. "Does that mean we have to sing to them? Like a little graveyard lullaby?" He asks. He's a bit amused by it, though not poking fun as he aims his pistol at one of the spectral forms before they fade from view for the moment.
Meridith shrugs gently. "I will not be singing," she insists to Aristotle. "But you may if you wish to," she offers, blade flicking around some, head on a swivel.
The dual-knife wielder disappears before her arms suddenly emerge from the ground, stabing into the feet of Aristotle to keep him in place as the cutlass wielder swoops forward.
"And my dreams of starring in a duet tragically dashed by the blade of a rapier." Aristotle says, his comment in jest. His laughter is cut short, though, turned to an angry sounding scream of pain as his foot decides to house a spectral blade. He swears in a hiss as he buckles down to his knee, and instinctively he aims his pistol to fire at the arms in the ground. Naturally, the bullet passes through the spirit, but does enough to at least dispel it for now.
Meridith raises a brow at Aristotle. "Dork, didn't you graduate recently?" she asks, making small talk before his scream. She springs forward at the cutlass wielder who approaches him menacingly, engaging him in swordplay./
When Meridith engages that spectral in swordplay, Aristotle tends to his foot. Though, like the bullet he'd taken moments before, there's no wound. "Okay. I either hate ghosts or I hate pirates, because these spirits fucking suck." He says. He aims his gun at the spirit, but given Meridith close by, he opts not to fire. That gun gets holstered, and instead he pulls out a blade. Quieter.
Aristotle's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into him, there's no visible wound.
Meridith snorts at Aristotle. "Consider this educational," she explains. She effortlessly moves to give Aristotle a clean shot. Like she's used to such things. But as the ambusher appears she pivots, flashing past him to stab upon his attacker. "Back off!"
Another shot, to the /same shoulder/ no less, has Aristotle recoiling a bit from the force. He lunges forward with his dagger-wielded hand to jab at the spirit, likely at the same time Meridith does. While his own dagger probably wouldn't do much, his paired with Meridith's rapier is probably enough to temporarily dispel it. He huffs, "Jesus, it's like they don't even see you here." He says. Then, finding a moment to joke, asks, "Sure you don't wanna try that graveyard lullaby? You'll catch them off guard."
Meridith nods to Aristotle. "They won't, they're tied to you. You start it, you end it. I'm just here to be helpful," she insists to Aristotle. Letting out a little laugh. She pivots back a little bit. "Catch your breath, play the part."
Aristotle's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into him, there's no visible wound.
"This'll be a long night, then." Aristotle says with an exhale at Meridith's words. He nods, though, accepting his part to play, and begins to brace himself. And, again, that /same fucking shoulder/ is shot at. While it leaves no wound, the repeated burning shot has his arm going a bit numb. He snarls in an angered huff and lashes out with his dagger, slicing through the spirit to little effect. "Next time I'm bringing holy water." He says in a grunt.
Meridith laughs. "Tapwater'll do just as good, as will...salt. No matter what sea it's from," she sticks her tongue out into the night. She twists around, blade flashing against the spectres which appear. "Consider guarding your shoulder some!"
"Little late for that." Aristotle says, lamenting his shoulder as his head moves on a swival, trying his best not to get caught off guard. Blade held close to his chest, he carefully circles while staying close to Meridith. "How's class going, by the way?" He wonders.
Meridith shrugs gently. "Fine enough. I'm keeping my grades up," she offers, circling around him slowly.
The three spirits surround Aristotle, attacking and harrying him from all sides.
Meridith says "You graduated, right?"
That attempt at keeping Aristotle's alertness held high seems to have paid off, because when he's surrounded, he's not as fucked as he would be if he were caught off guard. "Woah," he quietly says. As they attack, he does his best to avoid, but isn't as fast as some of the more experienced combatants. Especially with ghosts. He takes some hits that pass through him but leave no wounds, and he lashes out with his blade to try and cut through some of the spectrals. "Yeah!" He manages to say, answering Meridith as best he can through grunts of effort and grits of pain.
Meridith is there as best she can be. "How was that, any blood offerings or whatever?" she asks as she does not seem phased by the twist in fighting, holding up the casual conversation as she flashes her blade against the spirits. She pivots protective about someone.
Meridith is there as best she can be. "How was that, any blood offerings or whatever?" she asks as she does not seem phased by the twist in fighting, holding up the casual conversation as she flashes her blade against the spirits. She pivots protective about someone
Meridith is there as best she can be. "How was that, any blood offerings or whatever?" she asks as she does not seem phased by the twist in fighting, holding up the casual conversation as she flashes her blade against the spirits. She pivots protective about Aristotle
The three spirits encircle the group, flicking in and out of reality as they coral them.
A little breath of relief is given when Meridith protectively stands before him. He continues to twist his blade about to lash back at his attackers, careful not to have her caught in the crossfire. "Graduation? It was alright," he says, taking the time to catch his breathing in between speaking. "No sacrifices or anything like that, but graduating top of the class calmed my family down which was nice." He says. "Back in their good graces." Aristotle explains.
Meridith nods to Aristotle. "Well that's good," she offers some as she moves defensively in front of him, blade ready. She's always quite ready to be in the correct position, protective and letting Aristotle act without concern, that is, ideally. She pivots slowly around him and gazes at the spirits as they coral. "Here we go." She snags her phone and begins to blast out...All I Want For Christmas Is You. She simply shrugs at him
Aristotle barks a little laugh at Meridith's song choice, and he can't help but admit. "That's the second time I've heard this song." He says. He's lashing out with his blade as the song plays on Meridith's song, and as Mariah sings on the device, so too does he. He's a pretty lovely voice, in all actuality, words coming out with a mournful tune, though it's influenced by the sharp exhales and inhales that he gives from the effort given in trying to stab at spectral spirits. "C'mon, banish already." He says in between verses, before continuing to sing along the melody.
The three spirits begin to convulse and shake, they quickly move to grip each other, forming a tight circle as they spin faster and faster, strange orchestral music flowing through the air from nowhere before suddenly they are sucked down into the ground and vanish.