Patrollogs
Irenes Ghost Banishing 241102
In the eerie ambiance of Arkwright Cemetery, a peculiar blend of individuals gathers under the veil of new moonlight, their task as uncertain as their alliance. Irene, with a subtle Hispanic accent, takes the lead with quiet authority, her interaction with Emmanuel hinting at a camaraderie tested by the supernatural. Declan, with his military background, adds an air of practical skepticism, while Neha, the newcomer with her candles and incense, introduces an element of ritualistic mystery to the group. The sudden, child-like giggling that fills the air marks the beginning of their trial. Despite their initial disorganization and the absence of preparation—evident in their lack of essential ghost-banishing supplies like iron and quartz—the group's determination doesn’t waver. Emmanuel's suggestion of pocket sand and salt as protection, though initially seeming whimsical, hints at a deep-seated belief in the power of traditional defenses against the supernatural.
The turning point arrives as the spectral presence manifests through a captivating display of blue-winged butterflies, transforming into a female form before dispersing into the night. This otherworldly spectacle prompts a shift in strategy; Irene, adopting techniques possibly learned from one Elora, urges the group to form a protective circle. Despite skepticism and the revelation of personal vulnerabilities—Neha’s admission of her parents’ indifference, and Emmanuel's cryptic reference to a sea ordeal—there’s a palpable shift toward solidarity. Emmanuel's decision to mix his blood with the protective circle, while alarming, underscores a desperation to confront the haunting head-on. As Neha resumes her ritualistic chanting, abetted by Irene's eager, if awkward, participation, the group's collective effort culminates in the spirit’s banishment. They're left to ponder the eerie silence that follows, a stark reminder of their ordeal's surreal nature and the fleeting, whimsical beauty that accompanied their ghostly adversary. Through their improvised and unorthodox methods, the group witnesses the power of unity against the unknown, even as they grapple with the personal revelations and doubts the experience unearthed.
(Irene's ghost banishing)
[Fri Nov 1 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 52F(11C) degrees, and there are a few thin white clouds in the sky. There is a new moon.
Child-like giggling begins to fill the graveyard, it comes from everywhere, filling the minds of the small gathering here only to suddenly cut off, leaving everything dead silent, not even the wind makes a sound, the distant cars passing the graveyard have been muted. Only local voices can be heard by one another.
The little 'oui' from Emmanuel has Irene quirking her lips likewise, and then she turns to someone with a knowing rise of her eyebrow, as if sharing some private joke. "Whole gang's back together," she remarks in a quiet, cheerful tone, having been engaging in some smalltalk with the others before Neha's arrival. When she sees her, she looks in that direction curiously, but without the same recognition. "Hello there," is the polite greeting she offers, lowering her flashlight politely to avoid blinding the others.
The little 'oui' from Emmanuel has Irene quirking her lips likewise, and then she turns to Declan with a knowing rise of her eyebrow, as if sharing some private joke. "Whole gang's back together," she remarks in a quiet, cheerful tone, having been engaging in some smalltalk with the others before Neha's arrival. When she sees her, she looks in that direction curiously, but without the same recognition. "Hello there," is the polite greeting she offers, lowering her flashlight politely to avoid blinding the others.
However, introductions are soon cut short by a strange and eerie giggling that surrounds their little group. Irene turns with a frown, pointing her flashlight this way and that to try and catch sight of whatever source there might be. "Fairies," she muses, in a subtle Hispanic accent. "Run into these sorts before. They made me see ... hear ... things and people that weren't there."
"Oui," Declan echoes Emmanuel unnecessarily, running fingers through his hair. He stills as the giggles make themselves known and he lowers his voice. "Going to guess those can't be shot."
Watching her steps carefully in the darkness, Neha walks in with flashlight out, and most assuredly almost blinds the first person to look her way - that's Declan, apparently, who gets a beam of light right to the eyes before she realizes and lets out an apologetic little "oh" before lowering it. "Sorry. Hello," she returns, just at the sidelines for the time being as though she's not quite used to the whole ghost banishing business enough to know what to do here. "I don't suppose anyone has iron on hand...?"
"All it takes is nearly getting yourself and others killed for the headquarters to be taking the notice of-" Emmanuel dryly explains to Irene, though cuts himself off as he takes note of Neha, "..Oh, hallo." The gang is all here, plus more, it seems! The gang is growing. Nature is healing.
At the sound of child-like giggling Emmanuel cringes, and then groans out in frustration, eyeing his car in the distance as if he might just make a run for it.
A swarm of beautiful blue winged butterflies sweep into the area and move as one to form the shape of a curvaceous female form, it moves as if to dance whimsically across the grave and as easily as it formed the butterflies scatter into thousands of directions.
The question about iron has Irene rapidly patting down her own outfit, searching for something that may be of use. "You know, that's a great idea ..." she starts to say to Neha, but the swarm of butterflies has her rapidly ducking down and covering her head. A beautiful sight, to be sure, but seems she finds it too concerning right now to fully admire. "I should've brought iron. And quartz. You never know around here."
The question has Emmanuel producing his pistol from his person, and ejecting it's magazine. He peers inside, and clucks his tongue, "Quartz," He notes, reloading the weapon and tucking it away once more. He is prepared for a different devil than the one haunting them.
Declan draws his knife, only to remember that he brought the ceramic today. "Would say steel can sometimes have an effect, but..." Back into the sheath that goes, and he can only shrug helplessly, cupping a hand over one ear.
Neha, on the other hand, does outright admire the butterflies, a soft smile flitting its way across her features as she watches their dance. As a few scatter by her, she lifts her finger as though to see if one may land upon it, Disney princess-esque. Alas, none of them do.
Instead, she just crouches upon the ground, bringing out a candle and a lighter from the messenger bag tucked under her coat, and the candle is lit up, an incense-like fragrance starting to spread from it. She's one of /those/ people.
A swarm of beautiful blue winged butterflies sweep into the area and move as one to form the shape of a curvaceous female form, it moves as if to dance whimsically across the grave and as easily as it formed the butterflies scatter into thousands of directions.
Irene looks between Declan and Emmanuel beside her, as realisation slowly dawns that no one present has apparently arrived prepared for every possible eventuality -- such as fairy ghosts. "Alright, Elora taught me a few things," she mentions, and drawing a knife of her own, she starts to draw a circle in the dirt, but pauses when she notices that Neha has arrived much better prepared, and is already doing something. She expands the circle, beckoning the two lads over closer to the Clinician, so that the circle can include all of them. "We need to draw a circle," she asserts, though she sounds unsure herself, perhaps hoping this half-authoritative voice will convince her as well. "And we need to stay standing inside it, the whole time -- it will protect us from the ghost."
"Uhh, all right. Never done this before." The virgin Declan sticks to what Irene has to do, even though there's no certainty of it working. He gets his knife back out to help in the circle drawing, making it somewhat misshapen.
Oh yeah, Irene also appears to be one of /those/ people. Type A. "Make it curvier," she beseeches Declan, pausing midline to wave her knife vaguely in the direction of his misshapen circle section.
"Circles are important, oui," Emmanuel notes in ready agreement, while rummaging through the pockets of his terrible jacket. He produces handfuls of loose pocket sand and salt, and begins to toss it about the circle. "I learned many years ago, hm? That salt helps product against the spirits," He explains away, while tossing it this way and that. At least once into the breeze, likely causing one of the others to eat a faceful of sand-salt.
A flash of light reveals a dancing figure, twirling gracefully through the air. Their voice is sing-songy as they tease, 'He loves me... he loves me not...' Each time they speak, doubt flickers in your heart about your closest relationships.
Bold of Irene to assume Neha knows what she's doing. As far as the others can tell, she's now dribbling some candle wax upon the soil, forming a careful sign while Emmanuel throws around salt and Declan makes a not-so-curvy circle nearby. It's not hard to figure out: a shape like a 3 with a wiggly little o in the distinctive 'Om' ligature in the Devanagari script before the candle goes back to the ground. She clasps her hands together after that, head bowed as in prayer, and is immediately distracted by the flash of light and the sing-songy voice.
She's also distracted by a fit of sneezing when she accidentally inhales some salt. Thanks Emmanuel.
"Why do you have pocket sand?" Declan questions Emmanuel, making his circle appropriately bodacious like Irene's ideal which takes a few tries, he's no artist and it's getting shapelier but in a wonky way.
Ah, but Irene continues to assume. Neha has the candle and is drawing things, it all looks very professional to her untrained eye. And so the longer she looks, observing her ritualistic seeming prayer, the more her coal-dark eyes start to narrow, as she switches a suspicious glance between Emmanuel and Declan. Slowly straightening up from the newly complete circle, she inquires of the lads, in a carefully controlled yet stern, interrogative tone, "Shouldn't you have more experience dealing with this sort of thing? Almost feels like you're ... helping the ghosts." She squints pointedly at Declan's wonky, flat-chested circle-botching.
Everyone loves Emmanuel, he certainly doesn't need to worry about these, 'love me, love me not' nonsense, right? It's not just because he accidentally fell into leadership that people like him, after all. It's not like his former lover, and their former leader left with barely a word. There's a long pause as Emmanuel glances over toward Neha, and her poor sneezing fit, expression shifting into a quiet, less sure frown, "I fell into the sea once," He explains to Declan, flatly.
Irene studies Emmanuel, too, with poignant doubt, and little love in this moment.
A flash of light reveals a dancing figure, twirling gracefully through the air. Their voice is sing-songy as they tease, 'He loves me... he loves me not...' Each time they speak, doubt flickers in your heart about your closest relationships.
"Uhh. They don't train ghost banishing in the Army." Or fairy ghosts, Declan might also add, looking uncharacteristically nervous, and suspicious even of Irene's and Emmanuel's attempts. He stays firmly in the circle even so. "This might be Intelligence specialty."
It's not like Neha's really met any of Irene, Declan, or Emmanuel before - while they were conscious, at least - and so it's hard to spark doubt about complete strangers. She sniffles a little when she's over her sneezing fit, and attempts to begin again, chanting a quiet mantra in what is likely Hindi. It sounds a little sing-songy too, come to think of it. Maybe she's the one helping the fairy; the ultimate plot twist.
"Ah, we're out of luck, because neither of you have any," Irene accuses the boys in her subtle Hispanic accent. Distrusting her closest relationships, she instead turns in the direction of Neha, with whom she has no relationship to speak of. "Ma'am? May I assist you?" she asks, lingering within the circle to gesture askance with her knife in the direction of the melted candle, and the symbols she's drawn herself.
"You could teach me a prayer?" Irene attempts, in very bad, broken Hindi. But the cunning linguist has to flex her Intelligence chops after that jab of Declan's.
Well, it's clear that Emmanuel is going to have to step up, because no one else here is capable. That thought invades Emmanuel like a worm in the ear, but he's too slow to stop it from wiggling into his grey matter. There's a long-suffering sigh from the older man, as he tosses some more salt, and then goes about drawing his knife from it's hidden place, "There's iron in blood." He notes, rolling up the sleeve of his crappy jacket, "Magic is all about hurting people, and intent, how hard can this be, hm?"
The sound of a harp echoes nearby, and the tune is hauntingly familiar. For just a moment, you feel an overwhelming urge to confess your deepest feelings to the nearest person.
"Yeah, but you'd be feeding it your life force too, right?" Declan asks Emmanuel doubtfully, even though he's not got any better ideas himself, no trust in the current Commander at least in terms of ghost-banishing.
"Please," Irene tries to ask of Neha, in what she assumes is this lady's own language, and behind the backs of her two English speaking compatriots. "I really don't trust either of the two men I came in with. I don't even feel comfortable telling them my real name."
"Better to try and fail, hm?" Emmanuel suggests aside to Declan in a clipped tone, dragging the blade across his soft, human flesh, and drawing a line of crimson that oozes down his wrist, and toward his hand. The man starts to mutter in French then, dripping the blood around as he wanders the circle, adding his lifeforce to the salt, and shape.
Neha's chanting/singing/whatever-she's-doing-ing comes to an abrupt halt as she's addressed, and she breaks off to blink up at Irene, considering there's no other ma'am here unless she's talking to the long-gone-butterfly-lady-ghost-spirit. "Oh," comes the reply, the haunting tune of the harp echoing in the background, and her head tilts to the side like she's just trying to figure out what Irene is saying while she entirely butchers her language. "That's alright - you can help if you know the words or you can hum along, but my parents never really wanted me and they made it obvious, so I've gotten used to doing everything by myself."
A swarm of beautiful blue winged butterflies sweep into the area and move as one to form the shape of a curvaceous female form, it moves as if to dance whimsically across the grave and as easily as it formed the butterflies scatter into thousands of directions.
"Hmm." Declan has little argument for Emmanuel, since ghosts don't typically feed on life force, but at the same time he can't be certain, what with a heart full of doubt. maybe those in the others are justified, though, since he's done nothing but put on a brave face and beeelieeeve. "One of these is working."
There's a squint from Irene, who likewise struggles to parse Neha clearly; obviously, Hindi is not her native language, though she does seem to speak a few common words, with bad pronunciation. Must've picked up a phrasebook at an airport or something. Some general understanding does appear in her expression, however, as she tilts her head to one side to listen very carefully to the strange woman, and nods her head. Then, approaching her, she tries to hum along with her, able to follow the tune if not the exact words. Any general phrases in this prayer that repeat often enough, she does try to echo. Seems she has a certain aptitude for languages, albeit not the formal study of Neha's own.
There's something to be said about ghost banishing rituals requiring blood and how the usage of life force doesn't necessarily mean the feeding of life force to an entity, instead of just wherever magic comes from. Neha doesn't say it though. Her narrator doesn't have the same qualms, of course.
Neha pauses after speaking her last words, blinking to herself in a 'why did I just say that?' sort of way, but she seems to come to the conclusion that it can wait for later - right now, she's simply going to continue back to her humming-singing-banishing that may or may not be doing something to help banish the entity. Or maybe it's just placebo. Who knows?
As the games come to and end and the spirit is banished, the whimsy and all its charms seem to fade away. Bringing a barren, dull feeling to the graveyard once again. Wasnt it better before?...
The turning point arrives as the spectral presence manifests through a captivating display of blue-winged butterflies, transforming into a female form before dispersing into the night. This otherworldly spectacle prompts a shift in strategy; Irene, adopting techniques possibly learned from one Elora, urges the group to form a protective circle. Despite skepticism and the revelation of personal vulnerabilities—Neha’s admission of her parents’ indifference, and Emmanuel's cryptic reference to a sea ordeal—there’s a palpable shift toward solidarity. Emmanuel's decision to mix his blood with the protective circle, while alarming, underscores a desperation to confront the haunting head-on. As Neha resumes her ritualistic chanting, abetted by Irene's eager, if awkward, participation, the group's collective effort culminates in the spirit’s banishment. They're left to ponder the eerie silence that follows, a stark reminder of their ordeal's surreal nature and the fleeting, whimsical beauty that accompanied their ghostly adversary. Through their improvised and unorthodox methods, the group witnesses the power of unity against the unknown, even as they grapple with the personal revelations and doubts the experience unearthed.
(Irene's ghost banishing)
[Fri Nov 1 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 52F(11C) degrees, and there are a few thin white clouds in the sky. There is a new moon.
Child-like giggling begins to fill the graveyard, it comes from everywhere, filling the minds of the small gathering here only to suddenly cut off, leaving everything dead silent, not even the wind makes a sound, the distant cars passing the graveyard have been muted. Only local voices can be heard by one another.
The little 'oui' from Emmanuel has Irene quirking her lips likewise, and then she turns to someone with a knowing rise of her eyebrow, as if sharing some private joke. "Whole gang's back together," she remarks in a quiet, cheerful tone, having been engaging in some smalltalk with the others before Neha's arrival. When she sees her, she looks in that direction curiously, but without the same recognition. "Hello there," is the polite greeting she offers, lowering her flashlight politely to avoid blinding the others.
The little 'oui' from Emmanuel has Irene quirking her lips likewise, and then she turns to Declan with a knowing rise of her eyebrow, as if sharing some private joke. "Whole gang's back together," she remarks in a quiet, cheerful tone, having been engaging in some smalltalk with the others before Neha's arrival. When she sees her, she looks in that direction curiously, but without the same recognition. "Hello there," is the polite greeting she offers, lowering her flashlight politely to avoid blinding the others.
However, introductions are soon cut short by a strange and eerie giggling that surrounds their little group. Irene turns with a frown, pointing her flashlight this way and that to try and catch sight of whatever source there might be. "Fairies," she muses, in a subtle Hispanic accent. "Run into these sorts before. They made me see ... hear ... things and people that weren't there."
"Oui," Declan echoes Emmanuel unnecessarily, running fingers through his hair. He stills as the giggles make themselves known and he lowers his voice. "Going to guess those can't be shot."
Watching her steps carefully in the darkness, Neha walks in with flashlight out, and most assuredly almost blinds the first person to look her way - that's Declan, apparently, who gets a beam of light right to the eyes before she realizes and lets out an apologetic little "oh" before lowering it. "Sorry. Hello," she returns, just at the sidelines for the time being as though she's not quite used to the whole ghost banishing business enough to know what to do here. "I don't suppose anyone has iron on hand...?"
"All it takes is nearly getting yourself and others killed for the headquarters to be taking the notice of-" Emmanuel dryly explains to Irene, though cuts himself off as he takes note of Neha, "..Oh, hallo." The gang is all here, plus more, it seems! The gang is growing. Nature is healing.
At the sound of child-like giggling Emmanuel cringes, and then groans out in frustration, eyeing his car in the distance as if he might just make a run for it.
A swarm of beautiful blue winged butterflies sweep into the area and move as one to form the shape of a curvaceous female form, it moves as if to dance whimsically across the grave and as easily as it formed the butterflies scatter into thousands of directions.
The question about iron has Irene rapidly patting down her own outfit, searching for something that may be of use. "You know, that's a great idea ..." she starts to say to Neha, but the swarm of butterflies has her rapidly ducking down and covering her head. A beautiful sight, to be sure, but seems she finds it too concerning right now to fully admire. "I should've brought iron. And quartz. You never know around here."
The question has Emmanuel producing his pistol from his person, and ejecting it's magazine. He peers inside, and clucks his tongue, "Quartz," He notes, reloading the weapon and tucking it away once more. He is prepared for a different devil than the one haunting them.
Declan draws his knife, only to remember that he brought the ceramic today. "Would say steel can sometimes have an effect, but..." Back into the sheath that goes, and he can only shrug helplessly, cupping a hand over one ear.
Neha, on the other hand, does outright admire the butterflies, a soft smile flitting its way across her features as she watches their dance. As a few scatter by her, she lifts her finger as though to see if one may land upon it, Disney princess-esque. Alas, none of them do.
Instead, she just crouches upon the ground, bringing out a candle and a lighter from the messenger bag tucked under her coat, and the candle is lit up, an incense-like fragrance starting to spread from it. She's one of /those/ people.
A swarm of beautiful blue winged butterflies sweep into the area and move as one to form the shape of a curvaceous female form, it moves as if to dance whimsically across the grave and as easily as it formed the butterflies scatter into thousands of directions.
Irene looks between Declan and Emmanuel beside her, as realisation slowly dawns that no one present has apparently arrived prepared for every possible eventuality -- such as fairy ghosts. "Alright, Elora taught me a few things," she mentions, and drawing a knife of her own, she starts to draw a circle in the dirt, but pauses when she notices that Neha has arrived much better prepared, and is already doing something. She expands the circle, beckoning the two lads over closer to the Clinician, so that the circle can include all of them. "We need to draw a circle," she asserts, though she sounds unsure herself, perhaps hoping this half-authoritative voice will convince her as well. "And we need to stay standing inside it, the whole time -- it will protect us from the ghost."
"Uhh, all right. Never done this before." The virgin Declan sticks to what Irene has to do, even though there's no certainty of it working. He gets his knife back out to help in the circle drawing, making it somewhat misshapen.
Oh yeah, Irene also appears to be one of /those/ people. Type A. "Make it curvier," she beseeches Declan, pausing midline to wave her knife vaguely in the direction of his misshapen circle section.
"Circles are important, oui," Emmanuel notes in ready agreement, while rummaging through the pockets of his terrible jacket. He produces handfuls of loose pocket sand and salt, and begins to toss it about the circle. "I learned many years ago, hm? That salt helps product against the spirits," He explains away, while tossing it this way and that. At least once into the breeze, likely causing one of the others to eat a faceful of sand-salt.
A flash of light reveals a dancing figure, twirling gracefully through the air. Their voice is sing-songy as they tease, 'He loves me... he loves me not...' Each time they speak, doubt flickers in your heart about your closest relationships.
Bold of Irene to assume Neha knows what she's doing. As far as the others can tell, she's now dribbling some candle wax upon the soil, forming a careful sign while Emmanuel throws around salt and Declan makes a not-so-curvy circle nearby. It's not hard to figure out: a shape like a 3 with a wiggly little o in the distinctive 'Om' ligature in the Devanagari script before the candle goes back to the ground. She clasps her hands together after that, head bowed as in prayer, and is immediately distracted by the flash of light and the sing-songy voice.
She's also distracted by a fit of sneezing when she accidentally inhales some salt. Thanks Emmanuel.
"Why do you have pocket sand?" Declan questions Emmanuel, making his circle appropriately bodacious like Irene's ideal which takes a few tries, he's no artist and it's getting shapelier but in a wonky way.
Ah, but Irene continues to assume. Neha has the candle and is drawing things, it all looks very professional to her untrained eye. And so the longer she looks, observing her ritualistic seeming prayer, the more her coal-dark eyes start to narrow, as she switches a suspicious glance between Emmanuel and Declan. Slowly straightening up from the newly complete circle, she inquires of the lads, in a carefully controlled yet stern, interrogative tone, "Shouldn't you have more experience dealing with this sort of thing? Almost feels like you're ... helping the ghosts." She squints pointedly at Declan's wonky, flat-chested circle-botching.
Everyone loves Emmanuel, he certainly doesn't need to worry about these, 'love me, love me not' nonsense, right? It's not just because he accidentally fell into leadership that people like him, after all. It's not like his former lover, and their former leader left with barely a word. There's a long pause as Emmanuel glances over toward Neha, and her poor sneezing fit, expression shifting into a quiet, less sure frown, "I fell into the sea once," He explains to Declan, flatly.
Irene studies Emmanuel, too, with poignant doubt, and little love in this moment.
A flash of light reveals a dancing figure, twirling gracefully through the air. Their voice is sing-songy as they tease, 'He loves me... he loves me not...' Each time they speak, doubt flickers in your heart about your closest relationships.
"Uhh. They don't train ghost banishing in the Army." Or fairy ghosts, Declan might also add, looking uncharacteristically nervous, and suspicious even of Irene's and Emmanuel's attempts. He stays firmly in the circle even so. "This might be Intelligence specialty."
It's not like Neha's really met any of Irene, Declan, or Emmanuel before - while they were conscious, at least - and so it's hard to spark doubt about complete strangers. She sniffles a little when she's over her sneezing fit, and attempts to begin again, chanting a quiet mantra in what is likely Hindi. It sounds a little sing-songy too, come to think of it. Maybe she's the one helping the fairy; the ultimate plot twist.
"Ah, we're out of luck, because neither of you have any," Irene accuses the boys in her subtle Hispanic accent. Distrusting her closest relationships, she instead turns in the direction of Neha, with whom she has no relationship to speak of. "Ma'am? May I assist you?" she asks, lingering within the circle to gesture askance with her knife in the direction of the melted candle, and the symbols she's drawn herself.
"You could teach me a prayer?" Irene attempts, in very bad, broken Hindi. But the cunning linguist has to flex her Intelligence chops after that jab of Declan's.
Well, it's clear that Emmanuel is going to have to step up, because no one else here is capable. That thought invades Emmanuel like a worm in the ear, but he's too slow to stop it from wiggling into his grey matter. There's a long-suffering sigh from the older man, as he tosses some more salt, and then goes about drawing his knife from it's hidden place, "There's iron in blood." He notes, rolling up the sleeve of his crappy jacket, "Magic is all about hurting people, and intent, how hard can this be, hm?"
The sound of a harp echoes nearby, and the tune is hauntingly familiar. For just a moment, you feel an overwhelming urge to confess your deepest feelings to the nearest person.
"Yeah, but you'd be feeding it your life force too, right?" Declan asks Emmanuel doubtfully, even though he's not got any better ideas himself, no trust in the current Commander at least in terms of ghost-banishing.
"Please," Irene tries to ask of Neha, in what she assumes is this lady's own language, and behind the backs of her two English speaking compatriots. "I really don't trust either of the two men I came in with. I don't even feel comfortable telling them my real name."
"Better to try and fail, hm?" Emmanuel suggests aside to Declan in a clipped tone, dragging the blade across his soft, human flesh, and drawing a line of crimson that oozes down his wrist, and toward his hand. The man starts to mutter in French then, dripping the blood around as he wanders the circle, adding his lifeforce to the salt, and shape.
Neha's chanting/singing/whatever-she's-doing-ing comes to an abrupt halt as she's addressed, and she breaks off to blink up at Irene, considering there's no other ma'am here unless she's talking to the long-gone-butterfly-lady-ghost-spirit. "Oh," comes the reply, the haunting tune of the harp echoing in the background, and her head tilts to the side like she's just trying to figure out what Irene is saying while she entirely butchers her language. "That's alright - you can help if you know the words or you can hum along, but my parents never really wanted me and they made it obvious, so I've gotten used to doing everything by myself."
A swarm of beautiful blue winged butterflies sweep into the area and move as one to form the shape of a curvaceous female form, it moves as if to dance whimsically across the grave and as easily as it formed the butterflies scatter into thousands of directions.
"Hmm." Declan has little argument for Emmanuel, since ghosts don't typically feed on life force, but at the same time he can't be certain, what with a heart full of doubt. maybe those in the others are justified, though, since he's done nothing but put on a brave face and beeelieeeve. "One of these is working."
There's a squint from Irene, who likewise struggles to parse Neha clearly; obviously, Hindi is not her native language, though she does seem to speak a few common words, with bad pronunciation. Must've picked up a phrasebook at an airport or something. Some general understanding does appear in her expression, however, as she tilts her head to one side to listen very carefully to the strange woman, and nods her head. Then, approaching her, she tries to hum along with her, able to follow the tune if not the exact words. Any general phrases in this prayer that repeat often enough, she does try to echo. Seems she has a certain aptitude for languages, albeit not the formal study of Neha's own.
There's something to be said about ghost banishing rituals requiring blood and how the usage of life force doesn't necessarily mean the feeding of life force to an entity, instead of just wherever magic comes from. Neha doesn't say it though. Her narrator doesn't have the same qualms, of course.
Neha pauses after speaking her last words, blinking to herself in a 'why did I just say that?' sort of way, but she seems to come to the conclusion that it can wait for later - right now, she's simply going to continue back to her humming-singing-banishing that may or may not be doing something to help banish the entity. Or maybe it's just placebo. Who knows?
As the games come to and end and the spirit is banished, the whimsy and all its charms seem to fade away. Bringing a barren, dull feeling to the graveyard once again. Wasnt it better before?...