and on this casket's back sits a little lonely ghost [open to multiple]

[deadeyedchild]

He can feel Tim leaving him, waking up, and he tries to follow. He doesn't know how. This is all new territory, following someone from one plane of existence to another. He tries to visualize himself holding onto Tim's hand. It's embarrassing but it works.

He thinks it works.

He feels different.

The world feels familiar - not the empty void he'd been inhabiting, but the world, solid and real, tangible. He's here. He's back.

He still feels like he's looking at it through glass, though. He looks down at his hands, which are - sort of there, at least, he knows they're there. He can almost see them. Except not quite.

"Oh come on," he mutters, and no sound comes out. He knows he's spoken but he can't quite hear it. He tries to lay a hand on his own arm and he feels a buzz of static as his fingers pass through himself. Oh, god.

He's a fucking ghost.

This is not quite what he had in mind. He knows it's not what Tim had in mind.

It's better than nothing.

He takes a moment to try and figure out where he is. He finds that he can move, not exactly by walking, but sort of drifting along the ground. He accidentally passes through someone, who shivers violently and looks thoroughly spooked for a few seconds. He is unable to get anyone's attention, or interact with anything.

He has to get to Tim somehow, but he can't really take a train, can he? He's not even sure what part of the city he's in.

So he rambles. After a while he finds it's easier to just move through walls than to try to go about things the normal way. Shortly after that revelation he starts picking up the very bizarre skill of moving up through a building, in and out of offices and apartments.

Travel is easy, but communication is nearly impossible.

He searches, having nothing else he can do, for someone he knows.


[[Jay is wandering all over kingdom come today so if you want your character to have a weird ghost encounter, pick a location and we'll see what happens. It's going to be super hard to notice him if you don't have any kind of telepathic/other helpful powers, but that's okay, we can do short shenanigan threads if you're into that. A quick little ghost encounter! Hey, maybe Jay can overhear some awkward dialogue or embarrassing secrets. Maybe he'll accidentally figure out how to knock something off a counter and then go nuts trying to do it again. The sky is the limit. Have fun!]]

UPDATE: as often happens with this kind of thing we have Jay on a pretty tight schedule now. The Balladeer meets him around lunchtime, and then the line of Rush/Iman - Daniel - Greta gets set into motion sometime after. Greta will be taking Jay back to his building in the late afternoon. If you want to meet him when he's out and about it'll now have to be prior to lunch or snuck in between lunch and his adventure through the former ROMAC apartments. There is still plenty of room in there for nonsense, it just won't be able to lead to Jay actually getting home. SHENANIGANS!

Comments

[singthesong]

In one of the tunnels of Central Park, there's a vaguely familiar guy sitting and chatting with an older and less familiar man. The waking world seems much less stressful for him; there's a couple of instrument cases by their feet, and they appear to be enjoying falafels.

As Jay approaches, the Balladeer suddenly stops talking and turns - not looking exactly at Jay, but scanning the path in his general drection, brow furrowed.

[deadeyedchild]

In some ways the park is more difficult to navigate than buildings. Buildings seem structured for the way he moves, like he can reverberate himself off the walls. The park is open, largely flat. There's no momentum. Maybe that's why you never heard of a haunted park.

He's fussing his way down a path when suddenly, weirdly, he's intensely aware of somewhat looking at him. It takes him a moment to look back.

That guy. THAT GUY.

He has no idea what his name is, and he's - well, Jay's pretty sure it's the same guy. The one from the dream where Tim was all wrong. He knew what was going on in his head, somehow. And he knew Johnny. And Johnny knows Tim.

"Hey!" he struggles to say, still generating no sound. He tries to wave his arms and it feels like nothing. Movement isn't going to help him here. "Can you see me?" Neither is talking. Give him a break, he's frustrated here.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer doesn't react to anything Jay does. He just glances from one side of the path to the other again, frowning. Is that...that isn't Daniel. Daniel's song is many things since his ascension, but "creepy" is not one of them.

"You okay?"

The voice makes him start, and he turns back to his companion, who's watching him with concern. "Uh, yeah." Nodding slowly, he darts another quick glance over in Jay's direction, seeing only trees and open sky. "I'm fine, sorry." Could it be Bee's friend? He's supposed to be trapped in dreams, though, isn't he? It could be unrelated. It's hard to tell when he's only heard Jay through the fog of unconsciousness, but there's definitely something going on over there.

[deadeyedchild]

Nooo no no. Shit, Jay has to do something. This guy is picking up on something, but it's not enough.

He floats himself closer and attempts to sit beside them but that doesn't work too well. He can't really sit on things. He flails vaguely and feels another faint buzz of static as his arm pass right through the guy's chest. Oh. Uh.

That feels horrendously rude. He pulls it back tentatively, watching to see his reaction.

[singthesong]

The Balladeer tenses as Jay get closer, straightening his shoulders and leaning almost imperceptibly away from the ghost as he tries to settle at his side.

It's not nearly far enough to be out of flailing range. He jerks back against the wall as Jay's arm passes through his body, clutching at his chest with one hand. His friend startles a little as well before placing a hand on his shoulder and peering at his face with concern. "Y'don't really seem okay. You need a doctor or something? I know a clinic..."

"Um." The Balladeer shudders, then works up a smile. "Well, maybe I am coming down with something." That's a common symptom, right, chills? He can't think that he's ever been sick before.

He's not sick now, and he knows it perfectly well. All he can do is shoot a sharp look at the empty air on his left as he rises to his feet. "Sorry, Vince. I think I might just head home for the day." Or maybe he'll just go stand in a corner somewhere and try to tell off this ghost that's...wait, did someone just ghost-tackle him? Honestly.

[lottawork]

Rush wakes sore, muscles howling a vociferous chorus on a multitude of themes, all painful, all tired, all succumbing to the unforgiving lure of gravity's force and magnitude, his cheekbone darkened and throbbing and bruised.

He rolls onto his back and opens his eyes and places himself:

He deduces that he fell asleep on his floor, mid-equation, twisted in an unnatural contortion of limbs and musculature.

He feels like shit.

He takes the dog out.

Even the dog seems subdued following the events of the previous day, or days, or however long it has been since their walk was unceremoniously interrupted by the Devil and his irritating method of demanding Asadi's full time and attention. Rush grimaces with distaste. He turns the dog toward the park.

He remembers the Devil interrupting their walk in the park with all the subtlety and care of an incendiary projectile launched from orbit.

He turns the dog away from the park.

It is not uncommon to walk one's dog in other parts of the city. He's certain it's not. Choosing to skirt the park is a personal preference, uninfluenced by any extenuating or interfering circumstances, most assuredly with nothing to do with the completely insignificant encounter the day or days before.

He does not, as he will broadcast quite openly and freely, give a fuck. In any way.

He is going to walk his fucking dog, and return to his apartment with its mercifully dark, equative interior, and the day will be otherwise inconsequential. He is confident of this.

[deadeyedchild]

Unfortunately and as is often the case, the day has other plans.

Jay has no idea who this guy is but at this point it hardly matters. It's already been a long fucking day and he's sick of failing at everything. He staggers his awkward ghosty way toward the man and his dog. Maybe dogs actually can sense ghosts, as various movies have intimated.

This turns out to be not the best thing in the world. The dog is old and fairly chill, but it's big, and when it stops short and starts to growl Jay feels an immediate surge of regret. Even if the dog can't actually attack him this is not an ideal situation.

"No, stop that," he says uselessly. If ghosts could sweat. "Be a good boy."

The dog barks.

[lottawork]

The leash goes taut and so does the rest of the dog, its growl pitched low, its nose quivering with fierce intent. Rush stops and regards the creature with tired exasperation.

"Come," he says wearily. He gives the leash a stiff tug.

The dog begins barking - at apparently no one - and Rush scowls.

"Come," he snaps.

The dog's barking lapses into a protracted snarl.

The situation is altogether too similar to certain other occurrences to be safely, wholly ignored. Rush breaks off to scan the surrounding area. He finds nothing objectionable, save for the cursory disparaging looks from any pedestrians. He disregards them utterly.

He kneels in front of the dog in a swift, fluid maneuver, rubbing behind its ears in what he hopes is a vaguely consoling manner.

"Don' fash yoursel'," he mutters, the words pitched soft.

[deadeyedchild]

He watches this guy, noting his bruised cheek, as he tries to soothe his dog. Maybe this isn't worth it. He doesn't want to follow someone around tormenting their dog.

But at the same time the dog knows he's there. That's more than he's had all day.

"It's okay," he says softly, trying to match the guy's tone.

The dog hushes, it seems a little sulkily, still looking up in Jay's general direction.

[lottawork]

The dog quiets with a restive grumble, regarding what appears to be an empty patch of air with fixed concentration.

Rush tracks the trajectory of its gaze before standing, pivoting smoothly, setting down the leash as he walks directly into the collection of air molecules that are, as far as he can tell, the source of some sort of untold canine-related agitation.

A chill coalesces into the center of his chest cavity, his blood congealing to ice.

Rush steps back, and air density returns to its typical viscosity and temperature.

The dog whines.

Rush extends an arm into the ostensibly empty space with steady trepidation, fingers opening, palm up, as if testing for metaphysical or metaphorical rain.

[andhiswife]

There's a great deal of comfort to be had from the things that don't change. Greta hadn't really appreciated that before - before the Curse, or the Giant, or the Rift, or, most recently, the Devil. She appreciates it now, though, which is why she's baking as if she has a shop to run, despite the lack of any such thing.

It doesn't matter. She can keep some of the results for herself, see that her friends get a share, and put the rest in the lobby for anyone who wants or needs it. Things have been weird since the factions fell, and while nobody's starving or getting kicked out onto the street, that doesn't mean a little free food might not make things easier for someone whose life could use a little easing.

If nothing else, it's a nice treat.

At present, she has her sleeves rolled up past her elbows as she kneads a batch of dough, the radio playing quietly in the background. The afternoon sun is slanting into her apartment, emphasizing the puffs of flour she keeps sending into the air. The downside to such an unusual lot of baking is that it's making an unusual lot of mess, but the prospect of an unusual lot of cleaning doesn't bother her. She'll get to it.

For now, there's kneading.

[deadeyedchild]

Successfully shooed off by the cat, Jay irritably departs the scientists-and-dog apartment and spends some time sullenly exploring the rest of the building. Most people either aren't in or aren't as keen to notice him as the scientists were. He spends some time trying to get someone to notice that their cat was watching his every move, but it all turned out to be absolutely futile.

So far the guitar man was the only person he actually recognized, and the only person who was about to communicate with him at all. The scientists probably would have been able to help too, if the cat had let them.

It's going to be so much work getting out of this stupid building. For whatever reason going up is way easier than going down. If he can get back down to street level, he can go to the park, heads off across it - that should be where his building is. He thinks. If he could just find Tim...

Tim wouldn't know what to do either.

He sighs, ghostlike and silent, and floats through a wall into another apartment.

This one is kind of nice. Homey. It smells good, he thinks - smells are pretty dulled, but it's strong enough for him to pick up on it, and it's comforting. He moves in toward the little kitchen, not even noticing as he displaces a bunch of flour particles, sending them swirling gently around his shape.

It's Greta. Oh thank goodness, finally a familiar face, finally someone who knows what happened to him. He reaches it out, though he hesitates before touching her. He doesn't want to alarm her, and also, he doesn't want the cat to come here, too.

[andhiswife]

She doesn't notice the peculiar eddies in the airborne flour right away, but after a moment she lifts her head without quite knowing why she felt the need to do so. There's nothing to see. The apartment is plainly empty aside from herself. More to the point, it's warded, so there really is no need to be jumpy. The corners of her mouth tick down into a self-recriminating frown, and she flips the dough over, giving the gesture a bit more emphasis than is strictly necessary. A fresh puff of flour wafts into the air, and--

--WHAT.

The cloud of white dust breaks in midair like a wave against the shore, but the shape revealed by the negative space is human, and it's reaching for her, and she stumbles back into the refrigerator with a cry of alarm.

[deadeyedchild]

Wh- holy shit, can she see him? He pulls back, just as startled, and it's only then that he notices the flour swirling around him. Wait, what? He reaches out for it experimentally and it falls through his hand and his fingers. He can't catch it - it doesn't stick to him. All he does is displace it.

Okay so how the fuck is he supposed to make her keep knocking flour clouds up?

He raises a hand and tries to wave gently, not sure what the hell else to do. He'd like to hope the motion is at all understandable, but as the flour settles it becomes harder to make a clear shape.

[andhiswife]

The shape jerks back, as if surprised at being caught out. She half-expects it to rally and rush toward her, finish whatever grim business it's come here to do. Why is this happening to her? What is it? She can't tear her eyes away from it, even as the settling flour makes its shape harder to pick out. One hand gropes blindly at the counter behind her for a moment before seizing the handle of a bread knife, and she points it at the fading shape defensively.

"Um." It's fading further without the flour dust to define it, and she shifts nervously. Seeing it is frightening, not seeing it is worse. God, what if it starts moving around? It could end up anywhere, and she'd have no idea. "Ummmm," she says again, more frantic and keening this time, before making a mad dart towards the island and swatting over the bag of flour. Then she skips back again, knife clutched in both hands.

It's a solid blow, and the bag both coughs out a large puff of white dust and sends some of what already covered the counter floating back into the air. The shape is where she left it, still standing beside the island, and it's... it's just standing there, arms raised in an unmistakably pacifying gesture. As if she's scared it.

Greta's brow furrows, and the knife dips for a moment. "I--" Well, she's not going to apologize. Nor is she relinquishing the upper hand, if she actually has it. She lifts the knife again, eyes narrowing. "What do you want?"

[peacefulexplorer]

There's something familiar about the shape drifting through the city on an abstracted scale. Selective visibility has gotten easier, at least - though it's really more difficult to will himself to appear to someone rather to than simply wander the city, imperceptible to the vast majority.

He can feel the catching and releasing of souls as they're eased from the city's grasp and beyond his reach, and the whole of him aches, though whether with longing or bewilderment or loss, he can never be sure.

Daniel makes the spectral shape of himself visible to the thing in front of him, floating through buildings without any clear path, its atoms scattered into an alarmingly discordant configuration.

It's just as well that Daniel isn't capable of true corporeality, because when he manifests, they're both in the middle of a wall.

"Oh," says Daniel, his shape frowning at the brick-and-morter vertically bisecting his face. He looks up and peers at the consciousness across from him. "Er - don't I know you?"

[deadeyedchild]

"Jesus-!" Jay yelps when the comparative giant appears in the wall with him, flailing backwards. He takes a moment to pull himself more or less together, looking at the man as the actual question registers, and he realizes yeah, actually he does know him.

"D- Daniel, right?" He rights himself slowly. "You can see me." Duh.

[peacefulexplorer]

"Yes," says Daniel, the word an inquiring pull. The alarmed reaction is just something he's come to get used to - there's simply no way to ease anyone to his presence, least of all while they exist in a halfway-metaphysical state themselves. Or - whatever it is the other awareness in front of him is; he's not sure exactly.

Finally the gradual realization clicks, and his expression floods with recognition. "Jay," he says, relieved that the other man's name and the memory of their previous encounter comes rushing back to him. "You got out."

[deadeyedchild]

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Uh. Sort of. My, um, my friend..." He doesn't finish the sentence. He has to get to Tim.

"No one can see me," he says. "I don't know how to..." He shrugs haplessly. At least Daniel can see him, hear him, he can actually talk to someone, finally. "Can you help me?"

[peacefulexplorer]

"You're not," he says slowly, frowning at the arrangement of the other man's form and all its bizarre complexities, "you're different now. Incorporeal."

Transitioning to the waking world must have come with a significant drawback - Jay isn't Ascended, he isn't energy in the way Daniel is, he's little more than a shape in an altered state. He can't transduce energy to matter, or vice versa.

"You don't have a body," he says. "Now that - okay, that would explain a lot."

[biscuit_powered]

Old rebel building. She knows where that is! She also knows Jay's not likely to be there since Tim lives there and has been looking all over the building and hasn't found him there yet. She really doesn't know what else to do, though, but to start where he was last seen and work outward from there. The quickest (and most pleasant) route takes her through the park, so she's found a path and is following it with gusto.

"Of course I know what I'm doing," she mutters seemingly to no one, then scoffs and rolls her eyes at a chitter from the oversized rodent at her heels. "When hasn't it worked out for us? In the end, yeah, that's what I meant."


[OOC: Follows this]

[deadeyedchild]

Okay, so, getting home. Tim'll be there, and maybe he can figure out some way to communicate his presence, and... we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. This shouldn't be too hard, right? It's just west of the park.

Wherever west is. Whatever part of the park he's in. It's so damn huge, and it's not like he gets out much.

He floats around in a silently grumbling circle for a while, trying and failing to get his bearings. He amuses himself by flitting around people, getting gradually better at dodging them. Doesn't want to be too conspicuous.

And then a woman walks right past him and says something, seemingly to no one. Is she talking to him? He turns and watches her, bewildered, as she continues to converse with nothing.

Is she talking to that... thing at her feet?

What the hell.

Probably a rifty.

He drifts over, curious, and pokes her lightly through the shoulder.

[biscuit_powered]

"We'll figure it out," she's saying, because come on, Biscuit, have a little faith. There are a lot of people in that building, some of whom she's even met (she's not a total recluse). Someone's probably seen something. "And even if we don't, it's not like I took his money --"

Cold blossoms through her shoulder without warning in the midst of the fall heat, and she lets out a soft "oh!" as she shivers, distracted from her diatribe. Frowning, she brushes at the spot and looks around, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "What in the hell...?" she asks herself when she doesn't see a cause.

[deadeyedchild]

Okay, well, you got her attention, now what, genius? Jay looks at her, uncertain how to proceed, then reaches out and taps her arm. Maybe she'll... piece something together? Hopefully, otherwise he's just being a total dick.

[biscuit_powered]

She draws in her arm sharply when the cold starts up again there instead, gaze flicking around in search of whoever might be responsible. It was too sharp to be natural, too localized. It was also too mild to be an attack. Is some caster pranking her?

"I can't see where it came from," she mutters to Biscuit. Then, when he points out with a worried squeak that he doesn't know what she's talking about, she clarifies, "Cold. I just felt a patch of cold."