bakerstreet | Is it time for spoops yet?

[can go either way, but I’m more down for him being the spirit, because it’s funny....or terrible.]

[Can go either way but probably more likely to be ~~the idiot~~ making contact.]

[Ayyyyyyyy, got a ghost for ya.]

Strand had refused her invitation to Oneida, New York, citing instead how he was working on other things for their forthcoming trip to Geneva. But Alex was one to trust her gut, so she found herself flying out there and conducting a whole bunch of research that may or may not turn into anything, but at least she had some audio for the show. However, when she discovered that she wasn't all that far from Sleepy Hollow, there was no way that she couldn't make the trip.

After all, Sleepy Hollow was sort of ground zero for American Folk Lore, and the show had given her a fair bit of notoriety (even if no one had asked her to be on Chopped) so when she made a call to the Sleepy Hollow Historical Society in New Terrytown, they had been more than willing to be open late for her to come in and see the artifacts. She'd worked her way through most of them (an actual dress of Katrina's, a journal of Ichabod's, and a ledger from Bom's family were all some of the highlights of her guided tour) and in the end, the woman asked if she wanted to try to famous writing board.

Despite being able to hear the loud and put upon sigh that Strand would make in her head, Alex nodded eagerly. It was probably stupid as hell, but right now Alex felt a little daring. It was still early, despite the darkness of the hour, and the room felt warm, despite the sputtering of the candle light. Screwing her courage to the sticking place, as it were, Alex took the old and fragile pen in her hand and held it loosely, like she would a chopstick as the woman had told her too. Of course, she had also set up her recorder and her phone. Just in case.

Even if Strand didn't have the million dollars, at least she'd have bragging rights!

"Katerina," Alex's voice was soft and spoken into the dusky room, "Katrina Van Tassel, will you come and speak to me tonight?" Her fingers worked the pen over the antique tablet in wide squiggles and loops, just letting her fingers go where they went as she kept repeating her question and trying not to feel a little bit silly for all of it.

Believe it or not, being a haunt was not all it was cracked up to be. Especially when one went wandering the town at nightfall, when the electric lights dissipated the darkness and car headlights caused more disturbing shadows than the form of woman near the old Dutch church.

The modern age was no place for spirits, not even in Sleepy Hollow, which had once been a birthplace of all such stories. Katrina spent more and more time following people, trying to live vicariously through them for a moment or two before returning to her favorite resting places.

It was sheer coincidence that she happened to be in the Historical Society that night, eyeing her old dress with a sort of disconnected interest: it hadn't been her favorite gown, but it had held up well over the centuries. She was just turning to try the old float-through-the-wall trick (something she quite enjoyed, particularly when there were credulous onlookers) when she heard her name being spoken in such solemn tones.

Following the voice, she happened upon a woman drawing swirling loops with a pen. Ah, she had seen this game. Apparently the spirits - her, in this case - were supposed to "write" a message via the living being. Ugh - she didn't like possessing people, even just to move their hands, but she could hardly interact with the pen herself, and this woman seemed so intent.

Well. What else did she have to do this evening?

Her hand covered Alex's, a spot of cold in the warm room, and she guided the pen in a childish scrawl: Here I am.

Apophenia. The voice in her head that was annoying and know it all and entirely Strand's reminded her of the fact that this was probably all in her head. The skin on her arm was cold, and all of the hair on it was standing at attention under her blazer sleeve; she could feel it against the fabric of her button down.

"Oh my god!" The words are all run together in her Canadian accent, and she looks around the room for a moment, and then she looks to her hand, drawing it close to her body. With her warmer fingers against the skin, she can feel the difference in the tempature one from the other. "Holy shit."

Lifting her phone from where it was, she took a picture of the words in a hand that was definitely a thousand times more legible than Alex's own was. She tended to write short-hand when she needed to and on her computer or phone more often than not, and honestly even when she was a tiny child her handwriting hadn't been that good. After a second, and remembering what she was meant to be doing, she cleared her throat and picked up the pen again.

"Um. Sorry about that. Who am I speaking to?" Maybe doing this alone wasn't a good idea, but then again, when did Alex ever meet a bad idea that she didn't want to engage in at least three more times? Never. She was pretty sure it was never.

The appearance of a cellphone drew a silent tut from Katrina. How she hated those things: people seemed to always be looking at them, taking photos, sending missives, playing games, and never noticing the few times she could manage to make a teacup levitate or overturn a chair.

Technology.

The woman's question, too, irritated her just a little. To whom did she think she was speaking? She had asked specifically for Katrina, and so here she was. Now, she had to go through the whole business of possession just to answer a question that was completely superfluous. She watched Alex with her hands on her hips for a moment, letting the other woman draw her silly doodles without interruption.

Finally, though, she reached out and with a sigh, took control of the hand again:

KVT.

She would have written more - her entire mark, just to confirm it - but there was such an...an unpleasant sensation that came from possessing the living. Like sticking one's hand in a bucket of wet, ground meat.

It really was too bad those cellular phones couldn't yet hear the dead. It seemed like the perfect use for them, at least in the opinion of a ghost.

Okay, Alex couldn't help but make a face at that, and she shivered quickly, her eyes closing before her finger just traced over the initials that had appeared on the paper, and she could feel the chill that seeped into them. "Jesus." She said again, and more than anything she wished she had access to Strand's bag of tricks and all of the things that he used to sniff out fake ghosts hunters.

Like say if someone was screwing with her. She didn't have an EMP reader, by any means, but what Alex did have was her recorder. Picking up the gray piece of electronics, Alex held onto it for a moment, thumbing against the settings as she tried to decide if this was worth trying. Well, if it didn't work, then it wasn't like she needed to tell anyone she was here and did this. Of course there was a specific person in mind but that was for later.

So, instead she just addressed the room, pushing the record button, and watching as the red light turned on. "Hi, Katrina. My name is Alex. Alex Reagan. This is an audio recorder. If it's okay with you, I'd like you to try and speak into it, and then I'll rewind it after a few seconds to see if I can hear you. You'll know if it's recording by the red light, okay?"

Alex gave the spirit around thirty seconds to speak, holding onto the recorder with it's red flashing beacon in her cupped hands.

Hm. An audio recorder. It wasn't the cellular phone, but certainly it was an interesting idea. Katrina wondered if it would work; if mortal ears couldn't hear her, how could this little toy? But certainly, she was willing to give it a try. At least Miss Reagan didn't want her to keep doing the trick with the pen; this made for a nice change.

She waited for the red light to flash, all the while contemplating the fact that her new 'friend' happened to carry this contraption around with her. What an odd woman; did she often find reason to audio record the spirits? Ah! But there was the flashing light, and she leaned in close to speak -

And realized she didn't know what she ought to say. Ten seconds swept by while she tried to think of something interesting to offer Miss Reagan...but the afterlife wasn't terribly interesting these days. At last, she simply said, clearly, "What shall I say to you?"

The recorder had timestamping on it, so feeling a little bit foolish, Alex watched as the timer advanced forward through those thirty seconds that she'd been thinking of. She gave the ghost another five before she hit the stop button, and the red light went off. Moving the counter back thirty seconds was nothing more than just muscle memory, and she watched the readings on the monitor intently, hiking the volume up as loud as it could go.

For the first five seconds, Alex Reagan just held onto her breath, her eyes focused on those very slow seconds tick, tick, ticking by. After ten seconds, she could feel her entire body tightening to go with the held breath; tension turning her tiny form into a fist. Oh, Alex knew what people would say, apophenia or letting her imagination get the better of her or whatever.

But then at the nineteen second mark, Alex just started to laugh at herself, because of course that's what it was. It was all just her imagination getting ahead of her, and the same sort of response that people did during the ouija board experience. However then the thin voice came through the quiet of the recording, and Alex just dropped it before going "oh holy shit." The voice was definitely a woman, and a young woman at that.

Dropping onto the floor and sitting cross-legged, Alex rewound the message and listened to it again, before she opened a new file and offered a little smile that was quite dazed indeed. "Um. Whatever you want to say, I guess? I mean, maybe start with your name? Do you know what year it is?"

How...terribly adorable, that her new friend should find herself so excited by Katrina's voice on a recorder. Of course, having never actually heard herself before, Katrina must admit she doesn't quite care for the sound of her own voice (much as anyone - who does hear their recorded words and think themselves not strange?)

Indulgently, she sits on the floor in front of Miss Reagan, not mirroring her rather open-legged seated position, but on her hip with her legs swept to the side. One brow arches and she shakes her head at the request; she has told her name twice already. But perhaps this is for posterity?

She waits for the recorder to begin again - flashing red light, annnnnd...now! - and leans forward to speak her name into the little device, followed by the year. Of course she knows the year. People have so many devices and calendars, and like to shout things like "In this, the year of our lord -!" to show dismay, it's hard not to know the year. And now, it's her turn to direct the conversation. "Why did you ask for me?"

It isn't her story - the one that makes this town so popular. She is only a character on the sidelines, a motivational piece of furniture to further the feud between Brom and Ichabod.

When the time was over Alex held her breath once more and this time she was rewarded with how the woman (ghost?) was speaking to her immediately. Maybe she was losing her mind, she thought idly but it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that happened to her this year anyway. Just a pretty final way of ending it.

Alex replayed the conversation once before she dove into her back once more and drew out the ever present moleskin notebook and it’s attached pen. Writing out the time and the temperature around her, it seemed Alex was at least making the attempt to be scientifically minded. Of course she didn’t have the equipment but she could still at least try the best she could.

More than that, it gave her time to think about the response to the question that Katrina had asked her quite plainly. Letting the recorder go again so that her voice would be on it for the show Alex spoke softly but earnestly. “Because no one bothers to tell your side of it I think. I expect that you’re more than just the pretty and rich girl that the stories try to paint you as. I want you to have more agency than that if you can.”

A beat before she added, “I’m gonna give you a minute this time. If you want more or less next time just let me know, okay?”

totally something this guy would do in canon, i can def work with this from multiple angles. he's not a nice person jsyk, hmu with your thoughts

(ooc | basic information ◎ permissions ◎ warnings ◎ contact info ◎ Cross canon/medium welcome.

Hisoka is a Shinigami as well as an empath. Considering the shinigami nature, he's probably the one being summoned.)

( WELL Ben would absolutely be the debbie downer who walks in on you doing a séance and drag you out of the room by your shirt collar while decrying spirit boards and calling to the spirit world while there are NUMEROUS DEMONS ABOUT who are in fact VERY GOOD at mimicking your grammy josephine's voice to lure you in and POSSESS YOU!! so please if you are interested in this happening just before something o m i n o u s starts to go down, leaving ours to have to deal with a ghostie on the loose, drop a starter, or send a pm! bonus points for dumb things like 'let's use this janky furby as a conduit for the ghost to talk' and now we have a rogue haunted furby running around the house, man don't you hate it when that happens?? )

There's probably some good film noir-sounding bullshit line for this kind of attitude: the idea that if ghosts actually existed, Logan would already have been killed by a whole host of them by now. Snappy one-liners about it or not, right now he's mostly only moved by his dislike for getting woken up at ass o'clock.

'Get the hell back in bed.' Had been the order of the day when Logan had come across Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum (usually called Eva and Ash) fucking around in their hotel room's kitchenette at half-past midnight, otherwise known as two hours past curfew. 'And don't giggle that loud next time, if you don't wanna get caught.'

What is it about mutant teenagers and endless energy levels? Why do they never believe him and the other professors when they remind them that they'll regret it the next day by about eleven am? Logan's on his way back out of their room when he spots what they'd been messing with.

Ouija board. Huh. Logan scoffs but, about done with telling them to get the fuck to sleep so they'll stop waking him up, he scoops it up off the table. "You can have this back after class," he says on his way out the door.

"But we don't have class tomorrow, this is a field tr--"

"Goodnight." As Logan shuts the door. He pads barefoot down the hallway the five steps it is to his own door and keys himself in, because of course egghead always gets them fancy-ass hotels when the kids are going anywhere.

Logan deposits the box on the little table in his own kitchenette, undresses down to tank top and boxers for the third time this night, and lays back down in bed, reasonably confident no one's stupid enough to wake him up again.

He is, unfortunately, mistaken. When the knock comes on his door, he nearly forgets to put on pants. Nearly. When he swings the door open, his face is flatly unamused, eyebrows arched. "Now, kids, what exactly is so exciting about three in the--"

That's not any of his students. It's expressly not either of the pair he's in charge of bringing to a martial arts competition in the city. Logan looks the man up and down, decides he's not immediately threatening but also not immediately innocent, and finally stares him in the face, eyebrows arching. "You know, it's pretty hard to pick the wrong door in hotels. They number these fucking things." He taps at the numbers on his own opened door without looking away from the stranger's face.

Edited 2018-10-22 02:23 (UTC)

[He does this every Friday night for fun anyway, no big deal.]

[ This is a terrible idea. ]

[Voicetesting! Probably the summoner. I'm open to ships/smut, but it'll require some CR build-up first. For the canon-blind, he's an old as fuck mage with some emotional immaturity/cluelessness.]

[Is trying to contact? If you ask him why he came to a seance, he'd say he's just curious. But maybe that's a lie. ~~It is.~~]

Edited 2018-10-18 19:51 (UTC)

[Come visit beautiful Sendai! See the historic sites! Sample the local cuisine! Sneak into the Aoba Castle ruins and summon the ghost of the One-Eyed Dragon himself!

What could go wrong?]

The world is a strange, ever changing place where time does not move linearly and gods, who are not inclined to follow the rules of man to begin with, move separately. Mimir is fairly sure the mortals with their funny little circle were not, actually, calling on him. But it's a delight none the less, to come down with a bit of fanfare.

Smoke and light and a swagger, cloven hooves tearing at the wooden floors beneath them and genitals swinging freely. He stands tall and mighty and bends down to inspect one of the humans. He broadens his accent to a good country roll and says, "Cannae ya even offer a god a pint when he shows himself to ye?"

Cults are... bad. Magic is technically real, and Peter likes to stay away from it, but his turf is his turf. He's been watching through the ventilation tunnels, making sure nothing gets out of hand, when... a hairy naked guy shows up.

Well, seems harmless. He snickers and keeps watching.

The cultists bow and scrape and pull forward one of their members for sacrifice, holding out a wickedly sharp blade. Apparently, upon seeing the blade, the cultist has second thoughts, and begins to protest; Peter tenses, ready to spring into action, waiting for the right moment.

They aren't near enough like the mortals he's met before. Much less ale, much more courtly manners. But it's not unpleasant. Or it wasn't until one of the lot is dragged forward and someone pulls a knife.

Well... There was a time in Mimir's life when he was something other than one who bent to the will of Odin. He steps forward and knocks the blade away, baring his teeth and letting his remaining eye blaze brilliant gold, the tattoos along his face and body flaring with the coursing power. "You. Will. Not. Defile my altar with such base sacrifice."

And that plays rather well to the group that seems to think he's something other than what he is. They cower and wail and Mimir lets himself grow a couple feet just to be especially imposing when he points down at them, "You dare presume to know what pleases me! A curse upon the lot of you! Upon your blood and your families!"

Just words, really, but Mimir has always been quite good with words. For ruination and good...

The cultists squeal and run, clearly none of them ever planning on having their seance actually come to fruition. Peter wonders if he should follow them, but he has their names. He'll check up later and make sure none of them are in trouble or breaking out in boils or whatever passes for normal anymore.

He pokes his head out of the ventilation shaft, and puts his chin in his hands. "Mister, are you reeeeally a god?"

Hmm... He might have overdone that one a bit. The young man's voice draws his attention and Mimir doesn't bother hiding the smile at the sight of him. Mad little thing in reds and blues, the manner of which he'd never seen the like of. And that was saying something.

"Well now, lad," he says, idly scratching at an itch in the middle of his chest and relishing in the ability, "That would depend on your perspective, wouldn't it."

[ shitty ghost baby you probably didn't summon on purpose ]

[Is a spirit. Who'd even want to contact him?]

[Either role!]

[ Probably trying to contact her dead little sister. Summons someone else instead? ]

((Either the one telling everyone seances are a load of crap, or the one telling everyone this is a bad fucking idea, depending on how haunted the location is.))

[The ghost being contacted--or the one you accidentally summoned instead of whoever you actually wanted. Interested in both canon and cross-canon CR, happy to do things in her world, your character's world, or a jamjar!]

Edited 2018-10-21 01:06 (UTC)

[ He's an oni from hell that serves as an assistant to the Enma. The one summoned. ]

Is it time for spoops yet?

Mollymauk Tealeaf | Critical Role

Alex Reagan | The Black Tapes Podcast | OTA

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Luke Crain | Haunting of Hill House | Open

Kurosaki Hisoka (Yami no Matsuei) OTA

benedict dearborn || original (demon hunter/exorcist) || ota

i do what i want

r.l. stine (goosebumps)

Saoirse O'Connor || OC || OTA

Elias Ainsworth | The Ancient Magus Bride | OTA

Yukinami | Begleiter | m/m, of course ota for gen

Loki | Marvel Animation: Thor: Tales of Asgard | M/F, ota for gen

Date Masamune | Sengoku Basara

peter parker | spider man (ps4) | ota.

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joan dority | oc | ota.

laura | x-men | ota.

mara jade | star wars (legends) | ota (but shes immediately post thrawn fyi).

Gabe Goodman | Next To Normal

Loki Odinson | MCU | OTA

Chuuya Nakahara | Bungou Stray Dogs

Camille Preaker | Sharp Objects | OTA

Jacob Johnson | A Nightmare on Elm Street

beth greene | the walking dead | ota

Hozuki | Hozuki no Reitetsu