[font "Times New Roman" [center [size20 "Babe? Can you hear me? I... I think I made a terrible mistake.]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center There is blood staining the floor, covering up the paint you hastily drew on it. You're not even a witch, for god's sake. You were just stupid.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center You don't hear any sound coming back. [i The ritual didn't work.] Oh, god. The ritual didn't work. They're still [i gone.]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center A broken body lies on this floor, but luckily for you, it isn't [i yours.] It's theirs. You know there are rules to life, that there's equivalent exchange, that things must be balanced. You tried to bring someone back to life when you were not prepared to sacrifice anything in return. You were stupid and naive and you will [i pay.]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center Some big part of you know it isn't them, but you still hope. There is a brightness to the blood, like its shining, sort of. You're confused. The books didn't say anything about this. You don't know how to cope with it. So you watch.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size20 "P... please..."]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center There's no use begging. Something erupts like a volcano from the circle and swirls in the air. It looks like energy. It's pure light and yet also so foggy. And then more come out. You are paralyzed there on the floor and all you can do is stare. They disappear away from you. You have no idea what you have done.]
[font "Times New Roman" [center In a last desperate grab, you lurch forward and turn over their dead body. Nothing. No pulse, no fluttering eyelids, no color in their face. Just dead weight and blue veins and those half-parted lips you love. Loved.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center Their eyes open but you know it isn't them. You knew it was a huge chance it wouldn't be. This imposter didn't even get their [i eye color] right. So you bash its face in. Whatever it is. With the nearest book, you hold it over your head and bring it down a million times. And so you are marked.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size20 "Please forgive me, please forgive me, I'm so sorry..."]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center You cradle that body in your arms for a long time before you have to go. You let something out. You don't know what. Oh, god. How are you going to get rid of it? What hole in hell did you [i open]?]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center That voice is different. You've never heard it before. You spin on your heel to face it, half hoping it's one of the attackers and it'll just kill you off already... But it isn't. It's a ghost. It's obvious it is. It doesn't have a definite body, the form almost transparent. But the voice... the voice is distinct. It cuts into you almost.]
[font "Times New Roman" [center No, you don't. You don't even try to entertain or humor this spirit. They'll tell you anyway. They'll tell you what you already know: you were overly ambitious and stupid and even for a budding necromancer, [i you weren't ready].]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size20 "There were special plaques in hell for those guys."]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center You almost collapse. Oh, god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god what have you done? [b What have you done?]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [size20 "We better get going, then, kid; none of you have ever seen havoc quite like this."]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center You know how foolish it was to try to resurrect a kid's love. You have learned your lesson. Everything you let out... they made it obvious to you. This world is in ruin. [i You] are responsible. You don't try to hide that now. You roam the country as best you can to hunt down the monsters [i you] singlehandedly let loose. The human population is under one billion, it's so bad. But you don't let that stop you.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center They're a rowdy spirit, you'll give them that. You don't know why they've stayed with you all this time and you don't know [i what] they did to end up in the deepest pit of hell, but you don't ask. You guys kind of have rules like that.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [b 00.] This is set in a war-torn United States for the most part. Overseas travel, for lack of pilots and captains nowadays, is pretty... limited. But not entirely impossible. The specter is open, no gender assigned, as is the unnamed necromancer. The main conflict involves ridding the Earth of the horrors the necromancer unleashed, which will not be easy and most likely overwhelming. Shall they win or die in the effort? The necromancer is decidedly stronger than they used to be. They are capable of many, many things. The ghost's story is open.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [b 01.] May as well get the hard part out of the way: literacy and creativity are very, very important to me. Is it shallow to want posts that can go upwards of 2000 every time? If so, call me vain. I want it.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [b 02.] If we use pictures, you can decide. I'm comfortable with either--or none at all. It's chill.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [b 03.] I am VERY patient with posting. I'm serious. I will NEVER rush or pressure you. Take as long as you need; all I ask is that you tell me I'm not dead to you every once in a while.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [b 04.] This will most likely include a variety of characters for both of us to play and I will try to add them to the description as we go on. However, this is a 1x1 roleplay in itself.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [b 05.] If you're worried about romance... you'll probably be worried for a very, very long time.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [b 06.] I'm going to need your help moving the plot along! PLEASE DO NOT ABANDON ME. Thank you.]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center [b 07.] SKELETON, BABES: Name: [i Don't be irritating.] // Age: [i This is not daycare.] // Gender + Sexuality: [i Not very important, but could prove interesting.] // Role: [i Misguided Necromancer or Feisty Ghost?] // Personality: [i Please no plastic.] // 2 Seconds of History: [i You don't have to include major things; maybe a few sentences they may have shared with their traveling buddy.] // IDEAS: [i Please use this space to include any ideas that may have popped into your head. If there aren't any, don't worry. c:] // Picture: [i Real or illustrated or none is okay.]]]]
[font "Times New Roman" [center Thank you very much for reading and, hopefully, applying! I will only be accepting one person to write with but please do not feel discouraged. c:]]
[font "Times New Roman" How will our chaotic heroes survive? Will they somehow exterminate all the evil the necromancer let free? Will they die trying? Will they try at all? What did the ghost even do to get into the deepest, darkest cesspool of hell? What are the real reasons behind them wanting to help the necromancer? Does the necromancer even want to fix what they've done?]
[font "Times New Roman" [center Do not hesitate to PM me with inquiries, comments, requests for more information, or applications. If you got all the way to the bottom without leaving in disgust, please title your PM "until we close our eyes for good." Catch ya on the flip side!]]
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The town was good old, boring small town America; there'd been plenty of that when I was around, and it hadn't changed much in the interim. I mostly tuned it out and let the car carry me along. If I could, I would have napped, but sleep isn't something that comes naturally to ghosts. Too close to death, I guess--not like I'm any kind of authority on the subject, but I'm the only one I've come across who's cared.
"I do what I want, sweetheart," I told her, rolling over in midair. Assisting or not, it all came down to what happened inside.
The building itself was nothing fancy. A bit taller than I'd expected, but hey, maybe it was normal for those things to be big nowadays. I hadn't frequented radio stations back in the day, but the ones I'd seen had been fairly small. Ezra led the way, crouching by the wall; I slipped past her and poked my head through the wall. Inside was fairly bland. No blood or guts or arcane symbols scratched into the wall; if there were demons, they were the subtle kind. Either that, or there'd been no one left to kill. Frankly at this point, the second was more likely. Humans were starting to get hard to come by. Where demons had popped heads off left and right back in the heyday, they were starting to remember the joy of the slow torture of the pits. Sometimes they'd keep humans alive for days, months, years while they found new ways to delight in their pain.
And sometimes they'd just cut the throats and bathe in their blood. Demons were funny that way.
"All clear," I reported, pulling my head back out of the wall. If this was a trap, it was a good one. I really wanted to see what happened when Ezra sprung it.
I danced through the glass double doors and down the empty hallway, actually walking for once. Floating was all well and good, but sometimes walking was fun too. "C'mon, Ezra, let's go see what's up!"
There was nothing notable yet. An empty room full of cubicles, without the slightest stain of blood. If anything, that was in of itself odd; there hadn't been enough time to warn the country when the demons arrived, so most workplaces were at least a little bloody. Maybe they'd had a holiday. Or maybe there had still been someone to clean up.
Well, only one way to find out.
William's constant jabs at my predicament have certainly lost their luster. At first they were offensive; I might've cried a few times, whatever. Now they're kinda like water under the bridge. I sort of think maybe he's running out of material.
But I don't say that to him. He's like a hormonal teen or something; he'll get all pissy and decide to up the ante. I can't put myself in that situation. I can swan dive headfirst into an ambush I know is happening but I refuse to chill out with a William that has a chip on his shoulder. Nope. Don't hate myself enough for that.
I don't realize at first that I'm talking to myself until there are no snarky remarks coming back. I am half expecting William to tell me how stupid I sound or how none of that makes logical sense or how I'm gonna get myself killed or something. When he doesn't, I'm alarmed, looking around for him, but then some shitty damp thing hits me in the face and I wish I'd exorcised him as soon as I'd gotten the chance.
I peel it off my cheek and forehead and hold it at arm's length, my face crinkled up in a deep frown. It is absolutely disgusting. Ask one favor from William, I swear to god...
But at least he did it. I decide to take it in stride and consider it a bit of a gesture of good will that he actually did something for me. I peel the pages of the map apart, some crusted flecks of blood floating away on their own turbulence.
I notice the fact that despite everything, not all of the blood on the map is dry. Whatever keeled over and died on this thing didn't kick the bucket too long ago. Worrisome. This is starting to look like a trap more and more...
[+steelblue "I'll pass,"] I tell him with a disapproving humph. I have to hold the paper up to the light a bit to see, but I can make out where we are: a run-down Citgo that is one of the few gas stations in this decrepit hellhole. Davis Gulch. That's where we are. Sounds like some kind of shit you throw up.
There's a radio station ten or so miles to the north. If I follow this road for three then make a right and continue on, it'll be right in my face. So will either the girl or the trap. I don't know.
When demons get on the airwaves--or the times I've heard it, anyway--they don't usually bother to make a fake plea for help. They kinda just goof off and say some super demonic shit. Whatever. This call is out of the ordinary. So even if it's real, there's a good chance there will be trouble, just because of the fact that it is real. Who knows.
There's a fifty-fifty chance for either option despite the fact that neither one of them is good.
But I'll take them.
[+steelblue "All right, we're about ten miles away from little Susie. Davis Gulch isn't too big, so if we make noise, there's a good chance it'll be heard."] I tap my chin and glance up at William's semi-transparent form. [+steelblue "Are you going to help me with this or do I have to do everything myself? Doubtless there are plenty of bodies to borrow."]
Honestly, more than twenty times have I yelled at him because he sticks around when he makes it obvious that he doesn't want to. Like lurking on the sidelines while I'm getting my ass handed to me. Not to mention not even bothering to cheer for me.
I fold up the map gingerly and lay it on the seat beside me, clambering back into the front driver's seat. [+steelblue "All right, let's get this done before dinner."]
[center [size20 - xxx - ]]
WZ101.3 Radio Station is not impressive. It towers just a few stories above the ground and looks like a giant hulking disappointment. I can't imagine it ever playing any good music.
It looks desolate. No noise, nothing to look at... bare.
I crack my neck and my knuckles as I unbuckle my seatbelt--yes I wear one because there would be nothing more shameful than dying in a car crash in this world--and get to my feet. Go around to the trunk, rummage through my bags.
As one would assume, factories of any kind have not been active for a very long time. Does this mean I don't have guns? No. This means I don't have very many with a lot of ammo.
I really do thank god for paranoid military dudes and rednecks. I really, really do. They are a gift to this earth. Or... were.
I put a cool ass hunting knife I found in Georgia in its scabbard on my waist and a nice little pistol in my hand. I find they really get the job done, despite their size. Plus ammunition for them is easier to find. All kinds of people have small firearms in their houses. Who knew?
Learning how to use them, however, was an entirely different story that often got me close to blowing my own hand off.
I look up at the building again, holding the gun close as I do a quick jog around its entire perimeter. I don't see anything, not even a peeping pair of eyes. But it's like I feel something breathing down my neck. I desperately tell myself that's just William being an ass.
[+steelblue "Time to go save a little girl, Will,"] I say as I brush hair over my shoulder. [+steelblue "I could die. Don't get too happy; it's unattractive."]
So I push open the double doors and peek around the corner at the disheveled interior. Smells like decay.
/ 5y 128d 12h 16m 15s
"Why don't I just possess you? Easier for the both of us, plus any demons won't bat an eye at a possessed girl, what do you say?" I knew without asking what the answer was, but you know what they say: squeaky wheel gets the grease. "Who'd wanna be your Prince Charming anyways? The princess is the one who gets that, not the evil sorceress." I didn't mention that I couldn't possess vegetation; if she didn't know by now, she was even dumber than I'd been giving her credit for. Aside from everything else, I'd probably light it on fire just by trying to possess it.
We bumped into a little town that wasn't much more than a gas station and a smarmy diner that had been run down before the apocalypse. Now, weeds and small bushes grew in the road, breaking up the asphalt and making it look more like a meadow than a road. There was even an enterprising tree infringing on the edge of the road by the median. While the highway was well made enough to remain largely unbroken, these side roads had been aggressively reclaimed, eroded, and potholed by good old Mother Nature. Some of the towns we pulled into looked as though they'd been built without roads; while this one wasn't quite that bad, it was up there with the second-tier worst roads.
She pulled up to a gas station and put the car in park. I got out and stretched my legs, for what it counted; it was funny, but even without a body I still got restless if I sat still too long. It was probably all in my head--definitely all in my head, but I enjoyed the sensation of having sensations, even if they were only mental.
Ezra mentioned something about a map as she climbed into the back seat, which I decided to take into the good of my heart and fetch for her. The gas station was dark and deserted, merchandise hanging dustily from rusted hooks. It would've been a nice place to haunt, if anyone came by. By the dust on the floor, it seemed the answer was no. That, and the mutilated body stretched over the counter, face stretched by rigor mortis into a false, wide smile, rib cage spread open, organs lying in a wrinkly, died up pile on the ground like so many raisins. The sticky, dusty remains of some demon's joy ride were painted over several aisles; from what was left of that skeleton, it looked like it had ripped itself apart then finger-painted with it's own blood, hence demon's joy ride.
But neither of those were a map.
I ventured further into the darkened station. My ghostly eyes aren't bothered by the dark like human eyes are--in fact, it's easier to see in the dark than the light. There were no other ghosts or demons that I could see, but that didn't mean they weren't hiding in something or around some corner or another.
A thorough investigation of the depths of the station revealed no maps; I wandered back toward the grimly decorated counter and at last located them, right beside our unfortunate clerk-or-customer. I chose one that had enough blood on it to look disgusting while simultaneously not so much that it was completely unreadable, and, with truly Herculean effort, pulled it off the rack. I can lift some things, as long as they're light, but it's never easy and it's usually more effort than it's worth. Was this worth the effort? No, but I was bored. So yes.
I gusted the pamphlet through the air, then skimmed it through the tiny gap under the door. Back at the car, I used my ghostly powers to screw with electronics long enough to scroll down a window, then drifted the map over to Ezra and dropped the bloody thing on her face. "You want anything else?" I asked cheerfully. "Soda, chips? It's real nice in there, practically a museum--perfectly preserved." I conveniently left off the bit about the dead bodies, though I hoped the map had just enough blood that she got the hint there was something wrong. "Course, your humble valet couldn't possibly lift those...you'll have to take a look for yourself."
Aside from everything else, I want her to take the bait. Anything I can do to expedite that, I will. The worse off Ezra was, the happier I was--that was the simple nature of our dynamic. I doubted this had anything to do with whatever the car was doing, fueled and waiting in that town, but I figured wherever whoever wanted us to go, things would work out worse--and by worse I mean better--the worse shape Ezra was in when she arrived.
Getting shots off at William is damn near impossible. He's an arrogant prick and basically immune to anything I have to say. I don't even know what I can do that might even dent his pride. I try not to take it so personally.
I try not to look at William as I start driving along the side of the road. I know he has something to say that will contradict my decision; he always does. While I am not afraid to admit internally that this car is wildly convenient and suspicious, I dare not verbalize them. Then I'm gonna have to get out. Then I'm gonna have to walk. I don't feel like it. So I guess that leaves me with taking my chances.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes hard enough to make myself go blind when William starts messing with the car. The sound grates on my eardrums and what will we do if he makes it break down or something equally annoying? Back to walking. Even further back than square one.
There are some people out in the world that make you want to put a knife to your throat and drag it around like a violinist. Despite the meager population, William has turned out to be one of those people. It's just my luck, too.
And even though I'd never say it out loud, again, I think I am coming to terms with the fact that I probably would have killed myself a long time ago if it weren't for his ever-present asshole-ishness.
My attention is piqued instantly as I hear static giving way to a voice. A real voice from some poor girl somewhere.
Or a trick. I don't know. I can never be sure. More than once have I been tricked into showing up at an ambush. After a while, you learn to be quite skeptical. You learn to be a lot in a post-apocalyptic United States.
Like a sucker. People like me become suckers because my guilt complex is so strong that I just can't sat no to such a desperate voice. Especially not knowing I'm the reason for it.
I take a hand off the wheel to rustle up my hair. Being a makeshift hero could be so exhausting. When I was younger, I'd always wonder what made the superhero lay down the cape and retire from saving people's lives when they needed them. Now I kind of understand. I can't really say I do because I'm not really a run-of-the-mill kinda story. I am the disaster that the superhero saves the civilians from.
[+steelblue "Very much intact,"] I tell William as I set my jaw and press on the accelerator harder. [+steelblue "She has to be relatively close if I could get her signal from here... Assuming she's a real girl, I'd say she hasn't been on her own for too long or she's not really a survivor at heart because anyone with common sense would decide it's a bad idea to say things over the radio. If she is one of your brothers from hell, however, well... This is going to be an ambush."] I sigh and glance into his direction. Stupid smug son of a bitch. [+steelblue "And I'm going to walk right into it. Maybe you can possess a tree or something and be my Prince Charming. Hit 'em with the power of Mother Nature."]]
I laugh a bit at my own joke. In a world like this, you can't survive without a sense of humor. A sense of humor and a shitty ghost companion to go along with it. Then the package is complete.
I steer the car to merge back onto the highway when most of the wreckages are behind us. We are approaching a highway sign that announces our location. I keep an eye scanning the area for potential radio stations.
[+steelblue "I need a map,"] I announce to William. [+steelblue "I have to find out where she is; if I drive around guessing, I'll probably never find her."] I speed around a corner and into the parking lot of an abandoned gas station. Tourist traps like these have maps, right?
Though I don't know anyone who would decide to go on vacation in Montana.
I sit back into the seat for a while and bite my lips as I mull over multiple plans of action. [+steelblue "It's very likely that this is a trap... And also that I'm being tracked, watched, whatever... I mean, the odds of finding a car like this with a sufficient amount of gas stranded on the highway is damn near impossible. But if I'm being tracked, what would be the point in faking the trapped girl?"] I shake my head and rub my eyes. [+steelblue "Dunno, don't care. Pretty much obliged at this point to go save whoever needs a little bit of Ezra savin'."]
The shots she takes are largely off the mark. Well, not off the mark so much as...been there, done that? I mean, you can tease me about Hell all you want, but it's not worse than being there in person. And dear Ezra, without first-person experience, doesn't even know where to start. It's...it's almost cute. Her threat isn't really scary, either. Like a kitten growling. Adorable.
"I'd rather fuck a cactus," she says in response to my proposition, and my grin was wide enough to be nearly inhuman.
"I can make that happen," I told her gleefully. Ah, she was such an easy pick! "And watch your language, aren't you a lady?" The answer was no, but I'd take anything I could get.
The car could only have been more convenient if it'd had a huge arrow sign hanging over it with the words "FREE CAR" on it; that was also about the only way it could have been more suspicious. But dear Ezra didn't seem to notice. I for one kept my mouth shut. Let her find out the hard way. If things got bad, I'd step in and help out. Maybe. If she asked nicely, and I was bored, and I had nothing better to do...
Speaking of cars, they sure had come a long way since the last time I was topside. I examined it inside and out as Ezra started it up, taking a look under the hood and sticking my face right in the engine to get a good look at the way it moved. I hardly recognized these shiny, curvaceous beasts from the spindly creatures that had populated the streets back in my day. And the engines! They could roar loud enough to blow your ears out, but inside the cab, you couldn't hear a thing. The things were airtight, too; you could open a window, but that was it. And you could heat them and cool them! It was really amazing.
But I kept that to myself. Ezra'd only make fun of me.
There's a few fun things I can do as a ghost that don't really make sense to me, like screw with electronics. But It didn't matter if it made sense to me. It was enough that it annoyed Ezra. I put my hands in the radio and fiddled with it, making it blast static as loud as it would go, then tuning it into a high-pitched whine that set even my ghostly teeth on edge.
"...out there? Please, some..."
I paused, confused. That...that had been English, hadn't it? Sometimes demons broadcasted weird things, either from their powers or when they got bored and found themselves in a radio studio. But that...it wasn't backwards Latin, or some weird Gregorian chant, or even the inane English babble they sometimes resorted to. That had sounded like an ordinary person speaking. An ordinary girl, even, somewhere in her teens, like Ezra had been when I'd met her. I turned the radio back, dialing it in.
"...elp! I can't...I can't be the last one! Please, someone answer me, please..."
The broadcast cut out with a click, and then it was just silence, not even static, not even a monotone whine. I looked at Ezra and cocked an eyebrow. "How's the hero complex doing today?"
[+steelblue "Steaming heap of offal? Hit me right in the heart with that one,"] I deadpan. The hand I place over my heart could give less of a shit what William calls me. It isn't like that's his worst, either.
I put my ridiculously big pack over my shoulders. I'm surprised my spine hasn't snapped completely in half by now. Finding transportation that doesn't include going by foot is hard, but not impossible. Sometimes there are cars that still have gas in them. A lot that are actually on the road have dead batteries and blood spatters, though, from when demons killed them while they were driving or at a stop sign or whatever. I try not to take those cars when the battery isn't dead because sitting in the death is weird. But when I do, I make it a point to clean it out. I don't want to be sitting in Jenny Sue's intestines; no thanks.
We're not too far from Montana now. Even though the last job was a bust, we are close to the border of Montana on the Idaho tip. Hopefully it won't take more than two or three days.
I set feet to the street, closing the door to some house I was squatting in as I go. The only hard part about all this is finding food that hasn't expired. Needless to say, I was hungry as hell a lot of the time. It isn't really like companies are spewing out food. While I [i have] caught wind of a few places that have food to spare, they are few and far in between and I hadn't actually been near any.
I guess I'm kind of thankful for the fact that William can't eat anything. Everything would be that much harder. What he lacks in body needs, he makes up for in being the worse irritation this world has to offer.
My throat tightens a bit when he asks about family and such, but I don't stiffen. He does it all the time. It's not hard to imagine what he might have done to get into hell because honestly I think he's a fucking sadist.
[+steelblue "So tell me about hell,"] I respond to counteract his digs. [+steelblue "Is it true that it's hot down there? Didya make any friends? Or a better question: how many times did they make you literally shed your skin before you stopped screaming about it?"] I move some hair behind my ear and look away from him. [+steelblue "Next time you possess someone, and I know you will as soon as you get a chance, I'm going to punch you in your goddamn face."]
My voice is monotone, dead. I don't like having these conversations with him, but when he gets bored or just an itching to be an asshole, he initiates them. It's tedious, in my opinion. It doesn't get us anywhere other than on each other's nerves.
Sitting out on the streets for ten years, cars have become rusty and hard to use. The batteries are dead more often than not. For the last five years, I'd been in possession of a trusty Kawasaki motorcycle I managed to lift that was still in good condition, but after my last confrontation with a shitty demon, it was destroyed. I still complain sometimes. I'd named it [i Lavish.] I liked that. I still like it. Motorcycles are fast and easily maneuverable, albeit uncomfortable sometimes. Cars are easier to sleep in but often a lot more gross.
I abhor traveling on foot. It's long and hard and painful. [i Especially] for someone walking across the fucking country.
I wave him off when he starts that whispering shit. How many times is he going to try to get me to agree to let him bodyjump me before it gets in his head? I roll my eyes and continue walking, eyeing possible vehicles. The highway is riddled with them, huge messes of metal, unmoving and mostly bloodstained.
[+steelblue "I'd rather fuck a cactus,"] I tell William distractedly as I stray towards a Dodge Challenger. It looks fairly clean; maybe it was even new when I started the apocalypse. Maybe the driver was on their way home when they were attacked. It looks like maybe the driver got out and was killed elsewhere because there isn't a spot on it.
The doors are unlocked, too. I'm surprised no one lifted it before I got here.
I draw a sawed-off shotgun from my waist, bullets each inscribed with an exorcism circle and blood of virgins
I point the muzzle through the driver's side as I open the door, careful this time. I made a mistake of not checking [i one] time.
There's, thankfully, nothing or nobody in the car. I relax visibly and lower the gun. Now the hard part will be getting it to start.
[+steelblue "Please, please, please..."] I mutter to myself more than anything as I scrounge around for the keys. I will burst into tears if it turns out the driver left with them in their pocket. Though, in times of crisis, one would think the common thing would be to run for your life and not worry about driving somewhere.
The keys are in the cup holder. I am mildly suspicious of this, but I try to start the car anyway. I'm scared it will work, kind of scared it won't. I can never make up my mind about anything.
This is too good to be true. The car [i works.]
It had to have been used recently. Maybe the thing is that someone realized they couldn't go any further with it and decided it would be best to abandon it. It has definitely not been sitting here for ten years.
[+steelblue "Amen,"] I breathe out. [+steelblue "Come on before I leave you,"] I say to William at last. I know I can't leave him. I have [i tried.]
I open the back door and throw the pack in, then check the trunk. There's pretty much nothing in it so I don't think I'm too far off the mark by assuming it was new at some point.
I rev the engine when I get it, laughing to myself. Oh, my luck. My luck, my luck, my luck. Thank you.
The highway is crowded; the last person to use the car knew that much. But the surrounding area is pretty desolate so it's possible to drive off the pavement. I wonder, if that's the case, why no one did it before and instead chose to just leave.
My foot pushes the gas as hard as I can and I could almost cry in joy when I see the tank is a little below half. I can siphon some later and I'm fucking ecstatic.
[+steelblue "Off we go to hillbilly backcountry,"] I saw with a smile as I swerve onto the sidelines and speed up the way. No GPS, no map; just a faint sense of instinct and a naive hope that I'm going the right way. What a shitty combination.
/ 5y 144d 6h 39m 55s
"We don't have to, oh almighty Summoner," I reminded her, rolling over in the air beside her. She hated when I called her that. "Go anywhere, that is."
Ten years with this schmuck, and while she looked no less like Alicia, it was her personality that really kept me coming back. No, seriously. It was like...a diamond. Hard. Cold. Sharp. Irritating in your arsehole. Girl couldn't decide whether she wanted to have a hero complex or a victim complex. One minute, it was all--[i But I have to save them, I'm the one at fault!], and the next, [i How dare they attack me for dyeing my hair black!]
"Take your own damn self out to dinner, ya steaming heap of offal," I suggested kindly. At least I wouldn't have to walk to Montana, being as I could float. In fact, I could just grab an edge of her pack and hitch a ride, and she wouldn't even notice. Not that it took any effort to float along. Or do anything, really. If it weren't for my endless source of comic material in dear Ezra's antics, I'd have probably gone mad.
It was the black hair thing that I really didn't get. Why people attacked her in the first place, for one. Asians and Blacks must have it hard, seeing as it ain't even a choice for them. Though I suppose any excuse for a little casual genocide, eh? Seriously, though--she could just stop dyeing it. But noooo, little miss victim had to [i fight] the [i system] or whatever. It was worse than the bra-burners back in the day. If I didn't take vicarious pleasure at them attacking her, I'd be completely fed up by now.
[i Maybe she's a masochist,] I pondered, rolling onto my stomach. Though then you think she'd let me back in her body. I jump from a three story building once and that's it. It was an honest mistake! Anyone could've made it. I'd like to see her spend decades in Hell and come out and remember just how fragile real human bodies are without a single slip up. You don't die in Hell, after all. Neverending torment--well, it's neverending. Your body doesn't break or stop. It just keeps going, no matter what kind of punishment it's put through.
But I don't really like to remember those days.
"So how's the family?" I asked blandly. I was bored, which meant it was time to take potshots. "Doing well, since you set the denizens of Hell free to roam the Earth? Hear from 'em lately? How 'bout a boyfriend? You're already on the edge of marriageable age, you know." I yawned, stretching out in midair. "Won't be able to have kids at this rate. Though I dunno what kinda bloke wants the Summoner what brought ruin to the Earth as a bride. Hey wait, that's it! Find yourself a nice, friendly Satanist. You've already done 'im a solid, after all. Got a leg up on that relationship."
The best part of being incorporeal, in my opinion, was Ezra's complete inability to land an attack on me. Any blow she took would only go straight through; sometime in the past ten years, I'd gathered that I felt hot where other ghosts felt like a chill in the air, so if I was lucky, she'd get scalded in passing. Plus, her being the Summoner meant she could see me more clearly than most people; chances were passerby would see her talking to herself, swiping at midair. All bonuses, as far as I was concerned.
"If you ever get real--[i thirsty,] in your endless dry spell," I teased, whispering into her ear, "you can always let me back in. I'll be good this time. Or--if you'd rather--very, very naughty."
I was half-serious, but we both knew the sad truth was that she'd go the rest of her life a virgin than let me touch her again. At least I could tease her about it, but it was a booby prize compared to the real deal. Ah well. Maybe there'd be someone more willing in Montana.
It. Is. [i Horrible.]
I feel him talking with [i my] mouth, moving around [i my] body--and yet I feel like the passenger. It's like trying to look out of the front windshield from behind the driver's seat. It's horrible. I don't know if I can say anything or do anything in this state. I don't know if this is a state at all more than some creepy limbo that's left me stuck inside my body but not in control of it.
He sets fire to the circle. [i I] am not some weirdo kid who can set stuff on fire. I don't know how he's doing it. It's bigger and more bold than his little match trick, so I'm left wondering if it's because of the power in the circle or both of us combined.
I can't even turn my head as he--I?--we?-- stare at J.D. His body melting together and then into the floor, into nothing. Even less than skin and bones. Even less than I started with.
The loss hits me like an elephant sitting on my head, but the chest tightening that usually comes with it is absent. I'm a bit grateful for my paperboy in that respect. If anything tightened, it'd be my arteries for the last and final time.
And then everything is on fire.
I don't know what he expected, going all Bic lighter on the place. I figured maybe he had a plan. I didn't question him, didn't even know if I could, but now I wish I could just hit him in his head. My head? This head. Whatever.
Plus he burns my fucking hands. I'm just the audience watching the movie, but I feel that faint sting on my hands. It's sharp, like accidentally stabbing yourself with a pencil. I'm glad it isn't as bad as I thought. My--his?--our?--this skin is burned and angry, blisters popping up to complain already. It isn't that bad so I don't know what the big deal is. It doesn't even hurt that much.
He eyes the window. [+steelblue "DON'T FUCKING DO IT, I SWEAR TO GOD."] I'm screaming it, but I feel like he either doesn't care or doesn't hear me because he basically fucking swan dives out of it. This boy in my body takes a leap of faith in [i my] body from three stories up. Thanks. Wow. Being possessed is really working out for me.
Not even that by itself, but he feels the need to squeeze my chest with hands that are OBVIOUSLY inexperienced. Well, mine aren't, but the way he's controlling them is that of someone desperately out of practice. I almost laugh at that; there's probably no copping a feel down in hell.
Then he just leaves me. Poof. Gone. Just me and the wind and falling to my imminent death. I don't know whether or not he planned this.
I watch the ground approach and I swear I could just wave at it like an old friend returning from a long hiatus away from me.
It hits me hard. I feel like a broken toy or like a slinky after you throw it down the stairs. Not one of those professional-grade slinkies, either; I'm talking about the kind you get from Chuck E. Cheese for 75 tickets that break after 20 minutes.
I am a broken slinky on the ground below a burning house. What a turn of events.
I can't really feel anything more than all-encompassing pain. Pain and irritation because he's got the audacity to keep talking to me, keeps calling me "Summoner" and shit.
[+steelblue "The name's Ezra, you dead asshole,"] I say to him, and then I pass out.
[right [size20 [+red +10 Years Later]]]
I used to have a hard time truly believing that people lived in Montana. It was one of those states you'd forget existed because nothing ever happened in it. It was rare to meet someone from Montana. If I was from such a backwater state, I probably wouldn't have broadcast it to the world, either.
But I have to go. Or, we have to go, I guess. Technically we're partners. Only technically.
I've been stuck with the bastard for ten years so I've given up hope that he'll just leave me alone. I have also [i never] let him bodyjump me. Not again. Nope. You make a mistake like that once.
There's been talk of a conjunction of camps in Montana, though. Probably on a ranch somewhere with wide open space. There were lots of scattered groups of survivors, but they've decided to get together. They've sent out a few radio frequencies asking for helps with a pest. A pest in the form of a man that keeps running around stealing people into the night. Word is that some of their running water only comes out as blood.
It sounds more like a boogeyman story than liable information, but I guess I can't judge anybody. It's not like I really have any other places to be or people to see. William's is the only face I've been acquainted with in a long time that hasn't tried to rip my skin off as soon as they laid eyes on me.
As if letting almost every demon and his fucking dog out of hell wasn't bad enough, people have grown downright distrustful. "You got black hair, well I saw a demon with black hair once, so die!!"
People can be so dramatic. My hair isn't even actually black; I keep dyeing it and at this point it's more habit than a real reason. My actual hair color isn't bad. I don't know. I just kept doing it, irritating the life out of my dead companion, I'm sure.
[+steelblue "You ready to go?"] I laugh to myself a little. It's not like he has anything to pack up or actually get ready. I appreciate myself when I get little jokes over on him because he spends a lot of time burying me in them. [+steelblue "We gotta go visit some backwater swamp town asking for help dealing with some dude who kidnaps people."] My stomach grumbles and I amend my statement: [+steelblue "Plus I'm hungry. Wanna take me out to dinner?"]
//OOC: Pshhhhht, I don't mind because it was funny and it isn't like it was without cause! Same invitation extends to you: if there's anything in my post that needs clarification/elaboration, PM me any time. c:
/ 5y 147d 3h 9m 13s
She stared at me, and I grinned back nervously, repressing the urge to say something dumb. This was my best chance. I didn't know much about being a ghost, but some gut instinct told me she had to invite me in or I was screwed. I glanced around at the other ghosts and demons squirming about; why weren't they moving in? Maybe they were so eager to get out that they'd missed the bit of tasty flesh right in front of them. Maybe it was a kind of twisted gratitude towards her. Didn't matter, as long as she was left alone to me. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful; just not grateful enough to ignore her young, healthy body.
"Lucifer is real?" she asked at last.
I shrugged. "Real as me," I said. It wasn't really a reply, but I didn't feel like giving a real one. The less I could think about that place, the better.
I ignored her poke at my flames. Mostly they were something I'd discovered on accident; I'd used them to pass the time or kept them to myself. Demons didn't like when ghosts figured out magic. Usually it meant...
Well, I knew what it meant.
She scratched out a line of the circle, and I cringed. "Ah--great," I said. I didn't know much about practical magic aside from my flames, but every fiber of my body told me that she'd just made a bad move. I was starting to enjoy having an instinctual handle on magic, though the drawback of being an incorporeal ghost was pretty substantial.
When she said "Come in," I gave her a Cheshire grin and did just that. I really don't know exactly how to go about it, so I spent the next few seconds considering, but then I remembered--I'd escaped the boy from his mouth, right? Maybe I could wriggle back in through hers.
"Right, hold still," I said, and put my hands on either side of her jaw. I shoved my head in and looked around. It was dark, mostly, and nothing seemed to be happening. I found out in that moment that ghosts [i could] blush, standing there with my head halfway through the girl's. How the hell was I going to recover from this?
Just as i was pulling back out, something grabbed me by the neck and pulled me down. For a moment everything was swirling color and breakneck sensation, touch and hearing and sight keying back in all at once. My eyes--her eyes--went wide, and I stared around the room. I hadn't noticed, but my vision was much duller as a ghost; details were fuzzy, colors were muted. The same for sounds, and scents--it was incredible. I could hear every creaking board, smell the house's mildew over even the stench of Hell emanating from the circle on the floorboards. And--there was power. Energy, flowing white-hot through my--through her core. It almost overwhelmed me, the sheer strength of it, but then I snapped back into control.
"You there?" I asked with her mouth. It felt weird, feeling a real flesh and blood tongue moving in real lips, bounded by real enamel teeth--weirdest of all because it wasn't my mouth. A part of me revolted at the idea, even though my mouth was likely rotting scraps of flesh and bone at this point.
Not that it really mattered if she were there or not; I was just curious. I raised my hand towards the circle, palm up, and the floorboards came alight. For a second the flame burned black, then blue, then green; and then it was roaring yellow and red again, no more than an ordinary flame, the circle obliterated. I looked at her hands, overwhelmed. What was this power? How could she not notice it?
The demons and ghosts weren't happy with me. I could see them--more vaguely through her eyes; it seemed mine were more suited to seeing inhuman, incorporeal things. They screamed and gibbered and even rushed at me, but a flicked spark kept the most ambitious away. They were still unused to being on Earth, uncomfortable with their power. And I had all [i her] power at my disposal.
I waved a hand at her boyfriend and he burst into flames, funeral clothes twisting and melting as his flesh roasted. I watched him for a minute or so; I owed her that much, for having summoned me from Hell. It smelled putrid, the fire aggravating his already substantial flesh. It didn't take long before I decided it was time to go.
Only the flames had already spread across the hallway on this end. I turned around; the flames that had burned the circle had cut off the other direction as well. I bit her lip nervously, looked back and forth. Well. That wasn't good.
Something crackled loudly, and I turned. The tome was on fire! The same gut instinct that had rebelled when the girl had scratched open the circle lurched again; I snatched it up, patting the flames out with my--her hands. The pain was--incredible. I never thought I'd [i enjoy] pain, especially not after what felt like centuries of torment, but this pain was different. It was the pain of being alive, real living flesh and blood crying out at being harmed, not the dull and distant ache of a hurt soul. I looked at her hands, amazed. Her skin was burned and red, already blistering in places. That'd smart. But right now--it felt real. I was alive. I was--I was [i alive!]
Smoke swirled in the air, stinging my eyes, and I grimaced. Right. I wasn't going to be alive for much longer if I stayed here; I'd be burned right back to death. Or she would be, anyways. I probably couldn't die again. Maybe. I looked around, and then I spotted it. Lucky for me, this bird had chosen a window seat to raise Hell; there was an old window, half-rotted out of its frame, in the wall just beside me.
There was no time to waste. The fire was already encroaching on the window, soaring across the dry wood ceiling and dancing down the walls. Clutching the tome to my--her--chest, I jumped out the window.
I wish I could tell you that I thought something brave, that I desperately wanted to save her, but really at that moment, clutching the tome to her chest, I remembered that I momentarily had boobs. So I was kind of clutching the tome, and kind of clutching her boobs. Okay, [i mostly] clutching her boobs. I might have still had a hand on the tome. In my defense, they were nice boobs.
It was only once we were outside and freefalling that I remembered that a real human body couldn't survive that high of a fall. I squirmed in midair to get a look--looked to be about three stories up, and falling fast. It was time to bail. I pulled myself free of her energy--ah, that [i hurt], almost physically. Letting all that go-- But I had to. Heaving out one last real breath, I squirmed out of her mouth and into the night air.
From the first floor--I'd vacated only just in time--I watched her hit the ground. She hit hard and lay still; I raised my eyebrows, then swooped down. "Hey, Summoner," I called, batting her face with my hat. "Summoner, hey. You still alive?"
//OOC: I know that was pretty substantial godmodding, but possession requires it! Sorry, hope you don't mind~ I figure you can do your half of the possession if you want, and then we can timeskip ten years in the future or however long, so she's out of the hospital and everything. I wanted to give her scars from when William used her to handle the tome, but you can run that however you want. I figure him substantially injuring her probably caused her to run some anti-possession magic on herself, but again--however you want to run it is fine. That's just my suggestion on how to keep Will from popping in every time he wants to cop a feel, now that she's invited him in. XP Feel free to pm me if you want to chat about it.
He looks like the kinda greasy kid from like 1960s London or something that went around screaming "Extra! EXTRA!! READ ALL ABOUT IT!" to people who didn't care about the news. My mind is blank. When he appears to me, that is all I can think of.
He's naked for a second and my first real thought is [i That's nothing impressive.] I don't know why my mind won't focus on the fact that he just appeared. It scares me.
He smiles like he means it. All demons are liars, though. I read that somewhere. Maybe it was the Bible. Was it? He's got freckles and red hair--great, a fuckin' ginger ghost. Go, me. He can't be a demon because he doesn't really fit the description. I figure a demon, anyway, wouldn't try to chat me up first. They'd probably just take this useless body and do with it how they please. Do some drugs, fuck some people, throw it off a bridge. I don't know. I hardly care anymore.
I don't know if he's a man or a boy, but he calls me Summoner and he has an accent. I'm quiet; I'm shocked; I wonder where his accent comes from. I wonder why he calls me "Summoner" instead of "that dumb bitch." But he confirms what I initially thought: I opened up some fucking trap door to hell. [i Hell.]
Now I'm kind of scared to die. I know if I do, I'll be catching the expressway down there. Shit.
I don't have anything to say to him. I don't know when I became so spineless, though I chide myself for thinking I'm a coward. I just tried to bring my dead boyfriend back to life, and when that didn't work, I bashed his face in. At least a million times. My arms still burn. He was all wiggling and making weird noises under me. It was no way I could bring him back to life.
I don't like believing in religion, but I figure if there is a heaven, he's there. He's probably looking down on me and frowning, maybe shaking his head. Or maybe he's with some hot angel chick now and he's forgotten about me.
Needless to say, I keep my eyes off his body.
[+steelblue "Lucifer is real?"]
I'm ashamed to know that's the first thing I have to say to him. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck...
My head falls and I let dyed black hair fall into my face. Shit. I ain't never met the devil, but I have no plans on doing it today. As my luck would have it, though, I have [i no] idea how to get rid of the shitty doorway I created. I didn't even know the circle would do this so I never read of a way to reverse it.
My greasy paperboy does, though. He's quick to it, too, shamelessly asking if he can jump in my fucking body. What in hell? [b No.] Why would I let somebody who just hitched a ride out of hell chill out in my skin? It doesn't matter if he's trying to help me. I don't know him. I don't [i trust] him. I can't.
I think over the way he snapped his fingers and there was a fire on the tips. Just a little fire, enough to get my attention. My eyes wander back to J.D. "Buddy-boy." What century is this guy from?
[+steelblue "Were you some glorified lighter in hell, too?"] The snark and sarcasm are my default. While the spew of... [i things] from the circle has slowed, it hasn't completely stopped. I gather up my courage like a peacock getting its feathers all ruffled to impress the ladies and approach the white paint. I stare at it for a painfully long second and scratch off some of it with my foot. Hopefully, if I break the circle, it'll stop. I needed a full circle to do the ritual/spell/stupid mistake, so without one, everything that can be done is broken, right?
Fuck. I should've watched more [i Charmed.] I'm not even a witch. I'm just a dumb girl who tried to bring dumb things back to life.
It doesn't work. As predicted, shit keeps coming out. I feel like somebody is laughing at me. I'm too scared and stressed to be embarrassed and I just stare into it until I fear I'm going blind.
A shiver goes up my spine, but I turn back to face the ghost boy. Ghost man? What is he?
[+steelblue "Do I sign a contract in blood or sacrifice my first born child to you or something?"] I ask after a second. I don't want to ask him for help [i especially] if it's help on how I'm supposed to let him into my body. [+steelblue "What do I say, 'come on in, make yourself at home'?"] I spread my arms and look at him. If he's going to kill me I'd hope it was quick. If he has the nerve to smile at me while planning my demise, it better be fucking merciful. [+steelblue "All right, then. Do it. Let's just get it over with."]
I'd rather not hurry up and end it, though. I want to stand here and stall forever until Lucifer personally comes up to have tea out of my skull or something. I regret coming out here, but then again, that's something I should've thought of beforehand. That's something I [i did] think of beforehand and just didn't care about.
Maybe I am crazy. I have earned that title by now.
By the books, necromancers aren't even that popular. Vampires and werewolves are all the rage and necromancers are the ugly stepsister, the black sheep of the family. So how could [i one] calls such a ruckus? And a lowly one like me at that!
I stare at the ginger paperboy. I try to think of some great last remarks. Something people will really remember me by. But then it gets to me that there are no people around here to remember shit, so I just say the first dumb thing that comes to my head: [+steelblue "I have a mild allergy to peanuts."] I pause for a second and think about whether or not I should even be saying this. [+steelblue "So, you know, if you're gonna bodysnatch me or whatever, stay away from Reeses', I guess."]
/ 5y 147d 6h 42m 9s
I'm not sure how long I spent down there. It's hard to keep track. Harder to imagine a reason why you'd [i want] to. Just let it all flow together, let one punishment become the next punishment and don't try and keep track of the number of times you got dunked into molten sulfur or your guts ripped out and fed to vultures, and things go a little easier. Not much. But it's pretty amazing, I think, what the human--not body, because mine was dead--but soul, I guess? Yeah. What that thing can adapt to.
I'm not sure how long I spent down there, but I'm pretty sure I was a step away from becoming a demon.
It happens. Slowly. Insidiously. I watched it happen to other souls, one after the other, as they crumpled like a house of cards, gave up, and picked up the pitchfork. Sometimes they didn't even notice. I didn't. Not until I got out, and I began to think. Think long and hard about the things that had happened to me. The things I'd done. It's different, down there. Down where it stinks like sulfur and blood, where the only thing you hear for the rest of eternity is the screaming of the damned, and if you're lucky you're not the one screaming. It eats at you in ways you don't think anything can eat at you.
I didn't consciously choose to go to the surface. It just...happened. Like a bug drawn to light, I guess. One second I was boiling alive, skin sloughing off like wet paper, the next I was heaving in a breath, looking out a pair of dead eyes. And not nice dead eyes, either, I'd like to note. Nasty ones. Ones that'd been stuck shut with pins by the undertaker and left to rot for a few days, more cataract and congealed Jell-o than eyes.
I only got to look out them for a moment, just enough time to make out a dark building, a young girl; in the next instant, someone else had shoved me aside and taken up behind the eyes. I wasn't the only one in there--there was a whole bunch of us. Ten or more. Maybe a full baker's dozen. I'm not sure, because I was still taking stock of everything when someone beat the dead guy's face in with a tome.
I don't use that word lightly. This thing was thick, heavy, soaking with black magic--the kind of book your mother would kill you if she found you with, and not cuz it had naked girls in it. One of us alone might have been able to stop her from beating his face in, but together, we were a mess. Someone tried to kick at the same time someone else tried to stand; we tried to push her away, grab at the book, wriggle backwards...honestly, we just made it look like the poor kid was having a seizure. And then I slipped out, wriggling out his mouth like a last fetid sigh. The others followed my lead, rushing out all at once. Would a body, re-killed, return us to Hell? I didn't want to stick around to find out, and apparently neither did anyone else.
They disappeared, racing through the walls, and the boy fell back into the circle. The whole place was thrumming with energy; demons crawled in the wall boards and lurked behind the wallpaper, flickered in the shadows and cackled in the unnatural breezes that swirled around the room. I looked down at the girl one last time, giving her an invisible nod before I sped away. Time had sped by in my absence, and it seemed it had left girls in pants and half-naked. I nodded appreciatively to myself. For all that everyone had complained about giving women the vote, I couldn't find fault if this was what it had led to. But enough! Now that I was back on earth, I was going to do everything I'd missed out on the first time! Starting with--
She looked up, and my mind went dead. But it couldn't be. I swooped down, hovered in front of her. She stared through me, looking down at her boyfriend; I stayed invisible, scrutinized her face. It was impossible. But...
"Alicia?" I whispered, reaching out to touch her face. My hand went through, and I wondered if she would shudder; a ghost's touch is supposed to be cold, though mine...mine might be hot.
It wasn't Alicia, of course. Alicia was dead. Long dead. And she'd been much more beautiful. But there was something in the cheeks, something in the eyes. In the way she moved, the color of her hair. Maybe it was just she was the first girl I'd seen in a long time, the first [i real] girl in the flesh. But...I couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu.
She moved the body out of the circle with a resigned attitude, and I made myself visible at last. For just a second I was standing there in all my natural glory, but a moment's reflex gave me clothes, the ones I remembered best, not the ones I'd died in. A worn white cotton shirt, collar floppy and hanging open, red suspenders stained with black grease, dark brown pants that hung loose around the legs, black boots and a brown busboy hat to match the pants. When she turned back around to face the circle, I was hovering before her, cheeky grin stretching the freckles on my face; I snatched the cap off my bright red hair and bowed deeply. "Summoner," I said, straightening up and putting the cap back on. "Did a bang-up job with the circle; think you let just about everyone out of Hell. Though I gotta thank ya, frankly. Ain't a nice place to be."
I nodded at the circle, glancing at it through my shoulder; unexpected benefit of being transparent was that I had to turn very little to see anything behind me. "You got plans to close Ol' Faithful up, or were ya gonna wait for Lucifer himself to show up?"
"Or...how about this," I said, swooping in close. I snapped my fingers, and a flame fizzed above them for just a second before going out in a pitiful stream of smoke. "Let me in. Just a moment. I'll burn up the circle, and you won't have to worry about a thing! Hell, I'll throw in dead buddy-boy over there as a bonus, so ya don't have a body to get rid of--how's that sound?"
Frankly I wasn't sure what would happen if she let me in, if I'd be able to freely use the powers I'd discovered in Hell or if I'd just be a normal teenage summoner, with all the trials and tribulations that entailed. But hey--it was worth a try. She was the only viable body around here, since buddy-boy had gotten his face smashed in, and frankly I was too lazy to go find another.
[i And...though I didn't want to admit it--I couldn't let Alicia go again.]
//OOC: Could you just use the normal ES font? I've got bad eyes so using a smaller font makes it hard for me to read.
[font "Times New Roman" I am not crazy.]
[font "Times New Roman" I feel like I need to make that clear first: I'm not fucking crazy. I love him. [i I love him.] Death will [i not] do us part. I refuse to let it. Death is a stingy, man-stealing little bitch and I will not let it ruin my life.]
[font "Times New Roman" I healed a bird before. No, [i healing], I think, is downgrading myself. I brought it back to life. Right back from the dead. It was all "chirp--oops--I'm dead". Then I came out of the shadows like some Bruce Lee or some shit, and I said "Don't worry, I got you, little Tweety" and I brought it back to life. I resurrected it. [i I brought a bird back to life.]]
[font "Times New Roman" Now I'm going to do it with him. I've done my homework, I know I can do this. For him, I would do anything.]
[font "Times New Roman" His face is a little marred from the crash. They didn't give him much time to get pretty before they buried him. Had I have been here, I would have resurrected him days ago. But I was out of town, scouting colleges that wouldn't mind taking a little shit like me. I wanted to be a dancer. I wanted to get on stage in those stupid toe shoes and dance my fucking heart away. But none of it mattered without J.D. I didn't want anything else.]
[font "Times New Roman" I'm done crying. Now I am [i acting.] I have drawn the circle with the white paint on the floor: check. Looks a little demonic and I know mother dearest warned me about that stuff--god knows she would have a heart attack and stroke at the same time if she knew what I can do now--but I don't care. His body is in the middle of it, crumpled but dressed up nicely in a funeral suit. It's kinda gross. It definitely doesn't complement his hair. They've greased it back so he looks mature, but honestly it just makes him look like the kind of shady dude you cross the street to get away from. I like his hair messy and in his face. He's cute like that. He's [i dead] like this.]
[font "Times New Roman" I try not to meddle too much. He'll complain enough when he gets up and hugs me because I have returned him to where he belongs: with me.]
[font "Times New Roman" I clap my hands together and move the books out of the circle. They'll ruin it and I can't have that.]
[font "Times New Roman" This old building gives me the creeps, but I couldn't just walk on in to my house with J.D.'s dead body and tell my mom I was going to resurrect him. "Oh, yeah, and I forgot to mention I'm a necromancer! I bring back dead junk all the time!" She would never believe that. Worse, she'd make me put him back, apologize for fucking up his grave, and ship me off somewhere. Nope. Can't do it. Better deal with the building making up its own soundtrack of noises.]
[font "Times New Roman" [+steelblue "All right, babe, you ready?"]]
[font "Times New Roman" I'm talking as if he can hear me.]
[font "Times New Roman" I feel the need to repeat that [i I am not crazy.]]
[font "Times New Roman" A sharp intake of air interrupts the scary moaning of the building. I hope they fucking demolish this piece of shit soon.]
[font "Times New Roman" I put both hands on the outside line of the circle. My mind focuses on him getting back up and looking around all confused before he sees me and kisses me like he's never kissed me before. It's a nice thought. I like it.]
[font "Times New Roman" My nose starts bleeding, and at first, I don't think anything of it. Whatever. My nose is just being a little bitch, nothing I can't handle.]
[font "Times New Roman" But then there's a light. That's weird. It's bright as hell and I have to squint to keep track of where J.D.'s body is, but I don't move my hands. More blood is coming out of my nose like it's trying to make the Amazon River or something.]
[font "Times New Roman" A wind blows so hard I think I'm going to get whiplash and die. But nope. No such luck for me.]
[font "Times New Roman" More blood from me, out of my mouth this time. I spit it out, disgusted, but try not to move otherwise. I calm my head by picturing him running to me, his hair flopping against his forehead, his arms outstretched. It's comforting. It's impossible.]
[font "Times New Roman" I realize what a mistake this all is very quickly. Everything stops. I stop bleeding, the wind stops blowing, the light stops trying to blind me. I think it's a sign it [i worked].]
[font "Times New Roman" [+steelblue "Babe? Can you hear me? I... I think I made a terrible mistake."]]
[font "Times New Roman" His body doesn't move. Everything is still for a long time, including me. I'm too scared to move. I'm afraid he'll be alive. I'm terrified he won't.]
[font "Times New Roman" [+steelblue "I'm so sorry."]]
[font "Times New Roman" His leg twitches. I snatch back all of the hope that had been slowly leaking out of me and hold it tight like a two-year-old to her best teddy bear. I won't let this go. He's alive. Oh, god, he's alive. I did it. I brought him back to me.]
[font "Times New Roman" But there's screaming. Thirty thousand screams from thirty thousand loud ass fucking voices, everywhere around me, bouncing off the walls and ricocheting off my own skull. It hurts. Everything hurts. I try to cover my ears, but what are hands against noises like that?]
[font "Times New Roman" Something deep and primal in me is telling me to run, is warning me that that [i thing] moving is [i not] my J.D.]
[font "Times New Roman" [+steelblue "P... please."]]
[font "Times New Roman" I'm so desperate. It hurts to know how desperate and pathetic I am, but I move forward. I need to touch him. I need to see him. Oh, god, I know I've messed up for the last time.]
[font "Times New Roman" I crawl over his body and slap his cheek lightly. Praying he wakes up, asking any god listening not to let him. I'm conflicted. I know what I want but I also know there is no way I can have it. Things don't just work like that. They're not supposed to.]
[font "Times New Roman" His eyes open and my heart breaks in the split second it takes for my brain to register those eyes. They. Are. Not. [i His.] His eyes were blue and soulful and warm. I fell into them.]
[font "Times New Roman" These eyes are black. Black as the fucking night. And he's fucking smiling at me. That scarred face from that fucking car crash is smiling at me.]
[font "Times New Roman" How can I regret so much something I once wanted?]
[font "Times New Roman" Forget it. I reach out and take hold of the nearest book, three times as thick as the bible and four times as hard, and slam it down on that once-beautiful face. Twice, three times, four times. I'm crying. I don't know when I started, but my nose itches as the tears fall off my face. I keep slamming him--her--it--with the book until my arms burn and hurt. Oh my god. Oh my god oh my god oh my god. His body lurches under me as I bring the book down, hands I loved scrambling to get some kind of mercy out of me. But I don't stop until he stops moving and I can't breathe.]
[font "Times New Roman" [+steelblue "Please forgive me, please forgive me, I'm so sorry..."] I don't know what I'm rambling on about. I don't know why I'm talking at all. I don't know anything.]
[font "Times New Roman" The circle erupts with light again like some demonic fucking volcano and I catch myself half hoping something jumps out to fucking kill me already.]
[font "Times New Roman" I move off J.D.'s--twice--lifeless body and rest on the sidelines. Like benchwarming, but for death. And I wait. I watch and I wait and I'm sure this building is laughing at me for talking shit. I deserve it. I deserve all of this.]
/ 5y 149d 6h 16m 14s
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