100 Blinks

024 House

There is sniffling.

It's a strange sound out here, where no one else frequents. Too loud to be a Slug, too quiet to be anything of notable danger. His head tilts, slowing Ianmo to a stop to listen.

The more he listens, the weirder it gets. It sounds like it's coming from everywhere, his painted face giving a worried look. Sometimes, it's not the living creatures that one should worry about, and he's more than sure this is exactly that which is the opposite.

For a small time, he waits, simply keeping his ear to the noises around him before moving forward again. He hits it rather suddenly, pausing again and checking on his Frightgeist to make certain that it isn't just him.

Minerva can see, and feel, it too, the world awash with an overtone of blue. Not a pretty powder, baby, or sky blue.

Slate blue, the color of melancholy.

The energy changes to something heavy, oppressing. He doesn't like it, keeping all eyes open. Minerva pinpoints the source some ways down, pointing and chirping toward it.

He checks to make sure he has the necessary wards and spiritual weaponry, just in case this one is another flesh-eater. He's dealt with those before and thankfully, know just how to deal with them beforehand now. It pays to be prepared, even if nothing happens.

He flicks the old engine off, dismounts and makes his way toward the crying creature. He finds it after a short trek over unused pathways of a time long passed, a small girl nestled against the wall of the cavern beneath a canopy of young giant mushrooms. She's surprisingly solid, if not with a faint glowing outline of off-white.

"Bonjour."

The spectre starts, looking up toward the shaman with a glance up and down of him. She sniffs once before replying, quiet and cautious. "Can ... can you see me?"

He shrugs, nonchalantly. Though his outward appearance is calm, he is still exercising caution, listening to Minerva on his shoulder. Should she tell him to get away, he will heed without question.

"I see a lotta t'in's. Y'ain't th'first. Not gonna be th'last."

She makes another sniff, wiping her nose. Probably a reflex to living. "No one really can anymore. I've been alone for a long time."

"Well, y'not simply a residual haunt." he tells her, though he keeps his distance still. Analyzing. "Means I can talk t'ye 'n' y'can respond naturally."

She nods, keeping her head low. "Is ... is that special?"

"Means I can offer you a place y'won't be so lonely, if y'want."

This is the assessment; her fate hinges on her response and reaction. To banish or to harbor. Such is the way of a shaman proper. He watches her even closer than before, one hand hovering inconspicuously near where he has wards hidden.

The little ghost takes a second to consider the proposition, looking off thoughtfully to one side. "There are others who can see me too?"

He relaxes a small bit. There is no violence, no grabbing fingers. Nothing physical, just a scared ghost unaware of the power she has. It's best to keep that detail from her for now. Not until she's safely isolated from places she could use it against the living.

"Lots of others. Both like me, 'n' like you." He moves his other hand, pulls out a small bottle. "I can take y'there. Sorry, the transport's a bit small."

She really is a small girl, the emergence of the bottle drawing her from her perch. Curiosity riddles her features, the glow around her brightening a little. She's uninterested in him, more interested in the little glass container. "But I can go where there are others I can talk to with this?"

He shrugs again, watching her with a second pair of eyes still perched on his shoulder. Minerva sees more than he can. She is unperturbed for the moment. "It might be a li'l while, but there are lots of others in th'Reliquary. I'm sure you'll be safe 'n' happy there."

He flicks the cork out of the neck, offering the opening to her. She has passed his analysis; without reaching out for him or even actively trying to make physical contact without provocation, she is one of the calmer dead. She understands her predicament, and is more concerned about having someone to keep her company. Already, the mood of the area has shifted. The slate-blue has started turning a paler powder, the heaviness lifting gradually.

"Jus' b'careful of Boris. He's a bit touchy, but only if y'get in 'is space."

"Is he easy to avoid?"

"Wi. He's got th'back corner of the ground floor lounge." He chuckles amiably, making the skull painted across his face smile. "Black mass, usu'lly. Easy t'avoid."

Her attention is still locked on the bottle, though she gives a small nod of acknowledgement. One finger reaches forward, runs along the outside of the container. A series of odd symbols glows bright gold in the air around the little container, the little ghost turning into an ethereal wisp as she's sucked into the glass. He corks it, tight. The bottle glows, even as the symbols fade, a pale silver-blue. He places it in a special pouch, separated into small cubes in which other bottles sit, some glowing and others empty.

"Sorry it's takin' a while to get to th'house. But we're almost home."

The air is clear now, brighter. Lighter. He looks to Minerva, who nods and chirps her praises.