Susan Sto Helit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
no_nonsense) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2013-09-24 02:33 pm
no_nonsense) wrote in entrancelogs2013-09-24 02:33 pm
A little bit ghastly. [OPEN]
Who: Susan Blaze Sto Helit, Gentleman Jonathan Teatime, and You.
Where: The Wonderland City Cemetery, The Backalley behind a popular Pub, the Museum, and anywhere else.
When: Backdated slightly, set during the Superhero Event, the evenings of the 21st-23rd
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: Susan isn't exactly a Hero and her sidekick isn't exactly the sort of person who kicks people back into shape. In fact, he's more a side-stab, or would be, if he weren't a ghost. Susan will be doing the sorts of errands that one does when they are bonded to the Reaper (See: Nicholas Cage), and Teatime will be Tagging Along.
Join, help, hinder, or follow them with extreme suspicion as they go about grave-robbing, killing a guy, and generally doing a great deal of morally questionable stuff. As a joint post, all threads shall be subject to harassment by both of us. Thread starters in the comments, feel free to start your own if these don't appeal!
The Story:
The clock chimed expensively in the corner as Susan flipped the page in her book. It was the sort of book that was generally referred to as a Tome and the clock had the sort of cacophonous chiming bells that managed to sound put out at having to do anything as disdainful as noting the hour. The elegant din died down after a moment and the clock returned to its glassy, quiet ticking.
Tick.
Susan turned the next page and scanned it. Before she reached the third word, she felt the cold shift and the heard the quiet whine as the grandfather clock turned backward. The mechanism always fought it, but it was no use, it wound back one hour and two and unwound for that last minute. It always ran one minute before it stopped; she was never quite sure why.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Ti--
The clock froze, as it always did, with the hour hand on the four and the minute hand pointed straight up. She didn't need to look up from her book to see it, or the spectre perched in her wing-back chair.
"You know that's dreadfully inconvenient," Susan said with a bland sort of irritation.
"It very rude to keep blaming that on me. We both know that's entirely your doing," Teatime reminded her in a casual chirp. His voice was odd, sort of watery and inconsistent, but most dead people sounded like that. It probably had something to do with being generally watery and inconsistent.
Susan set her bookmark between the two pages and looked up at her sitting room. It wasn't large, though it looked larger in the darkness. The dark color of the floor and walls gave the illusion that, beyond the rug that contained her desk and the various bits of furnishing, it stretched on forever. It did not, but she liked the idea. Teatime was seated in her nicest chair and had his feet propped on her coffee table. She couldn't see his face, yet, just the outline of his coat and jacket, the line of his pants, and the sheen off his shoes. It was a bit odd to see without being able to see his shoes, but she'd gotten used to it.
She frowned at his feet, but it wasn't worth comment. There was no telling how long he'd been doing it and, besides, it wasn't as if he could scuff the table.
Wonderland City did not have considerably varied real estate near the center of the city, and it had even fewer of these old townhouses in general, let alone any in such reasonable repair. Susan had owned this one for a very, very long time and, apart from her guest, didn't expose any of it or its contents to anything objectionable. It was remarkable how long things lasted when they weren't used.
The sun had set outside, if the lack of light in the front hall was any indication. The clock had wound back...two hours. It was just past six? Lovely. Her fireplace was cold and the house was dark. Her desk-lamp did a fair job lighting the book she'd been reading but, beyond that, all it managed to do was cast eerie shadows and haphazard reflections. She frowned at the indistinct shape of her clock and then regarded the glimmering, spectral shade of the late Jonathan Teatime.
"If it were at all possible to exorcise you, I'd have done it," Susan reminded him for the umpteenth time and rose from her desk. "But I suppose it is getting late and I ought to get on with it."
She knew Teatime had coalesced at her side the moment he'd done it. Not because of the cold snap, mind you, but because there was suddenly an intangible arm wielding a blade jutting, ineffectually, through her chest. Susan ignored it and turned out her desk lamp as she left the room.
--ck.
Where: The Wonderland City Cemetery, The Backalley behind a popular Pub, the Museum, and anywhere else.
When: Backdated slightly, set during the Superhero Event, the evenings of the 21st-23rd
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary: Susan isn't exactly a Hero and her sidekick isn't exactly the sort of person who kicks people back into shape. In fact, he's more a side-stab, or would be, if he weren't a ghost. Susan will be doing the sorts of errands that one does when they are bonded to the Reaper (
Join, help, hinder, or follow them with extreme suspicion as they go about grave-robbing, killing a guy, and generally doing a great deal of morally questionable stuff. As a joint post, all threads shall be subject to harassment by both of us. Thread starters in the comments, feel free to start your own if these don't appeal!
The Story:
The clock chimed expensively in the corner as Susan flipped the page in her book. It was the sort of book that was generally referred to as a Tome and the clock had the sort of cacophonous chiming bells that managed to sound put out at having to do anything as disdainful as noting the hour. The elegant din died down after a moment and the clock returned to its glassy, quiet ticking.
Tick.
Susan turned the next page and scanned it. Before she reached the third word, she felt the cold shift and the heard the quiet whine as the grandfather clock turned backward. The mechanism always fought it, but it was no use, it wound back one hour and two and unwound for that last minute. It always ran one minute before it stopped; she was never quite sure why.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Ti--
The clock froze, as it always did, with the hour hand on the four and the minute hand pointed straight up. She didn't need to look up from her book to see it, or the spectre perched in her wing-back chair.
"You know that's dreadfully inconvenient," Susan said with a bland sort of irritation.
"It very rude to keep blaming that on me. We both know that's entirely your doing," Teatime reminded her in a casual chirp. His voice was odd, sort of watery and inconsistent, but most dead people sounded like that. It probably had something to do with being generally watery and inconsistent.
Susan set her bookmark between the two pages and looked up at her sitting room. It wasn't large, though it looked larger in the darkness. The dark color of the floor and walls gave the illusion that, beyond the rug that contained her desk and the various bits of furnishing, it stretched on forever. It did not, but she liked the idea. Teatime was seated in her nicest chair and had his feet propped on her coffee table. She couldn't see his face, yet, just the outline of his coat and jacket, the line of his pants, and the sheen off his shoes. It was a bit odd to see without being able to see his shoes, but she'd gotten used to it.
She frowned at his feet, but it wasn't worth comment. There was no telling how long he'd been doing it and, besides, it wasn't as if he could scuff the table.
Wonderland City did not have considerably varied real estate near the center of the city, and it had even fewer of these old townhouses in general, let alone any in such reasonable repair. Susan had owned this one for a very, very long time and, apart from her guest, didn't expose any of it or its contents to anything objectionable. It was remarkable how long things lasted when they weren't used.
The sun had set outside, if the lack of light in the front hall was any indication. The clock had wound back...two hours. It was just past six? Lovely. Her fireplace was cold and the house was dark. Her desk-lamp did a fair job lighting the book she'd been reading but, beyond that, all it managed to do was cast eerie shadows and haphazard reflections. She frowned at the indistinct shape of her clock and then regarded the glimmering, spectral shade of the late Jonathan Teatime.
"If it were at all possible to exorcise you, I'd have done it," Susan reminded him for the umpteenth time and rose from her desk. "But I suppose it is getting late and I ought to get on with it."
She knew Teatime had coalesced at her side the moment he'd done it. Not because of the cold snap, mind you, but because there was suddenly an intangible arm wielding a blade jutting, ineffectually, through her chest. Susan ignored it and turned out her desk lamp as she left the room.
--ck.