Realistic or Modern Surreal Estate || IC

[elytra]

bunting haunting.

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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  horse????
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  location

  
  
  
  

  bunting
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Ha_lfLife The Blue Adept Sear
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

The monster didn't immediately come into view.

It was apparent that it had been chasing Charlie and, in some way, still was; the presence that Griffin had felt could even start to be felt by the rest of the group, weighing heavy in the air. For Griff, it was more clear, but a general sense of foreboding had settled on the area. The wind seemed to pick up, leaves rustling as the dreary rain that had persisted throughout the day began to pick up, beating down on the group.

At first, it could be thought the grim feeling was simply one that came with the hunt- the sense that something was coming even if it wasn't. The left over adrenaline from someone injured running towards you, warning of danger. Except a slight, dim red glow soon became apparent somewhere in the distance. It blinked out, then a few moments later appeared off to the other side, a little closer now. It then blinked out once more and proceeded to get a little closer, just within the trees, and a sound that sounded like the ticking of a wrist watch could be heard. That sound remained as the light disappeared once more. This time, however, it didn't reappear, at least not within sight of the group.

sea sick

adam young

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Ha_lfLife]

XI.
charlie murdoch.
the real estate agent.

Mood
Fuck this, man.

Location
11 Bunting Lane

Interactions
elytra
Sear
The Blue Adept

Mentions
Nimbus
@TrashRabbit
hery
eeuphoria
ClownPope

designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ

[CW: vomiting]

Charlie watched the glow, cutting in as a warm red light then disappearing as if exhaling. It looked like nothing more than a lightning bug, so far away that it looked like a simple clump of dust lingering in the air. Charlie’s vision started to blur as she looked at it, her stomach cramping up, gums aching. She was spent, near to collapsing after the long escape. Before she could take it as a warning, a lurching in her stomach caused her to double over, retching a yellow bilous saliva until her abdomen finally stopped contracting. Charlie straightened out, still breathing in gasps of air and half-choked sobs, looking up at Mode, who’d pushed her behind him and instructed her to run.

Winded and dizzy, arm still radiating in agonizing bursts after the collision with the Undertaker, Charlie gave Mode a look that was in equal parts disbelieving and desperate. “Jesus- … shit, shit-okay,” Charlie breathed out in a near-wheeze. She caught one last gasping breath from where she stood and, grabbing at the sleeve of Griff’s hoodie, tugged them to follow, “Come on-“

The speed Charlie managed was laughable, pathetic especially next to Griff’s. Her lungs burned like they were lined with acid, splints in her legs firing up every time her feet touched the ground. Her trot was nowhere close to the terror-induced sprint that had taken her from the house to the middle of the dark forest in a matter of several minutes. Her bare feet now slipped with every other step, even with the slower speed, and she felt like collapsing. It was fine to just let it go here, wasn’t it? Lie down. She looked behind her for Mode, lost in the dim light from the moon. Shit SHIT.

The silence was unnerving, her wheezing breaths filling the aural void. She looked over to Griff’s face, grim underneath their hood, and it kept her from stopping. Griff had a better notion of this stuff than she ever did, and if they were spooked by something, then it really was worth worrying about. “Okay, okay -“ She encouraged herself between puffs, trying to keep up with Griff’s stride.

The light again - right in front of them now. No, no, no it was back - it was coming for them. This time a bright, hot yellow light. Charlie stopped suddenly, reaching out to grab Griff’s arm. “Stop!”

When the dots cleared from her vision, she saw that the glow wasn’t the same as the ominous red embers she saw at a distance. It was from a flashlight, now pointing at her and Griff. The both of them were drenched, though Griff was luckily less mud-caked and macabre. Blinking away the light in her face, she could see through the light’s halo that they had all convened there, the rest of the group - Grover and Puck and Bekah, the trio shielding the old journal found earlier from the rain, Noor and Clair still approaching at the same time she and Griff had.

Charlie held up her still-working arm to hold her hand across her mouth, trying to catch her breath and not fall into fits of gagging again. “We’ve- we’ve got-gotta go. We’ve gotta go-“ She managed, taking her hand away to make herself heard and return to cradle her limp arm. Her voice cracked in frustration that the others didn’t seem as hurried. “Something’s- following us- It killed … It killed Mr. Clark.”

She locked eyes with Grover, the group’s unspoken leader. “Father - It’s coming. It-“

 

[hery]

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  XI.
  the intern

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  puck desmond.

  mood

  suspect
  
  

  location

  woods (bunting)
  
  

  interactions

  the gang
  
  

  tags

  elytra Sear The Blue Adept Ha_lfLife eeuphoria Nimbus ClownPope
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• Squelch.
  
  The sound had occupied the area surrounding Puck, Bekah, and Grover for a period of time longer than what could be considered a form of torture. Leaves and mud coated the their soles, adding a quarter-inch to each of the investigators' heights. Both of Puck's hands were busy protecting the grimy journal inside his coat as the downpour worsened. It was cold, dark, miserable, and the intern just couldn't feel more alive.
  
  Though a shiver did run down his spine at the prospect of a negative entity skulking through the woods. At least he'd landed a spot behind the resident priest. "Brrrr, is it freezing or is a ghost just happy to see me?" he quipped aloud, eyes trained on the flashlight guiding the trio onward. Otherwise, the journey was fairly quiet. Didn't seem the environment was very supportive of mindless chatter. Those structures couldn't be far now... could they?
  
  It was a shame they couldn't question whoever had left the journal for their finding. What were the odds Clark knew a thing or two about it? It seemed a bit of questioning would be in order later on.
  
  There was the sound of rustling foliage a ways away, gradually amplifying until a fraction of the greater team stood before them. Following the sound, two more popped out of the darkness. Puck stood in place, hunched over, still holding his coat. He offered a warm smile, which would have been a standard reaction had everyone else not flinched or whipped their heads around with fear.
  
  "Hey, guys. Some weath—"
  
  A frantic voice cut through Puck's greeting, eerie and clear as day. “We’ve- we’ve got-gotta go. We’ve gotta go-“ Despite the water clouding his lenses, the intern recognized the stifled, vaguely dulcet voice to be that of Charlie. Fancy meeting her here! Was the original plan to reunite like this? The more the merrier, he supposed.
  
  “Something’s- following us- It killed … It killed Mr. Clark.”
  
  It was like a punch to the throat. Without thought, Puck straightened his posture, furrowing his brows with a grave seriousness. While fear had yet to strike his appearance, the tone had undeniably changed. A flash of hot, cold, then numbness ran down his heavily-layered body. He was listening now.
  
  It was Charlie who spoke again, this time addressing Grover. Most heads had turned to face the de facto leader, while Puck's gaze was distant and his lips were drawn into a thoughtful crease. "Which way?" was all he could muster. He stepped past the five newcomers before a proper response had been delivered, squinting in an effort to ascertain what all the commotion was about.
  
  In the distance, there was no light Puck could pick up, so he crudely rubbed his glasses on his shirt. He gave a second glance. Almost right on cue, a mighty gust of wind rushed the opposite direction, whipping Puck in the face. He raised an arm to shield his face, planting his shoes firmly into the ground. "What did you say is chasing you? I don't see..."
  
  
  

designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Nimbus]

View attachment 1043077

◇◇◇◇◇ House bones for my canvas. ◇◇◇◇◇

Location: Outside Bunting House, Backyard to Woodlands.

Mission: GTFO!!

Comrades: See Company

Company:

Clairabell G. ClownPope
Griff Sear
Puck D. hery
L. Modesto The Blue Adept
Grover elytra
Bekah eeuphoria
Charlie M. Ha_lfLife

Book of the day: ????????? By ?????????

◇◇◇◇◇ Painting in dream & memory. ◇◇◇◇◇

Noor Ali could count on their fingers the times their heart beat as fast as it did when they ran into the woods. Hand locked with Clairabell 's, they squeezed lightly whenever she left their periphery.

Still there. Thank God.

Gaze swiveling along the horizon, searching for their friend, for any sign of the familiar shapes of the team.

The edges of the flashlights beam caught on a slice of light in the distance. Another flashlight? Maybe...unless someone was using a metallic object? Noor froze where they stood until they considered the team's designated monster hunter probably had at least one weapon unsheathed and ready.

"Mode?"

Noor's voice quivered, too weak to make an echo in the swath of treeline before the duo. They glanced at Clair, uncertain and holding back a panic they mentally harnessed with a child leash.

When they looked back, however, shadows resolved into silhouettes. Noor cataloged them before moving any closer: upright, quickly moving but not charging, making noise - talking noise - that held the pinched texture of "everything is very wrong."

The architect turned to their sometime investigation partner, making a gesture to the tune of, "people up ahead." Beneath the sharp vigilance and the layers of exhaustion in their face, their face held a sliver of hope. This might be the team. Everyone might be-

Noor let go of Clair's hand. They didn't move any closer to the group. They swung their Maglite up to chest height to reveal exactly the person the two most wanted and feared to find.

"Charlie!"

She was tottering, leaning a little as she ran, one arm cradled in the other. But just a but ago she had been moving - was she shaking, or was their vision blurring? And she stopped, throwing up a hand against the scathing glow of artificial light. She was alive.

Noor's brain focused on that last part, a Rondo of Alive, alive, alive! like bells after church service, where the weary world is a little shinier, a fallen penny spit on to erase a little of its years of dirt.

"Oh, thank God. Charlie."

Noor wrapped their friend in a gentle hug, not remembering the car detritus on their hands, not caring about the blood and mud splattered across her.

"Sorry for blinding you for a minute there. I just. I hoped it was you. I needed to be sure."

Noor's brain exulted one final chorus of, Alive! then they turned to the rest of the group.

"Let's leave now."

Another peal of thunder - they shuddered down through their bones, no matter how much they prepared themself for it. Still, they managed to sputter out a brief summary to corroborate with the younger Murdoch.

"I didn't see- we didn't see the- the monster. But Clair and I went in- the house. The body. And the window frame."

Noor briefly jerked their head in the direction of the house.

"Whatever we don't have right now, we can come back for later."

The architect didn't have to appraise Charlie to know that she had been shook to the foundation, but they scanned her anyways.

"You've run quite a bit for today."

Understatement of the season, Noor Ali, they chided themself, wringing their palms.

"I'll, um, I'll carry you. I'm not really useful otherwise."

"Don't move," they told her, the pleading and urgency returning to their voice.

Noor sunk to the ground in a squat.

"I don't wanna f*ck up your arm more when I do this."

The only warning was a tap on the back of each of Charlie's calves before Noor hoisted the injured woman up by the legs until her knees were above their waist. Noor could feel Charlie's heartbeat in their shoulder blades. The familiar bashfulness that came with unfamiliar territory returned, an odd little comfort.

"Um...I haven't really done it this way before. We- I haven't had this urgent of a situation. So. Go ahead and put your arms where they won't...where you think they'll be safest. Tap me on the shoulder when you're ready."

◇◇◇◇◇ Pictures capture the spirit. ◇◇◇◇◇

 

[elytra]

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  XI.
  the (ex)priest

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  grover waycott.

  mood

  uh oh....
  
  

  location

  Bunting Woods
  
  

  interactions

  Bunting Squad
  
  

  tags

  Nimbus Ha_lfLife hery The Blue Adept ClownPope eeuphoria Sear
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• Everyone got on his ass about being stressed out until situations like this.
  
  Grover wasn't mad about it. Not that he really had the capacity to be mad in the moment, not while his nerves were running on high, but even if he did he wouldn't be. God knew he'd love to be less stressed out in general. It was no ones fault that the reality they were living in simply wouldn't allow it.
  
  Any retort about not being called father had died on his tongue as he took in the state of the group in the dark of the woods. Charlie in particular was injured, but they were all caked in mud and worse for wear. Alright, so, the client was dead. Not good. And whatever had done it was chasing the group, even if it hadn't made itself totally known yet. But what had done it? Grover wanted to grill them, get details, yet couldn't bring himself to. They didn't have time, nor did they have the mental bandwidth to do that.
  
  His gaze flickered to the darkness behind where Charlie and the others had come from, trying to make out any shapes. For a moment, nothing. Then, there was another blink, closer than it had been to them before, illuminating for the second the thing it was coming from. A horse-like creature, hands hanging from it, bent and twisted in a way no animal should be.
  
  Well, that answered his questions.
  
  He'd never seen a Secretariat before, not in person. Had always found the name stupid, personally, because who would name a demonic entity after a racehorse? It seemed too silly for a creature that stole hands from people and proceeded to methodically kill them. Standing there, though, he could see the reasoning. Still didn't like it, but got it. Uncanny-valley, animal-like monsters were always his least favorite.
  
  Knowing was half the battle, but it didn't fix figuring out what to do. A gun would do some damage, but not completely fix the problem. Running wasn't a great option, seeing they already had one person injured. He was half-tempted to try death by fire, even if he knew it wouldn't work, hand twitching to go to the pocket his lighter rested in. What was the one thing that got rid of this sort of entity?
  
  Deals.
  
  "Woah, okay, let's calm down." He was quick to step forwards, ushering the group behind him, which looked silly considering he wasn't the one with the gun "Hey, okay, everyone chill." His weary brain almost had him trying to shush it like an actual horse, but he managed to stop himself.
  
  The red light flashed again, and then there was the Secretariat again, a few feet away. The dim red glow from its eyes stayed this time as it regarded him, seeming curious or even amused by his antics. The cause of the ticking noise that had been going was now clear, a wristwatch on the arm of one of the hands that hung from the Secretariat's body, one that Grover was sure belonged to one of the Clark family.
  
  They regarded each other for a moment, Grover far more skittish than the Secretariat, before he spoke again. "Alright. Clearly we're at an impasse here."
  
  A rattling, wheezing noise came from the horse-like creature in front of him, reminiscent of a laugh. Its voice which followed was just as grating. "I would not call it that, Father."
  
  One of his hands floated slowly down to where his toolbelt was, hovering over one of the pockets, but he tried to distract from that by moving his other hand around as he spoke. "Well, okay, not an impasse. You could kill us, clearly." Hype up its ego a bit. They liked that sort of thing. "But, it would be pretty useless for you, right? You don't get the souls of everything that dies on property, even if you kill them."
  
  "And what do you suggest?"
  
  "A deal!" Hopefully he didn't sound too quick on the draw here. Not that he was excited about the idea of playing this card, but all the same. "You get our souls eventually, we don't die right now, everyone wins. Right?"
  
  It stared at him a moment, as if gauging if he were serious. To indicate that he was, he put his free hand out, as if to shake. The response was not immediate as it continued to consider him.
  
  "Very well." He tried to not breathe an open sigh of relief.
  
  Out of the hanging arms, there was a crackling noise, like the snapping of some chitinous material, and soon a more soot-colored appendage pushed its way out of the rest, extending towards Grover. He didn't react immediately; the action was slow, as if the Secretariat was trying to make him nervous and see if he would back out. Once it got closer, however? He was quick to move.
  
  He didn't often pray the rosary, but it was an easy object to have on his person. The one in his hand in particular were wood beads connected by a metal chain, blessed by the pope of the time; his father had gotten them for him when he'd first gone off to school. It hadn't been an appreciated gift at the time, feeling as if the weight of expectation from his parents had only increased on him, but now? Well, it was coming in handy. Not the way his father wanted him to use them- God rest his soul -but Grover was sure he'd be forgiven in the long run.
  
  Instead of grabbing the hand in a shake, his fingers closed around the things wrist, holding it tight as he quickly put the rosary around it, twisting so it wouldn't come loose. Near instantly, a sizzling sound could be heard, the skin of the Secretariat around the beads beginning to smoke as they pressed deeper into flesh. He was going to have to hold tight, but it would keep it in place as he tried a makeshift exorcism.
  
  "Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen." The words tumbled from his mouth quickly as he tried to get them out without jumbling them, speaking as loudly and forcefully as he could over the screeching and wailing of the creature in front of him. "Come to the assistance of men whom God has created to His likeness and whom He has redeemed at a great price from the tyranny of the devil. The Holy Church venerates you--"
  
  The verse cut off as mangled hoof found its way to slamming against his chest full force, knocking the air out of him and hitting him to the ground. His hands gripped at the rosary, dragging it with him, holding it tight to the point that the beads cut into his own skin, but he refused to let go. He wasn't recovering quickly though. If he didn't get the words out soon--
  
  A voice from behind him spoke up. Charlie, continuing the prayer, which really shouldn't have worked but gave him time to recover.
  
  It was only a few seconds, but enough for him to be able to get back up on the horse, so to speak. He was able to join back in, and while the Secretariat struggled to get away, it didn't make any progress with escaping. Speaking was starting to hurt- no doubt the blow he'd just gotten was to blame -but he powered through as cracks started to form on the skin of the demonic entity. A red light seeped through, much like what came from its eyes, but it seemed to bleed in a way, smoking and giving off a burnt smell as the exorcism continued.
  
  The end wasn't exactly a slow crumble to dust. Instead, it imploded, the cracks causing the creature to burst outwards, covering the vicinity and Grover himself in ash and a disgusting, putrid-smelling goop. It splattered all over his clothing, quick to dampen him along with the rain water as the rosary went loose in his hand, what it had been twisting around no longer solid.
  
  He sat there a moment, staring ahead. Then, he raised an arm to his face, using a sleeve to rub away at his glasses before pushing himself up, limbs aching miserably. He turned to look at the group, mouth set in a grim line.
  
  Silence. Then, from Charlie, "You don’t get to call it a dumb party trick anymore", said in an understandably tired tone while still managing to break the tension. It managed to get something similar to a laugh out of him as he pushed his glasses up, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.
  
  "Yea. Right." He agreed. He would've agreed to about anything for her at the moment, with the condition she was in ('about' being the key term). "Fuck. Okay. Let's get out of here. Cars should be functioning now that that's settled."
  
  
  

designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

Even though he'd only been working with AJ for a few months, Sasha had already seen worse than the house on Sprucewood. It needed a little love, but nothing some sanding and a new coat of paint wouldn't fix. Even the weird soot stains on the ceiling weren't so bad. He texted photos of them to AJ with [????] and then a .gif of the soot sprites from Spirited Away. They'd probably come off with some scrubbing, he figured.

The recent plumbing issues also seemed to have more or less been taken care of, and Sasha was good enough at plumbing to be reasonably confident in his assessment even before AJ agreed with him.

Which just left the garage.

The big garage door was broken, and the homeowner had insisted that they were having an outside company look at it, which struck Sasha as deeply suspicious. There were two entrances: the outside door, and the inside one. The inside one was set up so that the hinges were in the garage, rather than in the hall, and the doorknob had the space for the keyfob inside the house, rather than the lock.

Extremely suspicious.

He was also thinking about Tatiana's noise claims. He hadn't found anything that might account for it--no raccoons in the attic or squirrels in the walls, his carbon monoxide reader staying firmly at zero.

He was pretty sure there was something fucked up in that garage.

Outside, he inspected what little of it wasn't built into the hillside. The door certainly wouldn't open, though whether that was from it being broken or simply locked, Sasha couldn't tell. He wouldn't have been surprised if it was locked. The door had a row of little windows, high enough up that most people wouldn't have been able to look into them, but Sasha was tall enough to see that they'd been painted over. Sasha crossed his arms and squinted at the painted glass. He really wasn't much of a contractor, but ten years in the military had taught him to figure out when something was a dangerous shade of wrong pretty quickly, and all his internal alarms were ringing.

Making his way back into the house, Sasha headed to the other door to the garage. It would be the easier--and certainly less destructive--door to get opened.

the contractor

sasha.

• aaaaaaaaa
• aaaaaaaaa

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  sprucewood; sniffing around the garage

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

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  fucking around

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

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♡coded by uxie♡