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Realistic or Modern Surreal Estate || IC

Characters
Here
Lore
Here






XI.
charlie murdoch.
the real estate agent.














say so
doja cat


Mood
Irritated. Kinda hungover.

Location
Grover’s backseat

Interactions
elytra elytra Sear Sear

Mentions
birdgeoisie birdgeoisie


designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ



(CW: descriptions of gore)

“I hope there’ll be ghost cows. Ooo or maybe Black Philip will be there.” She shot Puck a playful look, hint of a smirk still lingering at the corner of her mouth. She unbuckled herself again, deciding they weren’t going anywhere so soon, and took a last swig of her Papillon. She put the empty can in the nearest cup holder and perched herself on the edge of her seat. She learned between Grover and Griff, resting her elbows just below the headrests of their seats. The scent of lychee shampoo hovered like a cloud around her.

“Lemme see,” she gestured to Griff, thinking maybe they would just be some generic crime scene photos. Grainy, black and white, barely-there-gore. When it came to stuff like this, curiosity got the best of her. She was part of that generation that had Reddit videos of the Cartel beheading people at their fingertips; it was always the choice of whether to ignore the worst or to give in to the feline urge to peek.

It was way worse than she’d anticipated. The photos in question were up-close, full color, high-def, clear as day under the flourescent lights of the coroner’s office. She could see pieces of skull and gray matter spilling out of the hole left in the victim’s head. Almost immediately, Charlie felt her stomach lurch and she could taste a hint of bile in the back of her throat. She swallowed and cleared her throat, hoping her gut reaction to the sight wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. How did Griff look at these things all day? Ten seconds in and her morning was already ruined.

“Poor guy…” Charlie lamented, trying to push away loitering memories of blue flashing lights, blood gushing down her forehead, mom at the bottom of the stairs—
No. No no no no. She did not need to start bringing that shit up right now.

Still perched between the front seats, Charlie looked over to Griff. “What do you think did it, a knife?”
 
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LAURENCE HARDCASTLE ⁠— the office manager
tags: BELIAL. BELIAL. wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta ClownPope ClownPope ; location: ackehurst real estate office (break room) ; interactions: joanna, devin, clair

Laurence had a way about him that belied delicacy; calculated perhaps, yet never gentle. Set-back shoulders suited the arrogant swing in his step, gazing downward along the bridge of his nose as if the act itself ought to be strenuously boring⁠.

Seizing a pot of off-brand coffee, Hardcastle tipped an over-heaped teaspoon into the bottom of the bumble mug. It would taste bad, that he knew, but there was comfort in knowing that the instant grounds always were. Allowing these little disappointments became something he almost looked forward to. He’d make that pinched look with his brows after the first sip, followed by a low albeit hollow mutter of dislike, and march back to whatever duty he’d lined himself up for.

Stooping to see how much water Joanna filled the kettle with in lieu of his interruption, Laurence’s brow rose in the early bearings of curiosity until his mouth upturned, “Radio dramas? It’s been a long time since anybody called them that now, Joanna⁠—where's your sense for the times gone? Last I heard it’s podcasts,” The smile encroached upon the corners of his eyes, “And speaking of, well, I’ve taken out life insurance policies on all Ackehurst employees and rented a smoke machine. Count your days, Dinkley."

She hadn’t changed. Though time wore it’s lines into the topography of her expression, Joanna retained that easy back and forth⁠—in some part restrained from greater familiarities, yet marriage was an intimacy one struggled to recover from. Laurence held his grudges as one does in stale admiration, things which no longer charmed but divided. However, even he couldn’t deny the small, boyish desire that lay in making pretty girls laugh; something he’d once accomplished by antics in decades past, slimmed down to the pickings of wry comments and putting his back out.

Hearing the reiteration of schedule garnered a nod, nonetheless, flicking his wrist upward to squint at a small watchface, “You ought to know I’ve a habit of putting my interests where they don't belong,” Washy, blue irises flickered over toward Devin, “There’s a pirate we can be proud of⁠—say you’re remembering to pay for other amenities too aren’t you? It’s all well and good until the abstraction of energy charges.” The dry-humoured drawl rounded with a silent laugh, Laurie’s lone palm reaching toward his chin, propping up his head with a splay of his fingers across his cheek and lips.

Another flitted into the breakroom, Clair making her appearance with a warm sense of purpose⁠—Laurence would’ve said of all things, they reminded him most of a bee, “Boo crews,” He mused admirably, mentally etching a note of the term, “Ah, Grover has a handle of the situation I’m sure. If he’s not pushed to the brink by those inside the car, he'll be fine toe-to-toe with whatevers outside it.” Hardcastle remarked, "I fear the kids more than I do snapping pictures of Bigfoot and his vendetta against real estate."

 


ＧＲＩＦＦＩＮ ＶＡＵＧＨＮ❜ ─ the psychic ─ ❛
tags: elytra elytra Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife hery hery ; location: company - grover's car
interactions: Grover, Charlie, Puck; notes: n/a



cw - death/murder/autopsy mention

The door was opened again, another co-worker joining the quickly growing packed car. Shifting the laptop on his lap, Griff looked back at the intern - whose smile was a tad too bright in their opinion. On such a dreary morning, it was piercing and after a sleepless night, it was even more startling. Unable to mirror it, Griff gave the man a small nod of greeting and jumped straight into repeating their statement to answer Puck’s question.

“I wish I could have had the chance to previously examine the bodies,” a small pause as he considered if he needed to explain in greater detail. “An autopsy would yield greater results.” If the homeowner died too, then he’d have to get up close and personal with the situation at hand. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that, but it wouldn’t be the first time nor the last.

Lemme see.

As Charlie leaned forward, Griff turned the computer screen to her, more than willing to share the information they were sifting through. “Of course. There’s a few noteworthy ones. For example, this one. The record of the father's death.” There was a soft click and Griff zoomed in on one of the images, gesturing toward the screen. He glanced at Charlie when she cleared her throat, trying to place her expression and failing. A soft snort escaped him at the lamenting comment, “Poor guy indeed.”

It always entertained him when someone attempted to guess the cause of an injury or death. It wasn’t an easy process even for him, as working with normal situations already caused enough confusion. Bodies didn't exactly fare well under abnormal environments, conditions or even events. Paranormal ones? Even more so. There were too many possible entities that could be at play. It only set a fire ablaze in him and made his fingers itch for more, so he kept scrolling, cataloguing the information and images in his brain for future use. With his other hand he pulled the notebook toward himself, and laid it across the keyboard before flipping through it. It was a black spiral notebook, with a neat line of sticky notes sticking out on the side all in color order with abbreviations written on them. Turning to the page that was labeled as ‘AH’ on the sticky note, Griffin started up a new note section and began to multitask as they shook their head at Charlie’s guess.

“No, while it is a head injury, I’d say he fell and got… impaled. This point would be different see -,” Griff pointed at a section of the image before moving on. More details popped up; significant head and abdominal trauma from being trampled by a horse or squashed by a car. Only the grandmother died a seemingly more natural death - a heart attack. Bringing the conversation back to Grover’s previous question, he finally addressed it now that he had an answer. “ Yes, it appears that all the deaths occurred on the property. There’s-” Griff recounted the deaths, “Six deaths currently recorded. All can be categorized as, on the surface, as 'accidents.' Including the heart attack of the grandmother. The current homeowner is the last remaining family member. Alive, for now.” That brought up the question as to whether there was any order to their deaths, and why people were reported in the woods specifically.

Scribbling down the rest of the information, in case he lost service in the woods, Griff hummed and tapped his pen against the paper. It beat out a soft rhythm that matched the hit of the raindrops on the windshield, joined by a quiet mutter under his breath. "Maybe I should give them my business card." Just in case. Or offer their services to the homeowner. Closing down his laptop for the moment, Griffin cast a look around the car around him. It was extremely neat. Too neat actually. A tilt to the side to look into the compartment on the door told him that it was empty. There was no more work for him to do in that moment, and they were still waiting at the front of the office. Even a flick through their notebook reminded him that the all-nighter he had pulled had also consisted of catching up on other work. The move to a new building was going well, and Hugo was dealing with the paperwork. Once again he was aware of the fucking car. His fingers uncurled, and then tightened again - bruising and painful. Another flip through his notebook. Another look in the rearview mirror at the two people in the backseat, one of which was nearly in the front already, his attention drawn past Charlie to the files in Puck's hands. "Anything in your reports Puck?"
 
f880125d498c89b632104b537e83acab.jpg

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

Location: Ackehurst Real Estate Office

Mission: Try not to die of embarassment.

Comrades: Sear Sear elytra elytra Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife hery hery

Company: BELIAL. BELIAL.
ClownPope ClownPope wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta
idalie idalie

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

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



In a rare fit of decisiveness, Noor drove the Vanpire to work. The ugly greige Odyssey's low fuel light dinged on - again. The intern added a gas station stop between their morning destinations of Butterfly Falafel and the Agency itself. They'd be running behind their usual hyper-punctual schedule. Lord knew how long traffic would be stopped.

They muttered to themself, "Mental note: grab apology Dunkin tomorrow. Maybe also an office plant or two."

If they got any odd looks from strangers for talking out loud to themself in public, they didn't notice. Maybe nobody heard over the sound of idling cars, dinging doors and a certain college student rummaging for their wallet. Noor plunged their free hand into one pocket after another. On the third try, they fished out the vintage leather trifold, relieved.

While the Vanpire fed on the processed blood of trees, they completed a quick inventory check. First, the Fuel: Two mini chicken pies (One of his classmates recommended these Sambusa) and Butterfly's heady, cardamom-infused version of a Chai latte (Shaah - it was fun to say) for the road. Gas…in progress. Podcasts? Downloaded. Wallet? Back in the proper pocket. Phone? Fifteen percent battery?!

"Could do with a charge. Note to self: remember to hook it up before we fight the Mass-holes on their turf."

Next, the Gear: Comfy boots that could carry them between the office and the field? Laced. Coat? Buttoned. The business casual staples for the season? Equipped. Backpack full of measuring tools, pencils, and notebooks? Zipped. Book of the day? Pocketed. Sunscreen? Stashed. Umbrella? Wrapped. Was that everything? Yes.

After topping off and hopping into the now sated Vanpire, they sent a text to the Ackehurst group chat. Ah. The name had been changed since they posted the "It's October 3rd" .gif earlier today. Who was the mastermind behind the new name this time?



(Noor, also Architect, also Intern) wrote:

> Happy house day, double trouble edition. 🏡 🏡

> Enjoying the rain? 🌧

> Am omw to the office.



And then they added a The Office .gif for good measure and docked their phone. In the great stop and go of the Massachusetts Interstate, Noor feasted and so did their refurbished Samsung. They listened to a podcast called Deep Cuts that Aleks recommended to them last week. Lost in the history of the strangest circle of ghostwriters they ever heard of and the hosts' profound love of the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, they almost didn't hate the commute.

Noor parked the Vanpire as far away from the sun as they could. Sure, it was rainy and wicked chilly, but the habit ensured they'd never singe their hands on the steering wheel or the seat belt. Noor 1, Boston 0- Okay, more like Noor 1, Boston 10 if they were honest, but nobody else was keeping score.

Before sliding their backpack on, Noor ran through another inventory check. The repetition focused him. It became a way of gently emptying one set of thoughts onto a conveyor belt that led to the back of their mind. Then others could float along the river and maybe not overwhelm him. Their secret to sanity, however temporary. Everything's a balancing act. The rituals are intricate, et cetera.

Swiping away golden pastry crumbs, they opened up their umbrella outside, then slid the rest of the way out of the Odyssey. After unplugging and pocketing their phone, Noor took a deep breath, penning up the wild nerves that always ran amok when they contemplated the odds of running into a homeowner on the way into the office.

They scanned the area for strangers to avoid or familiar faces to greet. No strangers. Thank God! Still, Noor wasn't alone. Part of the Ackehurst team looked like they were being herded for fieldwork.

Father- er, Mister?- Waycott's car was on the route that Noor charted towards the office. He could see a vague silhouette of Charlie leaning over the front seat. Griff's camping equipment peeked out of the back windows. So the mortician must have called shotgun by default. At least he wasn't the only one running behind today. Beside where Charlie should be seated, a bespectacled figure waved a thick stack of printouts. Noor would bet his wheels that it was Puck, his comrade-in-internship. Bless Grover for carpooling.

He waved to them all as he passed, wishing them "good luck." A wish that really meant, he realized, be safe.

Oh.

That old punch-to-the-heart feeling caved in their calm and their chest. They froze for a solid minute, trying to process why they were starting to get attached now. Why, when their key connection to everyone in that car was their ephemeral internship? They decided to blame it on the concept of ghosts and took the stairs two at a time.

Two knocks to warn anyone close by to clear the door. And…of course Noor definitely tried to open the door the wrong way. Screaming internally, they held their forehead to the door for 35 seconds and then straightened their posture, shifted their backpack and tried the door again.

No clients awaited them yet - lucky for Noor, who generally hated being observed by these strangers, let alone spoken to. But they would come today. When they did, Noor would prefer to be either holed up in the office or inspecting a property - unless multiple people could distract them.

Joanna brewed her tea by the wall and all was right with the world. She'd give him direction and handle any structural design questions the owners might have. Two houses of varying styles and build years on the same day was practically Christmas for the Architects. Noor wanted to learn more about both right away, but ducking into Jo's office like it was his hermitage was considered rude. A little water cooler chatter wouldn't kill him. Probably.

Laurie took up so much space in the office with his presence. They could tell today would be a people-y day for the office manager. Noor still wasn't sure if the middle-aged man enjoyed conversing with Ackehurst's clientele or just bore it with stoicism. Laurie's kryptonite, fickle technology, was something Noor could - and did - shore up whenever needed. Speaking of, he should probably check the copier and fax sometime today, just in case.

Clair could keep the home owners in a cheery headspace with her decorating initiatives. She was amazing at people-ing and a constant source of wonder and admiration for Noor. Odds were the strangers wouldn't even notice if Noor gangled about the office making copies and refreshing caffeine levels.

And Devin was talking about working offsite, which was alright with Noor. If they were completely honest, they wanted a pumpkin too, but it seemed a childish thing to admit. Especially in front of the man who pulled them aside and made them read and sign a thick stack of capital W Waivers and NDAs on day one of the internship. They didn't want a pumpkin badly enough today to make a Faustian bargain for it.

"Good morning, team. Sorry I'm a bit late," they addressed the break room, popping their head and shoulders around the wall before hanging up their coat and backpack.

The break room crew were talking about podcasts, among other things, which pinged Noor's special interest sonar. He was talking once more, half to postpone the how-are-yous he still felt uncomfortable navigating, half to press out all the useless facts now littering his mental landscape.

"If 21st century radio dramas have digital audio files - and I can't imagine they don't - their syndication on the Internet effectively makes them podcasts. It's probably more of the square to the podcast's rectangle though. If you feed the drama's podcast file to a record, for example, you remove the Internet from the media. Then it ceases to be a podcast, in the purest definition, anyway. Play that physical media over the radio and you have a radio drama once more. So really, that's a square you can make into a circle, if you have the resources and dedication. Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk."

Noor made a curt bow that probably resembled that of an awkward, oversized puppet. Then they fast-walked through the foyer to the cupboard that held employee's mugs. They weaved in and out of the banter like a boxer, dodging reflexive grimaces (reserved for Audible and its Big Bad Corporation) or bemused brow ballet (Noor forgot the modern definition of pirate for a minute, imagining Devin on a stolen yacht…which seemed aesthetically on brand) or any response that bubbled up that seemed mansplain-y (pure hypocrisy, considering their gender).

"Oh you ordered a smoke machine? Mmm, I could haunt that when I go. Or the office fax machine. Choices, choices," they joked wryly, pulling out their very own cup of stars from the highest shelf.

Their preferred mug for especially clear teas or, well, water, wasn't a replica of the famous Hill House teacup but reminded them of it. Noor rinsed the dust out of the large, black mug and filled it up with chilled H2O. Images of moons and stars glazed in stark white rippled in the water's distortion.

For someone Noor did not know as well, it was easy to look Clair in the face. Earnest and open, she didn't seem like the type to have many secrets. It almost made Noor feel bad he'd been holding on to so many of their own. Almost.

"Ah, the Bunting boo crew hasn't left quite yet. Saw them outside. Might be missing a member still?"

Noor's gaze flicked to the nearest window, wondering if the rain would destroy Boston first by flooding or by becoming so acidic it slowly ate up its buildings.

"Or Grover is having his midlife crisis early, which, honestly? Mood."

Wait, did they just say that out loud? Oh no. Oh God. Oh no. They wanted to hide under a desk. Unfocused, they blocked their face with their cup, sipping it silently as celestial images wiggled and jiggled on the meniscus, until they felt like a whole person again.

"I'm with Joanna," Noor sputtered when their throat allowed for speaking, "brought the van. In case we need visuals in the field."

They looked up from the cup that sparked much joy, deciding it was finally time to talk shop.

Noor asked Jo, "So. We're looking at both property blueprints, yeah? What format do we have? Print? Digital? Both?"



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

75bcd1af7b8fb716f515a55b2a3cb9c1.jpgc74de34663aa8d3b484729fc6d3f5d8e.jpg

◇◇◇◇◇ Songs to soothe the soul. ◇◇◇◇◇

HAUNTED💕AND🏘

Driving music

Seasonal Theme
 
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  • XI.
    the intern





    puck desmond.
    mood
    :]

    location
    grover's car

    interactions
    grover, griff, charlie

    tags
    elytra elytra Sear Sear Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife





designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ
 








Patter Patter
There was a light groan as the woman rolled on her side, bleary and half-opened eyes watching as the rain fell. She yawned into her pillow, on the cusp of falling back to sleep, arm hanging off the bed before she flinched. Glaring off to the side of her bed, sleepy hues narrowed on the brown and white tabby kitten looking up at her, a little tortoiseshell beside him. Groaning, she sat up as the kittens leaped onto her blanket and bit her again. "Alright, alright, breakfast time it is." She yawned with a low grumble, climbing out of bed and walking into the living room. Looking out the window, she pursed her lips, running her fingers through her hair. "I don't really feel like cleaning up mud, especially since I need to go in to work in a couple of hours." She sighed, bustling around her kitchen, grabbing bags of cat food and dog food and filling the plates, the three animals all bustling in to eat. Yawning, she turned on the kettle to boil water, as she turned and walked down the hall. Quietly easing open a door, she peered in and smiled softly. Stepping in and turning on the nearby light, Rebekah walked over to the crib where a sleepy infant was sitting up, watching the rotating mobile. "Percy~ Good morning, Mon bébé." She hummed, gently scooping up the curly-haired child. She lightly pecked his freckled cheeks, running her fingers through the fluffy hair that he had inherited from her. The drowsy toddler looked up at her and cooed, taking a lock of hair in his fist and putting it in his mouth to chew. Humming in amusement, she secured him in her arms and carried him out into the kitchen. "Let's get you some food, hm?"
Entering the kitchen once more, she set the blonde toddler in his high chair, went over to the fridge, and pulled out a plastic container of mini waffles, she made yesterday. Placing it in the microwave to heat it up, she bustled over back to the fridge, pulling out some fruit and cleaning it before dicing it. Gathering the now-warmed waffles, and fruit, she separated them on the plate and set them in front of the 19-month-old toddler. As he went to eat, she stretched with a yawn, deciding to get breakfast made for herself. Yet, hearing her phone ring, she paused before walking down the hall back to her room. Swiping up her phone, she stared at the number trying to call her with a narrowed gaze. She waited until the call went to voice mail, before walking back to the kitchen, with the phone now in hand. Seeing Percy had finished, she picked up the toddler and set him down, letting him waddle off as she dialed the number for her nanny. Frowning as there was no answer, she huffed before running to get a quick shower and get dressed. Now in a comfy set of clothes, and her hair up in a messy bun, she returned to the living room and called the nanny again, phone pinned between her shoulder and ear. She scowled as the call went to voicemail again, huffing before going to get Percy and getting the small boy washed and dressed for the day.
With the fluffy-haired tot, ready for the day and off playing, Rebekah called her nanny again, bouncing in place once the phone was actually picked up. "Hello, sorry to call so many times, but I have to head to work soon, so I was wondering if you could come in to watch Percy?" She spoke, washing the dishes from the breakfast while the toddler played on his tablet. "You what?" She paused, her brows furrowing in confusion. "And you didn't decide to tell me this beforehand?" She inquired, pursing her lips. "No- No I'm not saying you don't deserve a vacation but I wasn't told of this and it's really short notice since I talked to you the other day and you said nothing about a trip." She huffed, tapping her fingers against the counter. Her eyes focused on one of the kittens, Baguette leaped up on the counter and dropped a yarn ball by her digits. Humming lowly with the phone pinned between her shoulder and ear, she grabbed the ball and tossed it down the hall, watching the small cat bolt after it. "Well, what do you suggest I do? I have to be at work in about.. 2 hours, and I have no one to watch Percy. I hired you because you didn't mind my unpredictable schedule and being called on short notice." She huffed, getting a juice box from the fridge and stabbing the top of it, pouring it into a sippy cup and shutting it before walking over to her son and giving it to him. "Tankoo." The small boy mumbled, sipping at the juice. "Excuse me?" She blinked, her eyes narrowing as she stepped away from her son. "I didn't realize you suddenly having a problem with my career, was my problem." She snapped before hanging up and hissing through her teeth. "Le connard! What do I pay him for!" She grumbled, turning her focus to her toddler and watching him as she debated her next choice. "..."
"Okay, Mon chéri, Mama will see you soon." She smooched the young boy's cheeks, handing him over to the sweet daycare worker. Smiling, she returned to her car, and watched them go inside before she leaned her arms against the wheel of her car and screamed into them. Exhaling after, she rubbed her face. 'I hate putting him in daycare, he's drowsy now but once he realizes I'm gone, he'll throw a fit.' She thought with a huff, glad that she prewarned the staff about that little nuance. Rubbing her hands from the slight chill as she watched the rain fall, she then started the car. "Maybe I'll get myself and everyone some hot chocolate..."
Driving up to Bunting after her day was more or less derailed completely, it was nice to finally be there and start working, though only one car was there. She breathed out and decided to lean back in her seat, as it was easier to keep the batches of hot coco warm until all members were accounted for. She hummed lowly, sipping her cinnamon hot chocolate as she watched the rain fall.
'Hopefully Percy has a good day, who knows what kind of bullshit will occur today, if any.'







the historian



rebekah.













♡coded by uxie♡
 













  • XI.
    the (ex)priest





    grover waycott.
    mood
    home sweet haunted house

    location
    The Bunting House

    interactions
    Charlie, Rebekah, Puck, Griff, Aleks (texting & in person)

    tags
    Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife eeuphoria eeuphoria hery hery Sear Sear floripher floripher





designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ
 









His phone beeped in his pocket. He set his coffee on the hood of his car and pulled out the device.

Four new messages notifications from: 💚Grover🐸

He tapped the stacked notifications and read them as the texts app opened. He smiled, quickly typing out a response.

aleks: good morning!
aleks: i was gonna wait for you. can't let you go in the spooky haunted woods all alone, wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me
aleks: also thanks for the info
aleks: i'll see you when you get here, we'll talk more then. xoxo

He slipped his phone back in his pocket. Okay. What all did they know about these things in the woods? He could run some tests, but nothing would cover all the bases.

He'd have to test the levels of paranormal activity. It'll give them a clue as to what exactly they're messing with and how angry it is.

He just hopes it isn't very angry. He was hoping for a level 1, but if these are murder victims it's not likely. He could, of course, deal with things on the higher ends of level 2 edging into level 3 but it took a lot more paperwork than he had energy to do, not to mention all the safety precautions and containment procedures he'd need to inform the team of.

He'd check the classification manual when he had time. No sense in stressing over it when the rest of the team isn't even here.

--

He was digging through his trunk for the charger cord to his Brisco Laser Sensory Array sensor when Grover and the rest of the carpool gang pulled into the lot. He fished the cord out from a tangled mess of cables and closed the trunk. He really should take better care of those cords, especially the Brisco brand ones.

After folding up the cord and tucking it into his ghost gear backpack, he walked over to the group of people around Grover's car.

"Hi everyone, good morning."

Then straight to business. "I think Grover's got the right idea- I need to scan the woods for remnants of paranormal activity. Plus, someone's gotta make sure he doesn't get kidnapped by a ghost or something." He glanced at Grover before looking back to the group.

"Use the buddy system, if you've gotta stray from the larger party. Take at least one person with you and turn on your location in the group chat before leaving. Make sure we know where you were last in case you get lost-.. or if something happens to you." He took a deep breath. "We have a job to do, but stay safe."





























the ghost hunter












aleks.
































  • filler tab!




















♡coded by uxie♡
 
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XI.
charlie murdoch.
the real estate agent.














say so
doja cat


Mood
Unnerved. Hangover subsiding.

Location
Grover’s backseat; 11 Bunting Lane

Interactions
floripher floripher Nimbus Nimbus

Mentions
birdgeoisie birdgeoisie elytra elytra hery hery Sear Sear


designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ


Charlie complied with Grover’s orders, sitting back and refastening her seatbelt. She caught the eye of a figure skulking into the agency. Noor! She liked him a lot, from what she knew through their brief encounters, definitely enough to smile and wave at him through the window. As Grover pulled the car out of its space, Charlie took the long-overdue initiative to manage her headache in earnest. She dug through her backpack and retrieved an omnipresent, Costco-sized bottle of ibuprofen. Six down the hatch raw. It was the only thing that really put a dent in headaches anymore.

The nausea was subsiding slowly, but she started feeling unease growing in her throat as the city streets turned into smaller two-lane highways and open plots of land. Just like home. She thought to herself. Eighteen years later and she still called it that, huh? Weird. Bunting House won’t be like that, she soothed herself. Sure, some bad things had happened there already. What was it that Puck had said? Eight deaths? But there was still time to make for a good outcome. As long as there was still a house standing, they could help to fix it. The next folks to nest there - they’d make sure they had a good life. A good life, she repeated to herself in her head, closing her eyes again and trying to calm her breathing down from where it had started to spike. Two energy drinks in the course of an hour. No wonder she felt jumpy.

Once the city blocks gave way to more and more trees and fence posts, Charlie rested her forehead on the cool glass of the window, watching rain droplets land and streak past. She closed her eyes, letting the cold contact help ease her aching head. She started combing through the information she’d read yesterday over in her head, like flipping through pages of a magazine.

11 Bunting Lane
10.5 Acres
Construction began on November 19, 1985; completed on May 12, 1987
The obvious pros: an attached garage, 2 doors; a pool; sizable plot of land; isolation
The cons: history of murder; outdated appliances; fugly paint color; isolation.​

Comps in the area for three-bedrooms stayed around $990 to $1.2. They had more land than most. But a bad rap sheet. And from a pure realty standpoint, the house needed some major updates. No way they’d get over a million for this, even with its proximity to the city.

Charlie also mulled over in her head ponderings of her breakfast date: Joseph Clark.

Middle name: Michael
Born in Belmont in 1975
SSN ending in -1432
A wife, soon to be ex-wife, named Shirley
Two kids named Quincy (age 14) and Annabeth (age 8).​

The guy grew up in this house. It wasn’t an old place. Most of the other properties Ackehurste came across in their line of work were ancient by comparison. It was an oddity to be sure, seeing such a new house making a malicious history for itself. Barring a couple of outlying coincidences, should they really be jumping to the conclusion of malevolent entities so quickly? Who was to say Joe Clark wasn’t the one behind the rest of these untimely deaths? He’d have to have started young, but that wasn’t an outlandish theory – psychopaths proved time and time again to spawn at very young ages. This was something Charlie did – she always tried first to be a cynic. Not because she was a non-believer; considering what she and Ridley saw personally, she was indeed an unwavering believer in things lurking beyond the veil. But her gut reaction was to always blame something logical, something human – just so she wouldn’t have to deal with the alternative. Wouldn't that be so much easier? Joe Clark is a murderer; case closed, gang. Back in the Mystery Machine. We can go home. She knew that she had willingly signed up for this job, and half-dragged her sister by the ear to join in with her, but that didn’t change the fact that some assignments seriously scared her.

As for the old house? Millions of people had died in storms. It’s not like that was an obvious MO for spirits. Maybe it really was just a storm. Either way, she wasn’t eager to peep around the ruins of some dilapidated cabin in the woods; if she didn’t get the opportunity, that was just fine by her.

A brief stretch of gravel gave way to more concrete, but the change of texture bumping beneath them was enough to break Charlie from her thoughts. She rounded off the encyclopedia in her head and opened her eyes, registering anew the world around the car. They were in a forest now, full of trees peppered with leaves of orange, red, yellow. And, if she pressed her face to the glass hard enough, she could barely just make out ahead the minty green slats of 11 Bunting Lane. Just like the aerial pictures they’d had as reference earlier. Everything looked different in person. Maybe it was the rain that made the mood of the place seem so forcefully sinister. The lump in her throat came back when the house drew nearer, Grover finally parking behind the other cars piled in the driveway. Charlie kept her eyes on the house as she stepped out of the backseat, not even breaking her gaze as she nearly ran into Griff getting out in front of her. Unfounded and raw fear pricked at her skin, raising the hairs on the back of her neck and forearms. The scar across her scalp, hidden beneath her hairline now, started to tingle consequently.

She didn’t want to break her line of sight with the house. It was as if she looked away from it, the house would do something unscripted. Irrational. Inexplicable. At the same time, she felt a shiver run down her back, and a growing, instinctive fear that the woods were watching her. The unnerving feeling was surrounding her like a swarm, akin to the feeling of claustrophobia. Aleks was here already. He was the one who started talking, breaking the fixation Charlie held with 11 Bunting. Hunching over against the rain, Charlie joined the gathering, again questioning her decision to leave the umbrella idea on read.

After Aleks’s morning huddle speech, Charlie raised her hand, voicing concern for what she’d just now checked. It was an instinct that grew immensely as she looked from the house to the forest to the house again – you are so totally alone out here. She wished Ridley was here. “Only one problem with that, king,” She held her iPhone up so everyone in the circle could see the screen. “No service out here. …At least not for me.” So much for texting Rid that they’d made it. The search party would be sent out within the hour.

How bad could it be? It was broad daylight (well, overcast daylight). Creepy crawling monsters didn’t show themselves during the day, did they? As long as they all stuck to their plans, they could reconvene at the cars at 5:30, 6:00 the latest, and be on their merry way back to the city before sundown. But she couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that now crawled down her throat and nestled in the pit of her stomach.

Even then, she knew, she just knew. She didn’t have to worry about old Joseph at all. Whatever the matter with this place was, it was much bigger than him.
 
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louder than god's revolver
and twice as shiny
Devin Murphy
LOCATION

acklehurst real estate office (break room)

RADIO

renegade-kavinsky

MENTIONS

n/a

INTERACTIONS

joanna, laurence, noor

TAGS

BELIAL. BELIAL. , idalie idalie , Nimbus Nimbus

Devin looked at Laurence and placed his hand on his chest, fingers splayed, the picture of innocence. "Me? Pirate? Never!" Then he smirked and adjusted the lapel on his big wool peacoat. "I get my audio books from the library. I pirate obscure donghua." He mostly watched it to know what the hell Julie was referencing at any given time.

Noor entered in a buzz of their usual frantic energy, and Devin paused to listen to them and sip his coffee. He nearly chocked on his straw when Noor mused absent mindedly on the possibility of Grover's midlife crisis. Which. Noor wasn't wrong, but Devin hadn't been expecting the comment from them, of all people. He tried to compose himself, and then changed the subject quickly before anyone wanted to know why he was crying. I'm just envisioning Grover in little red sports car and he's crying. You know. Normal things.

"Alright. I'm gonna head out. Jo, text me if the Bunting boo crew needs a check up while I'm out," he added. "Don't start any crises while I'm gone!"


code by ditto (head empty go bonk)​
 













  • XI.
    the medium/psychic





    talulah “lou” winslow
    mood
    pissing her pants she’s so scared

    outfit
    a green corduroy jacket, a white turtleneck, beige slacks, brown leather doctor martens, and some emerald & gold jewelry

    location
    17 debdhill road’s basement

    interactions
    ridley, a.j., monique, enoch

    tags
    birdgeoisie birdgeoisie , TrashRabbit TrashRabbit , erzulie erzulie , Walliver Walliver





designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ
 
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ridley murdoch

ambiance: Deserted Skies - S U R V I V E


mood

guilty and tense



location

debdhill kitchen



interactions

Talulah cadence cadence , Charlie Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife , AJ TrashRabbit TrashRabbit , Monique erzulie erzulie , Enoch Walliver Walliver



mentions

N/a




Ridley could feel some of the tension they'd been carrying in their shoulders on the ride over finally shake a bit. Finally in the location, it honestly didn't feel too bad. There wasn't blood dripping from the walls or a human scuttling about the walls on all fours the way it happened in their dreams. All this to say that, frankly, Debdhill was a marked improvement from the nightmares that had been plaguing them since they'd read that initial memo about the property.

Or at least that's what they thought, absentmindedly munching down their donut and listening to Monique. They politely tucked the acknowledgment of her closeness to the contractor somewhere in their mind- something to be brought up later. Maybe the next time they saw AJ and Devin at that bar not far from their apartment. Monique was professional as professional got, and a hell of a better realtor than Ridley theirself were, so they nodded slowly, clearly absorbing her words and turning them over in their head.

"When does Ackehurst not have a property with a lot of work to do?" They asked with a bit of increduality. They hadn't been with the company long, but the agency's MO didn't exactly lend itself to places that were brimming with the latest improvements. Or even being up to modern code. They turned their attention to AJ when their phone buzzed.

They were only half listening as they typed out a response (a quiet huff of amusement escaping them at Charlie's usual humor):

ridley: he looks very polite :^)
ridley: make sure to have high end vacuums on your registry < 3

They waved a hand. "Not shocking that the wiring in this place is faulty, is it?" AJ himself didn't look so convinced of his own words, so Rid wasn't going to be jumping to any conclusions so quick. They were still hoping for this place to just be kind of out date- maybe even have a mold problem -than to truly be haunted. It was the rational thing to think, after all. Most houses in American were not haunted. So by that logic, at least some Ackehurst properties had to be duds. But of course Enoch had to ruin those possibilities. Ridley gave the ghost hunter a bit of a sour look, but it's not like he could control it, so they glanced away, teeth grinding with their growing apprehension.

AJ's next comment caught their interest.

“Hey, Winslow. you're gonna love the basement."

It sounded sarcastic. Maybe because even mediums hated ghosts? Did Talulah hate ghosts? Honestly, Ridley didn't know nearly as much about the woman as one might expect from someone who had seen her piss-faced drunk on more than one occasion. They thought, if they really pried into their memory, that maybe they had heard this fact around the office. But they had brushed it off as some kind of inside joke amongst people who had worked there longer than themself. A medium, hate ghosts? What an utterly, despicably malignant existence that would be.

"Eat shit."

Oh. Ridley's face burned as the pieces clicked together and they finally grasped what, in hindsight, should have been exceedingly obvious. Not that they had ever been particularly talented at all these complexities of navigating human relationships. Oh, god, I was being such an asshole. Again. They'd need to remedy this somehow. Apologize later? Maybe off to do something for her? For now, though, they watched Enoch and Talulah descend into the supposedly haunted basement and hoped that it wasn't, in fact, haunted. For all of their sakes.

They rubbed at their nose- a nervous habit of theirs -and squashed down the sickening shame, turning back to Monique and AJ. "I guess while we wait, should we go over what the plan is today? I was going to scout out the neighborhood, maybe see if any one else in the area experienced anything strange or maybe witnessed anything weird on the property?" They dusted their hands on their coat. "Plus it never hurts to tell prospective buyers that 'The neighbors are super welcoming!' and not be lying."

It didn't take long for noises to start rising from the basement. Normal chatter was fine and all, but then it sounded like something was being thrown. Many things, actually. And in a whir of sound and limbs, the ghost hunter and medium had both barrelled back up to the steps. It took mere seconds for Ridley's posture to straighten and a deterimined sort of intensity to settle in their eyes. Regardless of their own nerves, they had always found a way to brave up for the sake of others. They didn't need to be told twice; Ridley was on the opposite side of the table, helping to lift. It felt light, and they couldn't tell if that was because of the nigh obsessive working out when they weren't on the clock (or spending nights waiting around for a call from Charlie), or from the adrenaline thumping in their ears.

If they shut their eyes for too long, Ridley was certain they'd see an all too familiar hand gripping a bloody pair of scissors.

Helping to shove the table the last few feet to the door- Talulah was shockingly strong when terrified, it turned out -Ridley gripped the edges of the wood as they hunched over it, leaning closer to the medium. Their knuckles were white. "What did you see, what was it?" Their voice didn't waver, even if Ridley was sure that it did. They turned their stare to Enoch. "Do you have what you need to handle this?"




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 
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ＧＲＩＦＦＩＮ ＶＡＵＧＨＮ❜ ─ the psychic ─ ❛
tags: elytra elytra Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife hery hery floripher floripher eeuphoria eeuphoria ; location: Bunting House
interactions: Grover, Charlie, Puck, Rebekah, Aleks; notes: n/a


Eight deaths? The count was growing and it wasn’t looking good for the owner of the house and his family. There was a rustle as Griff leaned toward his bag, bringing to the top his business card for future use. It stayed hidden in the upper pocket of his bag, easily accessible when the situation called for it.

With that nearby, they stretched out their hand to grab the paperwork Puck was handing to them, a quick skim confirming the information the intern was sharing. Carefully folding the paper he slid it into his notebook after committing it to memory - as much as he could. A piercing pain in his head from the effort made his eyebrows furrow and he stared blankly through the windshield blinking until it passed. The light was beginning to hurt his eyes, a migraine incoming, even if not invited. An unfortunate occurrence if it would get worse, but they were capable of ignoring it. Which is what he did - the throbbing ache - fading into the background as they pulled away from the office, city giving way to more and more open land.

For the first five minutes they attempted to sit still, staring ahead, a model passenger but the idea quickly flew out the window after Grover made a turn and the sound of wheels giving a turn in a puddle shot through his mind. He swallowed hard as he stiffened in his seat, fingers beginning to ache from the constant clenching and unclenching they had been doing. To distract himself, and to prepare for the lack of service the location would definitely have, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. In favorites there were only three - Nik, Mode and Hugs. Clicking open the discussion with Nik he reread the previous message, having forgotten what the last case was about off the top of their head. Most of their talk consisted of work, and the recent text was no different, with Griffin sending multiple texts detailing the situation and asking a question. After so many years it had become a habit to let them know if the situation could turn dicey - or if he was heading into an area where there was no service. Just in case. The woods in the middle of nowhere with a death list of eight names definitely met his requirements for a situation that should be shared. Did Nik care? Most likely not. Did he personally care whether or not Nik cared? No, not particularly either. Although - The thought was cut off. Letting them know helped ensure that his own ass was covered, especially after Nik had saved it more than once years ago. So what if it helped ease the loneliness that had made a permanent home in his ribcage. Disappearing in the middle of the woods wasn’t an experience he was keen to repeat either way. They ensured their location was shared, following it up with multiple texts to explain the situation this time around.

Griffin: This one is definitely going to turn into a camping trip.
Griffin: House is in the middle of nowhere. No reception for sure. Going to see what I can see (lol). Place has a history of eight deaths so should be interesting :-)

With the texts sent to Nik, Griffin double checked Hugo’s location only to discover it had stopped being shared. Exhaling slowly, he toyed with the idea of texting Hugs but decided against it, clicking out of the conversation. All they could hope was that he wasn’t out spending time with Azriel. Being out in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t allow him to get his nephew out of trouble if it came to that. He'd deal with that situation when it came to it. The next time went out to Mode, letting the monster hunter know of the shifting situation. While he wasn't certain whether or not Mode would be working today, or where if he would be, he still let the man know, his lips curling into a small smile as he tapped out the message.

Griffin: Working on Bunting today. Apparently it's got a whole eight deaths that happened on the property = D

The time he spent scrolling through his phone and categorizing the information in his notebook helped pass the trip, keeping his attention off of the intersections they passed. With the change in pavement to gravel and then back to concrete, the car bumped and Griff’s fingers found a tight grip in the door handle, turning white from the strength he was gripping the door with. The sound of screeching tires and crumpling metal filled his mind and then it was gone as fast as it came, leaving only sweat lining his back under the hoodie. It took considerable effort to pry their fingers from the door when they rolled to a stop, parking outside of the house that housed a long list of victims claimed by it. Climbing out of the car he sidestepped Charlie who nearly crashed into his side, a raised eyebrow directed at her before he shivered from the rain and pulled his hood over his head. The house loomed in front of him, and he tilted his head considering the fashion choice of peeling mint green paint on the siding before being pulled into Alek’s speech. During which, Griffin wandered off to the side to greet Rebekah and acquire the hot cocoa provided to them, listening to the run-down from Aleks with one trained ear.

Use the buddy system if you’ve gotta stray from the larger party.

As if. Back in the huddled group, this time with a drink, Griffin shouldered their bag with a shrug. “I’m going to head into the woods to do a look around,” On the job he could act amiable around Aleks, and even listen to the man, but their relationship was shaky at best. “I will see if I can pick anything up.” He sure hoped he did. Griff began glancing around, honing on each sound and flicker, focusing in on letting his gift do the work for him. Their nerves settled, a tidal wave of calm sweeping through their mind, drawn to the job at hand and getting to the root of the issue plaguing the house. With the familiar weight on his bag settled on his shoulders, he turned on his heel and began to head toward toward the tree line dotted in various fall shades, having already forgotten Alek's words. They weren't written down - nor important in their mind - so it faded into the background, the job taking priority.
 
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Clairabell Geiger
Location: Office
Interactions: Jo, Laurie, Devin & Noor ( idalie idalie Nimbus Nimbus wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta BELIAL. BELIAL. )
Mentions:



It seemed Clair came in at a good moment, just overhearing Devin mention something about pumpkin festivals and pirating media. Ah delightful. Though with Noor’s musings of radio drama to podcasts she found her mind wondering off. Not intentionally as she loved to indulge the architects reflections considering he often hid himself in the background of the office. Nor for a lack of interest of the subject, quite the opposite. Clair happened to listen to old campbell’s playhouse or mercury theatre broadcasts when she could manage to scrounge some up online.

The designer found herself nodding in agreement with Noor. In a technical sense it would then be a podcast. This elicited a small giggle from Clairabelle as she envisioned Orson Welles as one of those podcast dude-bro types. Then a small redness in her cheeks as their mind continued to wander. Eyes transfixed on the thermos in her hands, gears practically visibly turning in her head, before snapping back to attention as Devin was making his exit. “Good luck out there!” She called.

“Aha, yeah it is a bit early I guess.” Replying to the multiple remarks of the first crew not having departed. Realizing she was getting ahead on the days proceedings, she back peddled a bit. Despite feeling like she was falling behind it seemed she was punctual as usual. “I’d be lying if I said new houses didn’t make me a bit nervous. I don’t envy them all out there, especially the gaggle at Bunting.” She did a mock shiver. “Couldn’t catch me out there with talk of people watching from the woods.”

Finally after a sigh her cheerful attitude sprung back. “Well! I’m off to work on some mock-ups.” She tilted her head a little to look at Joanne. “I’ll be running them past your desk when you have a moment!” Although it didn’t sound like it, it was said more like she was asking permission rather than giving a statement. Her attention then turned to Laurence, giving a small nod. “And please let me know if either of the Clients arrive, I want to get a jump on them while my ideas are still-” she tapped tapped her temple for emphasis. “-fresh in here.” Then with a small salute the designer exited the break area and made her way to her desk. Placing the thermos on the mildly cluttered space and plopping themself onto the well worn office chair.




Clairabell Geiger​
Location: Office
Interactions: Jo, Laurie, Devin & Noor ( idalie idalie Nimbus Nimbus wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta BELIAL. BELIAL. )
Mentions:
It seemed Clair came in at a good moment, just overhearing Devin mention something about pumpkin festivals and pirating media. Ah delightful. Though with Noor’s musings of radio drama to podcasts she found her mind wondering off. Not intentionally as she loved to indulge the architects reflections considering he often hid himself in the background of the office. Nor for a lack of interest of the subject, quite the opposite. Clair happened to listen to old campbell’s playhouse or mercury theatre broadcasts when she could manage to scrounge some up online.

The designer found herself nodding in agreement with Noor. In a technical sense it would then be a podcast. This elicited a small giggle from Clairabelle as she envisioned Orson Welles as one of those podcast dude-bro types. Then a small redness in her cheeks as their mind continued to wander. Eyes transfixed on the thermos in her hands, gears practically visibly turning in her head, before snapping back to attention as Devin was making his exit. “Good luck out there!” She called.

“Aha, yeah it is a bit early I guess.” Replying to the multiple remarks of the first crew not having departed. Realizing she was getting ahead on the days proceedings, she back peddled a bit. Despite feeling like she was falling behind it seemed she was punctual as usual. “I’d be lying if I said new houses didn’t make me a bit nervous. I don’t envy them all out there, especially the gaggle at Bunting.” She did a mock shiver. “Couldn’t catch me out there with talk of people watching from the woods.”

Finally after a sigh her cheerful attitude sprung back. “Well! I’m off to work on some mock-ups.” She tilted her head a little to look at Joanne. “I’ll be running them past your desk when you have a moment!” Although it didn’t sound like it, it was said more like she was asking permission rather than giving a statement. Her attention then turned to Laurence, giving a small nod. “And please let me know if either of the Clients arrive, I want to get a jump on them while my ideas are still-” she tapped tapped her temple for emphasis. “-fresh in here.” Then with a small salute the designer exited the break area and made her way to her desk. Placing the thermos on the mildly cluttered space and plopping themself onto the well worn office chair.
 













  • XI.
    the (ex)priest





    grover waycott.
    mood
    who ya gonna call? GHOST BUSTERS

    location
    Bunting

    interactions
    Charlie, Puck, Aleck, Griff

    tags
    floripher floripher





designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ
 


𝕁𝕆𝔸ℕℕ𝔸 ,, 𝔻𝔼𝕊𝔸ℕ𝕋𝕀𝕊 ❜ ─ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 ─ ❛
tags: Nimbus Nimbus idalie idalie wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta ClownPope ClownPope ; location: ackehurst real estate office (break room) -> (jo's office)
interactions: laurence, clair, noor (mentions: devin, grover) ; notes: sorry squeezed entrance and exits in one whew

There was a sort of smothered comfort in routine mornings. Seeing the same faces, time and time again, in the same place, would make most people feel at peace. Predictability came with it, a pattern that needed not be found. It was simply laid out. You greeted your coworkers, you got your morning brew, and then you went to work. Perhaps one or two things would change, garnering a bit of spontaneity, but it was simply as it was, and would ever be. Joanna, for the most part, did find this somewhat rectifying in the ever complicated mess that was her life. Funneling all of her out-of-work emotions, including a puzzling amount of optimism in order to be sure that her teen daughter smiled every morning, into the tiny drawer in the bottom corner of her desk, she could put it all away for the day. More often or not there were things to do, plans and drafts to be made, queries to be posed-- but it was as it was, and there was that smothered comfort to it.

Perhaps she, in another life, would have enjoyed something a little more lively. Years spent playing good to urban planning committees and scribbling appointments washed away her young adulthood, having once been proudly grinning away at impressive displays of art in the gallery she had worked at. There were times to wonder where failure would have led her, and if she’d have been sliding shots down a bar top, eardrums popped and fingers sticky with liqueur. It was the usual rhythm of thoughts to have in the morning, or at night, where the passage of sleep beckoned or bid goodbye to a dream. Maybe it was a dream. Though she was happy, about as much as one could be as fifty years of age loomed on the horizon, those dreams were often a plague. Ackehurst was good, better than most-- it was different, and dug in deep. Memories that homes held, be they living or dead, that required the certain touch of someone who dreamed in vibrant ribbons of dreams.

It could not, however, soothe the dreamer who dared not to wander too far into her past, and think about what never was.

Still, there were things to be done. Always a direction to move. It was that pattern.

Noor’s infectious ramblings, as well, proved always the morning call for Joanna. It got her mind beginning to turn, maybe more than she would care to admit, but it was refreshing.

She supped at her tea, having already emptied the boiling kettle’s contents into her cup-- and refilling it-- by the time that Devin and Clair had begun to speak of starting their days. She gave a thumbs up to Clair at the request, knowing that there was certainly little to dispute on it. It was not an acknowledgement of anything but amicable acceptance, and in honesty, she did look forward to it.

Offering them both a wave in turn as each left, then giving Laurence a familiar eyebrow raise as she turned to engage with Noor briefly, she nodded at the intern’s question.

“A little bit of both,” she said with a small smile, sucking in a gulp of air to cool the burn to her lips. “I like the raw copies, they’re usually preserved enough to avoid any natural wear and tear, but they’re not so usually pulled from storage either. Some things just don’t get caught on photo, even if they’re scanned in. Little details, notes even, left behind from the original plans. Though, to answer your question fully, I believe both homes have a digital photocopy on file, and I’ve got the USB for it tucked into my coat pocket, in fact.”

She was not one to be unprepared for any facet of work. It came with committing entirely to it, using it as a grounding point when life begged to be unstable.

The topic of USB brought a reminder to Jo’s mind, and she made an audible noise of distress, still dealing with hot tea water and fumbling to find words. She clicked a finger towards Laurence, sparing no mind to Noor for the brief moment.

“Oh-- speaking of, Han left me a USB of her project for school. Some movie thing she’s doing, but she told me to give it to you to look over. Said you’d already agreed-- which… probably, you’ve not… heard of?” She smiled fully again, raising a singular brow, letting the realisation of the words fall over her as she spoke them. She didn’t doubt their daughter actually had had a project, but she did doubt that Laurence had been briefed on it at all. A text, maybe, lost to time and forgetfulness.

“Anyway, don’t let me forget to give it to you before the end of today. She’d be so bummed if you didn’t, you know.” The sentence felt like she was forcing the role onto Laurence, though she had no real intentions of it… but old habits die hard. She fought to keep the smile on her lips, offering a genial pat onto her ex-partner’s shoulder.

Once that was settled, Joanna found it high time to begin the morning. Gesturing with a shoulder to the door, in a way of signalling movement, she made headway to return to her office while lips still pressed to the heated rim of her cup. Her gaze flickered for a moment to the bumblebee cup Laurence held once more. A happy reminder.

Expecting Noor to follow, and offering a brief glance with her mug still close to her mouth as she blew to cool it, Joanna headed back the way she’d come. Only once in the room did she recall that she’d left her phone in her coat pocket as well. Dropping the mug on its respective coaster, she dove to it, plucking a simple cell phone and USB from one of the side pockets. Placing the USB on the table, she went to check her phone.

There were a few texts from Hannah, asking if she’d given the drive to Laurence, and a few from Grover as well. Seeing as Hannah could clearly wait, Jo opened the more important set of messages. Reading them over with a quick glance, Jo, let a grimace press to her lips.

The house on Bunting had already seemed odd enough from the small bits she’d heard, even if the location wasn’t too suspicious in itself, but it was compounded more by mentioning Sorrel Cliff, and well… many deaths. Neither spelled good news, but she hoped to keep an ounce of optimism at her heart, at least. Well wishes, even if they could not be received in person.

She quickly tapped out a response, conscious already of her lack of initiative with Noor.

“Sorry, Noor. Just responding to Grover.”

📨 𝚓𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 ⇢ || 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 :
〚 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚍𝚘. 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗! 〛

Paying no mind to it and if the message was sent, she tucked it into her back pocket and took to pulling out the briefcase’s contents, as well as dispersing the books alongside the desk.

“Alright. Here’s the goods. Feel free to pour over the house on Debdhill. That should be… this set here,'' Joanna spoke to the intern, plucking a folder from the briefcase and handing it to them. “I’m not sure if we’ll find anything wild, but judging by Debdhill’s design and age, I’d say there’s a number of odd things that were built in and squared away. Those Edwardian homes usually had a few nooks and crannies that most real estate agents would prefer to just cover with drywood and insulation. I’d work my way back from the most recent floorplans and see if stuff starts not making sense. These being things you know, of course-- I don’t need to tell you.”

She offered them a smile, then felt another buzz from her pocket. Figuring it to be an oddly fast reply from Grover, her smile fell quickly once she read the screen.

ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ. ᴛʀʏ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ?

Cursing under her breath, Joanna rolled her eyes. Damn phone. Punching the try again button, she watched the message feebly try to send.

Giving a sigh she pulled out some of the Bunting house paperwork, complete with a bird’s eye photo-- though there wasn’t much to go off of that physically. Just a whole lot of forest.

Continuing through the paperwork, and coming across a write up of the property’s declared assets, she felt her nose wrinkle in interest. Narrowing her eyes, Joanna let her eyes run over the line a few times before leaning back.

As per written and declared, it appeared that Bunting had… other buildings on the property. Three more, in fact-- though it failed to state their purpose. She looked over at the pictures, unable to trace the mysterious three buildings from any of the angles given. The next line of assumption was that the buildings had to be out in the woods, maybe some cabins. It would require more looking.

“Hey... Noor-- are you able to send out a text to Grover? My stupid phone won’t, and I’m not sure if it’s on my end or theirs.” She hadn’t completely ruled out texting any of the others, though she wasn’t sure exactly who had jumped into the car with Grover earlier. If it came to it, she would.

Still, she figured she’d keep trying.

📨 𝚓𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 ⇢ || 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 :
〚 𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎? 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍! 〛
📨 𝚓𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 ⇢ || 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 :
〚 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝙱𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 *𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍* 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢. 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜, 𝙸 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎. 𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜. 〛

She pressed the three send buttons now, letting out another huff.

 
















  • filler tab! ignore
















  • h


















the feels



‼️‼️‼️







where u at?



debdhill property







the fit



rumpled warm clothes







interacting with



talulah, ridley mentions







tagging



cadence cadence birdgeoisie birdgeoisie








Ghostman








nine lives

 
A.J. Axtel
the contractor
17 Debdhill Road
loading screen moment
Kitchen
Carhart jacket & jeans
interactions

erzulie erzulie Walliver Walliver birdgeoisie birdgeoisie cadence cadence


AJ’s eyebrows shot up like they were applying to nasa when Enoch entered and scampered into the basement without pause or concern, boldly going to do exactly what he claimed to do; hunt ghosts. ‘There goes the bravest man in Boston,’ AJ’ thought to himself with sour sarcasm. After his spooky experience he thought that anyone going down there willingly was at best foolish. So he became worried instantly when Winslow replied to his warning a frown and: ”We both know I won’t, Basements creep me out.” and THEN followed after him. He was generally certain that both of themwere charlatans in an inconcent kind of way. Just well meaning believers of phenomenon he was also generally certain wasn’t real and thus unprepared for what he thought was a rather real bit of weirdness in the basement. But also, he wasn't convinced that basement weirdness could kill anyone, so he continued to play it cool.

He worked on his Boston cream donut and tried to pay attention as Ridely and Monique had a reassuringly normal conversation about casing the neighborhood and figuring out the rest of the repairs. It was all normal enough that the anxiety continued to cool in him until the checkered tiled kitchen slowly became shabby instead of oppressive and the the dim rain spattered light coming in through the windows had charm instead of menace. He was internally debating if he should mention the house also was missing a load bearing wall to Ridley- which was almost more terrifying than what ever was living in the breaker box. He was also debating if he should write the days invoice and not come back.

And that’s when they heard the crash of cans falling and the pounding of feet on the cellar steps and Winslow’s call for Enoch- and then up they both came in a flurry of wide eye motion. The adrenaline crawled back out of the dog house he had so carefully been coaching it back into with normalcy and donuts and hung in the back of his throat wet and hot like a dog lounging at the fence.

”Help me move this,” Winslow told the others, panic still evident in her tone the way her voice shook and came out slightly squeaky. ”Now!”

Ridley hopped to action fast, and the two had taken hold of the table and secured it against the basement door witha thump. One moment things were regular and in another instant every one was alert- it was like being the only guy in the squad who hadn’t heard the gunshots- And so he just stood there- taking a little step to put Monique more behind him, but not much else. His mind was trapped in the uncanny valley of treat assessment; stuck inthe dryer spinning dissonance of not being sure the situation warranted the sudden panic- but also being certain Winslow and Enoch shouldn't be poking things.

Ridely was taking it all dead serious and that sent him for a loop- pushed his threat assement over to YES when she asked: " What did you see, what was it?" Their voice didn't waver. They turned their stare to Enoch. "Do you have what you need to handle this?"

But Enoch’s answer bamboozled his nonsense detector something fierce back over to absolutely not no:

“I’m going with negative spirit or level three unintelligent once-human spirit. I didn’t bring the supplies for a cleansing, I didn’t think-”

Was this what larping was like?

He’d been invited to a post apocalypse one that met at the big park in town by a guy at the maker space. But it hadn’t seemed like his thing. But maybe it was like this?

AJ gave Monique a serious and questioning look; like a neanderthal discovering fire who really need a solid explanation. His eyes asked is this for real or are your agency psychics just like this?

He put the donut down slowly and said to the group at large; “Okay, but can’t ghosts walk through things?” And pointed at the barricaded door. He then looked at Ridely, who he decided must have the brain cell and asked, “Maybe we should go?”

coded by natasha.
 
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Monique.

































A sense of fear and dread had hit her so fiercely that she could only watch as the others barricaded the basement door. Monique had tried, she really had tried to pretend that it was possible that some type was haunting the house. Her eyes would drift to the basement door as she spoke to Ridley, unease filling her at the darkness within. She’d crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to ground herself. But then she was thrown for a loop, left trying to collect herself as something made itself known.

Monique had almost kicked off her heels to make a break for the kitchen exit, she’d taken a few steps back even. Her body was ready to bolt before her mind had even caught up. Flight was always a more preferable option for her. She was sure that her heart was about to beat clean out of her chest at this rate, so she placed a shaking hand over it. It was Enoch’s words that snapped her out of her silent panicking. “We? I’m sorry but what do you mean by we?” Her eyes darted around and she inched closer to the exit, her posture tight and clearly distressed.

“I-I think that it’s best if I follow the plan from before. I won’t be any help here so I’ll just scout the neighborhood and the neighbors.” Monique didn’t know what they had seen what she wanted to be out of sight before it made an appearance again. She locked eyes with Alexander and then Ridley, urging them to agree to get the hell out of the house. She could feel the stress from her mother’s words steadily and the stress from the current situation combining and making a deadly cocktail within her. Her lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

































holy



jamila woods










♡coded by uxie♡
 



debdhill haunting.

































At first, everything was quiet.

The lights had evened out and gone steady. The high hum of electricity had evened out, leaving the dripping of the kitchen sink in the background. Any sign that what Talulah had seen was present was gone for a moment; if anyone were to enter the room, unaware of prior events, it may have looked like the group was panicking over nothing. That, however, didn't last long.

The door knob to the basement turned slowly. Once. Twice. Three times...

With a sudden slam, the wood of the door bent as if someone was throwing themselves against it. The table jostled, but held its position well. This did not remain true for the second time that the thing supposedly threw itself against the barrier. The door flew open, table forcefully being thrown towards the wall across the hall, taking those in front of it with it.

The claw-like hand of the creature curled around the frame, as if stabilizing itself, visible now to the rest of the group. It seemed to have grown in size, hunching itself open in the doorway, the static-like effect around it heightening as the lights in the room began to sporadically flicker. Then, it screamed.

It had to grow a mouth to do so. The jaw of its face stretched downwards, a muffled humming noise emanating from it, before tears began to form and the screech became piercing in nature. Somewhere, a bulb shattered, while the locking of doors and windows in the vicinity could be heard. It pulled itself forwards, lurching out of the confines of the stairwell and rising to full height.

































toxic



2wei










♡coded by uxie♡
 












ridley murdoch

ambiance: Cutthroat (Lena Willikens Remix) - S U R V I V E


mood

absolutely pissfuck terrified



location

17 debdhill road



interactions

Talulah cadence cadence , Charlie Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife , AJ TrashRabbit TrashRabbit , Monique erzulie erzulie , Enoch Walliver Walliver , Cleo elytra elytra



mentions

Mode




Ridley stared at Enoch.

"What?"

If looks could kill, the ghost hunter's brains would be dripping from the wall behind him. Which, at this rate, was quickly becoming a possibility. A white-hot flash of rage coursed through their body, and demons they'd long since laid to rest were quickly taking hold again. The last time their hands were numb and bloodied from a fight was freshman year of college, and Ridley was a full and mature adult now. Clearly not something they had in common with Enoch.

"No, NO!" Ridley's grip on the table only tightened. If they let go, they knew they'd be shaking with rage. Even now, the tell-tale signs of fight or flight- of blood pumping to the vitals -was clear in the way fingers iced over. "This isn't a we, Enoch," they began, voice low and gravely. They were trying to stay calm, not to alarm Enoch more than he was already. But what is man to baser instincts? "This is a YOU!" They jabbed at the air with an accusatory finger directed at the boy. "You were the one who was supposed to fucking handle this! No one else is trained for this, except for fucking you!"

They ground their teeth so hard it hurt, and glanced over to the others in the room. Talulah looked petrified in a way that sent a guilt-ridden chill down their spine. AJ was looking at them like, for some godforsaken reason, they'd have the answers. And Monique was on the verge of tears.

Ridley locked eyes with AJ for just a moment, an amalgmation of terror, shame and pitiful hesitation clear on their features. Why did they have to be the one to know what to do? It was like being a kid all over again, clawing at any sense of reason or normalcy with absolutely no direction. Mode had always said he felt cursed and, frankly, Ridley is starting to feel the same way.

Eyes squeezed tight shut, Ridley fumbled through their thoughts, shoving the fears to the back and plucking out the rationale; they needed a plan. But, first, they needed to be safe. "Outside, yes, yeah," they nodded, still clinging to the table just so no one could see them shake. "Everyone, get ou . . ."

Ridley slowly looked to the door knob. It was-

. . .

By the time their vision blurred back into focus, their head was already pounding and their hand looked . . . a little more mangled than a few seconds ago. Oh, and they were certain they were just standing. Ridley blinked, bleary and dazed, lifting their twisted hand to the wet pooling on their forehead. Oh. Blood. It matched the blood on the edge of the table currently sitting on its side, stabbing into their leg. Gripping at the bottom of the wood- and acknowledging that, in fact, their hand was both numb and bloody and that that was a very bad sign, and choosing to ignore it for now -they grunted and shoved the table off, scrabbling to their knees. Seeing Talulah sprawled beside them, Ridley moved to her side, hands hovering, shaking, looking for any major injures. Hopefully she was just banged up like they were. It was an all-consuming concern that was quickly pulled away by that sound.

The scream was oppressive, sickening them, shoulders raising and tensed like the hackles up on an animal. An apt description, the way they felt cornered by a predator much more intimidating than theirself. Rising above their table-obscured view, the thing buzzed wrathful in their vision, form just human enough to be unsettling and amorphous enough to leave them concerned for what other features they might have. Ridley wasn't going to wait or be bothered by Talulah's disdain of them, scooping her up just enough to help her to her feet. Standing now, they looped an arm around Talulah's, prepared to drag her if need be. Now it seemed it was only Enoch closest to the creature.

"Enoch, move!" They yelled, reaching into their pocket to pull out their phone. They stumbled their first few steps, but the adrenaline kicked in quick as they ran towards the staircase, pulling the medium along with them. Using the banister to swing back around to face them all, they waved an arm. "Come ON, everyone upstairs!"

Luckily Cleo was second on their recent calls, so the moment they unlocked their phone, Ridley pressed it to their ear. At the first notes of Cleo's voice, they were already choking out all the necessary details. "Cleo! Cleo- please, we- we need your help. I'm at 17 Debdhill Road, that property I was telling you about, and we're locked in and there's some fucking thing that's going to kill us and Enoch didn't bring his fucking gear! Please just- hurry-!"




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 
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scroll
MODE





bunting house





texting Griffin, speaking to Charlie and Rebekah





Sear Sear Ha_lfLife Ha_lfLife eeuphoria eeuphoria










It didn't seem like the weather was going to lighten up anytime soon, and while Mode might've enjoyed the cloudy skies and hazy mists of rain, it made for a terrible damn atmosphere for a job. Not to mention the mud, god the mud, that only exacerbated the danger levels of any work environment. And in an annoying way, at that. He closed the weather app as he flipped the wipers on, mashing the dying embers of what was left of his cigarette into the ashtray in his center console. It was already his second one of the morning and he was really trying to tone it down, but he had gotten a little stuck in his head thinking about this job. The one he'd spent a little too long mulling over that he almost didn't end up going, but there was something about the house on Bunting Lane that bothered him, stuck out just enough for him to decide to tag along. He'd pored over the files himself and while there wasn't concrete evidence of anything there that might need his attention, he had his suspicions. There was a certain aura of those photos that made the overall place just seem....dangerous. Dangerous in the way the unknown often was, really. He wasn't certain enough of what was in there based on research alone, and going there and poking around was going to be the only way to know for sure.


Mode didn't like the idea of being late and pulled out of his driveway quickly in an attempt to counteract his procrastination. He didn't even know who was going to be on site but he hoped they wouldn't mind him tagging along to poke around, even informally. It wasn't unusual for him to show up apart from the group to these houses, half because of all the gear he kept in his car and half because of the tinge of awkwardness he felt sometimes with his coworkers. It was by no one's fault really, just the way it was. There was something ever so slightly othering about his job and while the others might not feel it, he knew it was there and that he fed into it without really realizing. It was a hard part of working with mixed company that he just hadn't ever really mastered, no matter how he played nice. Mode sucked in a breath and ran a hand through his hair, his nerves fraying even more just thinking about it. It was rather sad the way the fear he often felt was hardly ever sourced from the actual danger he put himself in. Axing something was easy, personal relationships? Not so much.


The soft buzz of his phone jolted him out of his thoughts, a text notification flashing on the screen where he'd tossed the phone into the passenger seat. It was from Griffin. One of his coworkers and friends who always seemed to pretend like that metaphorical wall he felt didn't exist at all. It was baffling to him more than anything else, but not outright unwelcomed. Confusing? Yes. Absolutely. He took the time at a red light to reply, typing easily with one hand. "Guess they're already starting," he mumbled to himself.


Mode: pls don't die before I get there thx ✌


The phone plopped against the seat once more as Mode continued on, turning the radio up just enough to let the music play softly with that comforting twist of radio static. It was enough to keep his thoughts from wandering too much on the way there and before long he was pulling into the curving driveway, parking behind Grover's car with enough room for either of them to leave in a hurry, if it became necessary. He hoped it didn't. A quick glance around showed the other's backs fading into the distance as they approached the trees, leaving only Charlie and Rebekah lingering around the actual house. The house itself felt looming beneath the overcast sky, and that same feeling he'd gotten looking at the pictures washed over him ten times as strong. He pursed his lips and frowned, silently hoping maybe he'd be wrong about this place before shutting off the car and getting out. The dark, wooly fabric of his overcoat was enough to keep him dry overall, but even a little moisture in the air and his hair was plastered to his head in a rather sad, soggy manner. He strode across the pavement towards the two, giving his side a brief pat just to make sure his gun was still holstered. The only obvious weapon he carried was the axe strapped to his back, sitting innocently in its sheath, but his pockets were full in the way you'd certainly notice if you were to hug him, lumpy all over. A pat down would take ages, to speak lightly of it. He usually liked to carry a variety of applicable tools on him, especially in a very uncertain situation like this one.


"Hey. The others leave you guys here by yourself?" Mode asked, giving them an easy smile. He knew damn well Griffin had already disappeared into those woods. At this point, it was hardly a surprise. "Didn't mean to show up so late. This was kind of a last minute decision, I guess," he said, gesturing to the house as he did. It was hard not to make the situation more serious when he showed, not by his presence itself but the idea of a monster hunter on the job being necessary. He hoped maybe to bring peace of mind instead. "Hope I haven't missed anything fun."



♡coded by uxie♡
 
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XI.
charlie murdoch.
the real estate agent.





Mood
Headache almost gone. Nervous.

Location
11 Bunting Lane

Interactions
eeuphoria eeuphoria The Blue Adept The Blue Adept

Mentions
Nimbus Nimbus birdgeoisie birdgeoisie elytra elytra Sear Sear hery hery floripher floripher wickedlittlecritta wickedlittlecritta


designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ


Charlie busied herself with drafting a text to send, despite the empty bars sitting somberly at the top of her screen. By all lines of logical reasoning, no service meant no messaging. Charlie knew this, but was the type to not really believe it until she tried anyway. She even tried for a wi-fi connection, but it didn’t look like Mr. Clark had one set up – at least not anymore. That wasn’t unheard of, especially for someone who was desperately trying to move away. He’d probably already called in and disconnected his cable and landlines, too.

She didn’t really feel like texting Ridley, though she knew she should’ve tried. Despite the twenty minutes of time between her Advil dosing and now, she didn’t want to welcome her subsiding headache back with open arms. Strangely enough, it seemed Ridley had that agitating effect on her. She opted instead to text Noor. Neither of them had been with the agency for too long, and honestly, didn’t know each other super well – but an unwarranted casual text wasn’t entirely out of the scope of normal for them. Besides, Noor was nice, and seeing a text from them every now and then made her smile way more than one from Ridley would.

> Bunting gives me the creeps 💀​

Sure enough, iOS thought about sending the message for several seconds, the blue progress bar above the message creeping along until stalling at the end. The message then bounced back with a
❗Message did not send ❗​

Great.

“Hey, has anyone talked to Mr. Clark yet?” Charlie clicked off her phone, putting it back in her pocket and looking up. It would appear she was talking to herself, left alone in the lapse of a mere minute. Wait, was everyone going to the woods?! Something reminiscent of boys will be boys echoed in her head as she watched the four traipse off into the woods. She felt like a mother bird watching her babies edging to the end of the nest, holding her breath that this first leap might be the last time she sees them. Griff taking off with that unaware and motivated pace, Puck chasing after them in the frenzied, eager-to-please way of his. In another direction, the priest and Aleks taking a much more leisurely pace, walking side by side. A gentle touch of hands. Charlie’s brow raised in surprised before she averted her eyes and turned back to the house, feeling like an unwelcome audience. Those two – she didn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t anything in the first place. She hadn’t known anyone here for long; she was still a rookie by Ackehurst standards. She honestly had barely had any run-ins with Aleks, but had had plenty with Grover. He was high-strung, worried, serious. Not to mention, he didn’t seem to care much for her jokes or monikers. But he was kind. Caring. And he offered genuine advice. A person like that deserved to have someone in his corner.

The rain was finally catching up with the caravan, dashing Charlie’s hopes that they’d successfully outrun it when they left the city. She caught sight of the other figure still standing around – Rebekah. Another employee Charlie knew shockingly little about. Rebekah had a kid, right? Or some other family around. She had a lot on her plate. That surely kept her from hanging around the office more than she had to. The few run-ins they’d had were pleasant enough. Charlie waved over at her, slowly moseying in her direction. “Hey, Beks.” Not really on nickname terms, probably, but no one ever really was until given one. It was one of Charlie’s favorite ways of expressing affection – dubbing people around her with all kinds of names that made her think of them sweetly. Like calling someone something abbreviated was extending an olive branch, a whisper of friendship. She stuck her hands in her blazer pockets, shoulders hunching against the rain. “Looks like it’s just us then, huh?”

Rebekah offered in response: “Seems like we’re the smart ones.”

Charlie smiled at that. Funny. “Had a chance to talk to Mr. Clark this morning yet?”

“Not yet. My morning was mostly a mess and I pulled up to the house five, maybe ten, minutes before you all did.”

Charlie eventually wound up a few feet from the front door. She was about to work up the spirit to knock and get to work with Mr. Clark. But the coughing of a struggling muffler and the pitch of squeaking brakes announced a new arrival on the driveway. No way.

Mode! Seriously, if she’d known Mode were coming out here, too, she would’ve just texted and bummed a ride from the get go. Not that she’d minded the ride here, but if it meant that she could’ve bypassed the train ride with Barney and Friends, she would’ve. Mode was like a brother to her by this point, having gone so far back with her sister. Had it seriously been eight years? Mode knew almost everything about the Murdochs’ fucked up family tree, but he didn’t let it hang over her like a cloud like it did when Ridley was around. That was probably why her relationship with Mode worked so much more smoothly than it had with her sister. The immovable bricks between her and Ridley weren’t what someone could sit down and work out over a drink. The things that held them back from having a good relationship were built on years and years of resentment, shame, remorse, grief. Mode was like all the great things about her sister without the aching.

She hadn’t seen him in like … what, a month? Six weeks? In his position, he pretty much came and went at his discretion.

She momentarily forgot the rain, dodging out from the awning over the front door to prance out at the figure getting out of the car. “Mode! Hey,” She didn’t stop once reaching him, standing up on her toes in her loafers to wrap her arms around his neck. She pressed her cheek against his lovingly, her skin soft and warm against his scars. “Where’ve you been?! It’s been forever. Does Rid know you’re here? Man, they’re gonna feel so left out, huh?” She pulled back to give him a sweet smile, genuine and happy. She liked his eyes and never wavered from looking right at them when she had the privilege of seeing them so closely. His scars never bothered her. She honestly didn’t even know they were there anymore. They were just part of him to her. Like how people grew gray hairs or got a nose job – different from what they once were, but who they were now. She let go of his neck and took to looping her right arm through his left.

“Yeah, they went to look around the woods. Not sure what they think they’re going to find out there…” She shrugged her shoulder to Beks. “Anyway, just us left up here.”

Once nearing the front door again, Charlie released Mode from her arm. Replacing her hands in her blazer pockets, her fingers grazed against something she’d remembered to stash in there but forgotten about until now. She pulled out a sterling silver cross with an ascending dove engraved across the middle. Where she’d gotten it wasn’t important, but she always kept it handy for meeting folks. She unclasped its dainty chain, fastening the necklace over the black turtleneck, making it stand out and shine even more than it would against bare skin. She wasn’t like Grover. Or Devin. She didn’t believe any paths led to any god. A typical response from a twenty-something; most folks said that there was nothing at the end of the tunnel at least once in their lives. A cool college-kid response when discussing philosophy over a shared blunt. She wished it weren’t like that for her. If only she could revive a faith in anything, maybe things would stop feeling so cloudy all the time. She envied folks like Grover or Devin for that – for the safety net, the reassurance of something else watching with kind eyes. As far as she was concerned, the only things she found lurking unseen were of the insidious variety.
Whatever. The necklace stayed. It comforted homeowners. Like they’d watch the Exorcist or the Omen once and immediately breathe a sigh of relief to know Rome had its soldiers in their humble homes. If they wanted to find comfort in a little piece of silver, let them. If it made them open up to her easier, even better.

“Owner’s supposed to be here. Just put on that smile of yours, okay?” Another dimpled grin up at Mode.

With one more look over at Rebekah, she gave her a half-sure smile and poked the doorbell. Okay, doorbell not working. Noted. She cleared her throat and worked up enough to courage to knock with at least the affront of confidence.
 
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  • XI.
    the intern





    puck desmond.
    mood
    :]

    location
    woods (bunting)

    interactions
    griff

    tags
    Sear Sear





designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ
 
















  • filler tab! ignore
















  • h


















the feels



introspective and optimistic







where u at?



debdhill property







the fit



rumpled warm clothes







interacting with



talulah and ridley mentions







tagging



cadence cadence birdgeoisie birdgeoisie








Ghostman








nine lives

 
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