Realistic or Modern Surreal Estate || Main Thread

[elytra]

​

current scene. Scene 2
scene details. The evening of a new job. Everyone has reached the property and has split up to look into different areas of the large piece of farmland.
weather. A nice, warm evening with a few clouds in the sky.

current house(s). 114 Brandywine Drive

past houses. 829 Adams Drive and 289 Fairway Drive

Please include a header in all posts that includes: Character name, location, interactions, mentions
If there's any potentially triggering content, please tag it in your header as well. If there is a scene you include that you are unsure will cause someone distress, please spoiler it and add a trigger warning prior and a TLDR after. Thanks!

​

 

[elytra]

​

Nana always claimed the house took care of everyone.

She got the house from some guy in 2014. She loved the place, at first; said it was a good place with a solid foundation. When she first visited, she had told her family she had a good feeling about it. That good feeling continued when she had moved in.

The house takes care of its owners, she would say. Her favorite example was her 1830s ogee clock, passed down from her grandma. The old thing had seen better days, not telling the time right; the pendulum was too low and the balance wheel needed adjusting, not to mention the lack of lubrication. She hadn't gotten it fixed, having suspicions that even a well-trained workman would somehow break it more.

Then she moved into 829 Adams Drive, and suddenly it was fixed.

It was the house. Or she claimed it was the house, at least. She said she saw the ghosts, and clearly they were the ones that had done it. No one believed her, of course. The idea of ghosts fixing a clock was odd at best. The family just let her believe it to keep her happy.

Then things started to go missing.

Small things. A watch. Dentures. A fork. Nothing that nana couldn't have lost on her own, especially with her poor memory. But then the things started to get bigger. Her beloved ogee clock was there one day and gone the next, apparently taken by the so-called ghosts.

Nana suddenly got sicker. Weaker. And soon enough, she passed away, right there in the home. She left the house to her grandson, Lucas, with a simple note:

'Be generous'.

Welcome to 829 Adams Drive, players! Be sure to wipe your feet on the welcome mat before going in. Nana doesn't appreciate a dirty floor!

 

[elytra]

​

289 Fairway Drive was older than dirt and had a history no one wanted to touch with a 10 foot pole.

Built in 1899, it was called gateway house, due to the rumor that the owner- the secretive Owen Trent -was practicing rituals within the home, due to odd noises and late night meetings in the home. Even when Trent married, the rumors persisted. His wife is in on it too, they claimed. They indoctrinated their daughter. They're creating a gateway to the devil himself. These rumors weren't true. The truth was, in fact, far more human, and far more gruesome than imagined.

The bodies were found in the woods behind the house by a boy from the town in 1912. There were 13 of them, all different ages and genders, in different states of rot and decay. Locals suspected that the corpses found weren't the only ones to fall victim to the Trents, but no further bodies were found.

While at that point the death penalty was limited enough, it didn't matter. A rogue local ended up shooting both of the elder Trents, leaving their daughter behind, who was then the owner of the house.

The house was passed down the Trent family until 2001, where it was bought by the Livingston family. Unfortunately, after an accident that killed their son, the Livingstons moved out. They tried to sell the house for a few years, before giving up. In 2020, Mr. and Mrs. Livingston passed away, leaving their house in the hands of a real estate agency to sell to new owners. That, however, didn't go well. The agency's agents claimed that the house had a mind of its own, and after being spooked one too many times, the house was handed off to Ackehurst to try their hand at.

Welcome to 289 Fairway Drive, players! Keep track of your steps, or you might just get lost in the twisting halls.

 

[mourning star]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

MOOD. Skeptical and in need of a cup of coffee.

ADDRESS 289 Fairway Drive.

LOCATION. Outside and then, the basement.

MENTIONS Guy // elytra .

aamira 'mimi' ismail.

/* ------ right side ------ */

If one were to rely on their expectations of an heiress, one would be disappointed in Aamira Ismail. Heiresses, she knew, were refined creatures; brimming with false confidence and the simpering smile of a being with no insecurities over their future. How with one single person being gone that they would have years to adjust to the exuberant wealth now at their fingertips. A brutal truth, Mimi knew, is that her father and her mother would have to die for her to reach a single penny of the money they possessed. She had never been raised with the indulgence most would expect an only child of a wealthy family to receive.

Her origins had never been humble; but, that did not make the life she led any less so.

As an exorcist, she had forsworn 'earthly' pleasures. It had been a clause in her faith -- an expectation that she seeks no worldly possessions that would not suit her in her devotion to a higher power. So, she lived. She budgeted her grocery trips and grew her own herbs. She couponed when she could find the time. She paid her rent on time, read books from the discount bin, and would take her time at night to finish her prayers before heading off to an early sleep. It was a repetitive lifestyle; one that only faded once she would be commissioned for a job.

Although her time with Ackehurst had been on-and-off the past several years, she could not find fault with it. An exorcist was not often a huge requirement. It might have been more dangerous, it was true, but it seemed the quality of the employees would not falter without someone to swing a rosary about. Still... she found herself comforted in being called to once more assist with a home review. She couldn't blame it on her one set of skills; an electrician had been needed that day to peruse the wiring and assess any strange wiring issues.

Mimi sighed as she picked herself up from a crouch, tugging off her gloves to stick between her teeth. The dull dawn had already come and gone; but, she could already feel the sweat on her brow from the amount of crawling she had already committed to that morning. The light misting of the rain did little to lessen her body heat. Deft fingers swept over her face, clearing up some of the droplets that clung to her lashes. Her lips parted to drop her gloves into her waiting palms, slipping them onto her hands quickly.

She had already overlooked the exterior of the home, checking over the porch lights and ensuring the sprinkler system worked completely. Although the water pipes weren't really a part of her job, one couldn't fault her for being thorough. With a sigh through her nose, she was bending down to brush the lingering cobwebs from her knees. She snatched the small tool kit she kept next to her, adjusting her grip as she lifted the still-heavy metal box up to hang near her side.

Knowing her next destination, she reached up and absent-mindedly played with the rosary necklace she often wore.

Her workboots were easy to stomp mud from as she neared the back entrance, ensuring no muck would pass the threshold. Her gaze lingered on the empty home, a little apprehensive despite her years on the job. With a determined sort of huff, Mimi walked through the entrance and headed toward the basement. She paused for a moment, still feeling overheated. Shrugging out of her coveralls, she cinched the sleeves at the waist before adjusting the scarf tying her hair back. She could say she had worn it out of practicality; but, that was a half-truth. The matching paisley blue of her coveralls gave her away. She couldn't blame herself; color coordination was a vice she simply couldn't give up.

She passed through several rooms before she came upon the stairs, adjusting her grip on the box before shuffling down. She kept herself along the side, closest to the wall to catch herself if she stumbled.

As she continued, she could hear the sound of items being shuffled about the room. She knew who she'd find -- Guy, doing what he typically did best despite the circumstances of whatever home they were in. Her full lips pulled back into a pleasant smile, shifting the box to her one hand to offer him a cheerful wave.

"Sorry to bother you when you're in your zone," She began, already acquaintanced with him enough to skip the pleasantries. She pointed to the back corner of the room near where the breaker box and water heater sat, her gloves making the movement a little clumsy. "I gotta check over the wiring and see what works and what doesn't. Don't mind me..."

Her eyes slid to the wooden art piece as she hit the bottom of the stairs.

She tipped her head, considering it with one raised brow.

"I would normally say that looks pretty; but, there's no way you would put that in here." She commented, already assessing the mysterious object. It didn't seem to give off negative energy; not that she could sense as much as a psychic could. But, the menagerie of items clustered into the framework did little to bolster her confidence. She sent Guy a curious look before she shrugged, shaking her head as she walked towards the back of the room.

Her gaze drifted towards the art piece once more, eyeing it warily before she shifted her attention back to her work.

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

© weldherwings.

 

[idalie]

VAUGHN VALENTINE ⁠— real estate & hunter
tags: group one / BELIAL. Ha_lfLife Sear elytra Dover ; location: 829 adams drive ; interactions: Lucas (Home Owner)

Some vehicles purred their well-oiled gears; Vaughn Valentine’s station wagon wailed. Gouged, rammed, and thoroughly abused by skittering across country, in pursuit of beasts and pursued, the chronic cough of it’s engine held noble character. Perhaps it was out of spite. Dark aviators sat low on the driver’s nose, peering atop gold-wired lenses whilst wrestling the wagon’s jamming clutch, foot slamming against the rogue pedal until it clicked—recklessly swerving with a cassette of similarly screeched vocals blaring. A cigarette, half bent and filter torn off, clamped between Vaughn’s teeth prior to parking; stub crushed against a porcelain ashtray that slid back and forth across the dashboard, clinging on through mere luck that the physics of his hazardous turns kept it near-centred.

The figure who emerged from the wreck of what might’ve been considered a classic of its time, kicked the interior door not once, but twice, to unlatch it. Black leather shoes were first out, followed by the crisp, dry-cleaned suit with a pinstripe flourish, tailored to his shoulders, albeit let out more at the waist for a firearm to fit seamlessly against his abdomen. Reaching in the window of the back seat, Vaughn grabbed his overcoat and briefcase, pausing outside to assess the suburban facade. It didn’t look haunted—they never did. Just some white-picket fence that’d gotten caught up in murder, ritual and gossip enough to be as hazardous as the dormant asbestos lingering in someone's loft space.

Valentine dug around in his pocket with a chime of keys, peeling a nicotine patch to stick securely on the back of his neck, followed by a handful of mints for an impromptu chaser. His hangover still ebbed, the ache alight between Vaughn’s temples where the strain knotted his crumpled brow. He’d not meant it to get out of hand. A few drinks, old friends—some little blonde thing with a ski-slope nose and Californian tan—bad habits and good company. By the time he’d stumbled home with his houseguest, Sunday evening turned to Monday morning and alcohol’s lingering kiss soured.

He’d been a good host, left out offerings of painkillers and water, like a housecats dish with every hope she wouldn’t rob him blind. Not that Vaughn had much to steal. Living much of his life on four wheels whether by RV or out the back of his own car, he’d rented out that apartment shamelessly cheap. Not updated since the craze of heavy patterns and linoleum, peeling and sun-bleached, the presence of Valentine hardly altered it. It was clean, and it was warm, and that’d do for now.

Vaughn approached 829 Adams Drive with regular optimism for easy work. In all likeliness, he presumed it some weak poltergeist or disgruntled Menders who hadn’t gotten their pound of flesh⁠—so to speak. The house would get sold, well within market value and their commission ought to be paid in a tidy sum by the end of the month.

The figure standing outside could’ve been none other than the owner, after informing of their plans to go ahead with a viewing by Ackehurst itself to assess the root of the problem. Vaughn’s briefcase swapped hands, presenting an open palm and wiley grin, ivory teeth framed by his groomed whiskers, “Lucas, ain’t it? My pleasure. Hope you’ve not been idlin’ out here long. We got more en route, though I digress, I’m an early bird.” The Realtor winked, letting out a whistle with motion of his ring-laden fingers, “Somethin’ of an Amityville nightmare, hm? Feels that way, handlin’ it alone. Oh⁠—but my condolences for the inheritance, unfortunate business that it is. Losin' kin."

coded by archangel_

 

[elytra]

guy van every.

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  mood

  
  
  
  

  gritting his teeth and trying to smile through the pain
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  casual guy ready to take on the world (and ghosts)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  location

  
  
  
  

  the basement of 289 Fairway Drive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  interactions

  
  
  
  

  tickles, mimi ( mourning star )
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

The Storm Breakers had a reputation.

It was hard not to, with the way they worked. People heard the way the group functioned and defaulted to thinking that they were a 'cozy' sort of people, for lack of a better word. After all, a group that had members walking around with living toys wasn't exactly threatening, nor were their tactics of using the 'power of imagination' to topple troubles. Members were seen less as formidable opponents and more like the protagonists of a Saturday morning cartoon.

Guy didn't really fit the image. He wasn't whimsical, and he certainly didn't go about preaching morals. It had led to quite a few conversations about why the hell he'd be part of a group that seemed to run off hopes and dreams. The thing people tended to forget, however, was that Storm Breakers operated under the rule that belief gave power. All belief, not just the positive sort.

Exorcists were a good example. They had worshiped God. They believed that scripture drove out demons and that blessed objects was the bane of the damned. That belief and faith made weapons out of oil and water; yet, in the hands of Guy- who was by no means a pious man -those tools were completely useless. If he were to try to use a bible verse to expel a demon, it wouldn't do a damn thing.

Of course, it was more complex than that- ghosts wouldn't just disappear if he didn't believe in them -but there was still truth. Fear and belief both gave power, to the monsters that haunted people and the weapons that slayed those monsters. That was what people didn't seem to understand about the Storm Breakers. They weren't just hippies. They truly believe things like that could kill.

Which, of course, was why Guy was in no mood to deal with Fairway Drive.

Rumors were nasty. They spread, like the ear worms they were, and got into people's minds a little too well. All it took was one person to say the house could shift it's layout and suddenly everyone was saying it. Frankly, the agents should've just provided him with a sword and ball of thread at the door if they were going to be saying things like that. If they said the house could shift, believed it could, then the house could shift. That was that on the matter.

And yet, there he was in the basement. It was probably the stupidest place to be standing, all things considered. The room could move. The house could delete the staircase, possibly. God only knew what it would do to the wallpaper he chose--

You're focusing on the wallpaper?

Guy grimaced as his thoughts were interrupted, his gaze falling to the plush octopus that sat in his arms. Tickles, as usual, had a habit of invading the privacy of his head.

"Yes, I'm focusing on the wallpaper."

He looked back up at the paint that was currently used in the basement, which was a dusty grey that was being chipped away, piece by piece.

"I want to cover this up and keep it covered. Who knows how old this is? It could have lead in it."

Lick it and find out.

"I'm not licking the wall."

Why not? No one's here. You want to see if it's lead.

"No, I don't."

Yes you do. Give it a taste. Who's going to see you? This is between you, me, and God, pal.

In an impressive show of restraint, Guy managed to not dignify the comment with a reply. Instead, he set Tickles down on his supervisory stool- the one that Guy brought everywhere, with the only purpose being to allow Tickles a place to perch -and sat himself down on the far less comfortable ground, flipping out a notepad from his pocket. His eyes fell to the wall in front of him, which held the far more pressing issue:

The large, wooden art piece the basement currently housed.

It was a conversation starter, and not in a good way. It was built into the wall, stretching floor to ceiling, like a tree had grown through the structure and left its trunk exposed for all to see. Different objects were inlayed into it, seemingly random- from where he was sitting, he could see a spoon, a pocket watch, a pair of dice, and what looked to be a sole of a shoe. There were some divots in the trunk that hadn't been filled, ranging in size and shape. It wasn't the most breath-taking of pieces, to say the least.

To say the most, it looks a bit shit.

"Yes. It 'looks a bit shit'. That's one way to put it."

He agreed, looking at it wearily and trying to dream up how the hell he was going to make it work.

He didn't have much more time to consider it before he heard footfalls coming from the stairs. Heavy boots, and from that sound alone, he knew who it was. Glancing over his shoulder, he offered Mimi a wave back.

"Don't worry about it."

He assured. He didn't like people messing up his groove, but Mimi was respectful. That, and he didn't exactly have a groove at the moment.

"No, I didn't put it here. It's built into the wall, looks like. Probably has been here since the place was built, maybe a bit after."

He tapped his pencil against the top rings of his notepad, looking back to the art pierce with a frown. He probably should be more worried about it being haunted, but all he could think about was how ugly it looked.

It's definitely haunted. Tell her it's haunted.

There was as lack of response from Guy, other than a brief glance in Tickles' direction.

I can tell it's haunted. You know I can tell it's haunted. YOU can tell it's haunted, too, even with your piss-poor abilities--

Guy leaned back, looking towards Mimi. Rather than say any of what Tickles was directing him to say, he instead said

"Tickles says hello. He's wondering if you have any idea what's going on with this place yet."

I'm going to project police sirens directly into your head. Don't misrepresent me.

"We're also wondering if it would fuck with the wiring to tear out...whatever this is."

rock & roll

EDEN

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Ha_lfLife]

CHARLIE KALLAGHER
location: ??? ; interactions: BELIAL.

CW: alcohol

“Today, we’re going back to New Orleans, September 2005. That’s correct, folks, right in the heart of the Big Storm. We all know the stories, we’ve all seen the pictures - people stranded on their roofs, water up to the gutters, that one clip of Kanye West saying George Bush hates black people. ‘So what’re we doing here, Charlie?’ you might be asking. Excellent question, thanks. Well, have you heard of Jazzland? Buckle up, kids, because - you guessed it - this week we’re visiting an amusement park. Jazzland USA had been your typical mid hometown theme park since the year 2000, but it always struggled to stay afloat (no pun intended). But once the storm came, Jazzland was abandoned and, even after the rest of the Unfathomable City bounced back, it never opened again. Even now, almost twenty years later, you can find the rusted bones of Jazzland still there, exactly as we left them in 2005.”

A stock track of a storm enters with the subtle boom of thunder. A soft piano plays an eerie melody in minor.

“Now, technically, the park is closed to the public, but that hasn’t stopped various brave souls from taking a look at the place for themselves. And Jazzland recently has gotten itself a … reputation.

“Jesus, I feel like ‘reputation’ is so clichéd. Hold on-“ Sound of typing. “Let me just ... pull up Webster...
…
…

“Ooo- okay this. Obviously, edit out all of this. Okay, let’s go from the last line. Clears throat.

“And Jazzland recently has gotten itself a … distinction. To date, there’s been a - count ‘em - six explorers reported missing after visiting the theme park. There are tons of videos of the place, you can find them everywhere, seriously - I’m going to link a few of the highlights beneath the podcast for you to check out on your own. Videos that, when played back, reveal some pretty haunting images lurking in the shadows. Perhaps Jazzland isn’t as abandoned as we thought? Today we have special guests Isaac and Jace Erikson, brothers and film students at UC Santa Barbara who saw Jazzland themselves just last month. And what they saw? Well, that might just settle our queries once and for all. But first -“

“Do you ever get that eerie feeling that you’re being watched? Lurking spirits are one thing, but it’s especially creepy when websites are tracking and selling your data to third parties. That’s why I use Nord VPN -“

The sound of the storm swells.

-

It was the lulling roll of thunder that pulled Charlie from her slumber, roused reluctantly from her floating in nostalgic dreams. As soon as she opened her eyes, her head throbbed like her brain was too small for her skull. Jesus H.- If she didn’t think it every other day, she would’ve definitely considered this the Hangover of the Century (tm). Charlie rolled onto her back. The weight of her arm over her eyes helped with the pounding pressure in her head. And three minutes later, she could possibly muster up the strength to roll back over onto her stomach. She opened her eyes to a dingy, unfamiliar apartment. Definitely not Val’s place. As foreign as Val’s was to her, she at least knew her sister enough to know that she wouldn’t live in a dump like this.

The dark sheets her face was nuzzled in smelled vaguely sweaty. She lifted her cheek off of them to blink away the sparse daylight glowing past the clouds. Another day, another dollar, however that saying went. Her eyes traveled over to a veneer covered bedside table, looking of the variety that one hammered together with pegs straight out of a box. A staple yellow Post-It demanded her attention, and she obliged, blinking at the thing before picking it up to take a closer look. The penmanship was a surprisingly neat script, considering it most likely came from the louse she’d spent the night with:

Left early.
Leave door off the latch.
Be a sweetheart, don’t drive yourself home.​

Charlie rose despite the creaking protests that seeped bone-deep. She downed the Advil left on the nightstand. The water, too. He’d left her a twenty. Hopefully for the implied cab fare, not for the night. A cute sentiment. She probably wouldn’t call him.

She stretched out as she stood, relaxing now the she knew she was alone. The pieces of last night were sparse and frustratingly vague - the scent of peppered lemon that smelled so damn good, one too many vodka crans, that mustache that in any other situation would’ve been obnoxious if not for - in that very moment - being entirely irresistible. She didn’t remember his name. Honestly, he wasn’t really her type. But she was much more liberal with her life choices these days, especially if it meant a chance to get out of Val’s basement. Any night away from his sister was a prize; Val always looked at her with - what was it? Judgment? No, Charlie would’ve been lucky if it were just judgment. Val’s looks these days were always centered in worry and pity. Any barfly who hit her with the laziest bit of charm and charisma could so very likely entice Charlie to his wiles simply by being nothing like what she had waiting for her at home.

She hadn’t meant to spend the night. “I’m starting a new job tomorrow,” She’d mused to the handsome stranger as they stopped at a corner 7/11, pouring airline bottles of Jim Beam into Coke slushees. “I’ve gotta get my beauty sleep-“ That’d worked out well.

The sliding door to the balcony had been left slightly ajar. She pushed it a few feet further, breathing in the smell of air as it could only be when raining.
Crisp. Wasn’t that how people described it? The outside area was cramped, with only two camping chairs unfolded and facing each other, a plastic white ashtray overflowing with buds sitting on the concrete between them. The wrought-iron of the balcony had been crudely sprayed over, rust and all, in some half-assed “landlord special.”

The rest of the apartment didn’t upscale the balcony’s glamor. Some of the walls were paneled with wooden slats, the carpets well past their prime both in wherewithal and style. She looked down at distinct stain halfway to the bedroom that she remembered vaguely having made the night prior with a dropped Budweiser from his fridge. The furniture was worn and outdated, but not mildewy. A sofa pushed against the living room wall looked like it was about twenty years old, covered over its back facing with a well-used wool blanket, resting at a skewed angle now from their faintly memorable snogging there the night before.

A print of the Virgin Mary peered down at her from above the sofa, pinned directly to the wall with a few hanging nails. Her hands were paired together, her head hung low seemingly in repentance. Charlie blew out a scoffing breath at the Mother. He sure didn’t seem Christian with some of the things he’d said last night…

She padded from the barren living room to the kitchenette facing it. It was equally as unappealing, the fridge holding a total of two bottles of mismatched beers, a quarter bulb of garlic, and a half-heartedly closed box of Chinese takeout. The cabinets were just as underwhelming - hosting an unopened bottle of reduced-sodium soy sauce, a floral melamine plate that looked like he’d tried to microwave once or twice, and a novelty mug from Margaritaville Orlando. The yellowing microwave on the counter blinked 5:46, which made Charlie contemplate if it could possibly mean am or pm, neither of which currently fit the cloudy glow of the sun. What time was it anyway?

Shit. Shit SHIT.

What time was it?!

Charlie tore through the sparsely-furnished living room until she found her purse and the old school flip phone she carried, silently thanking God that it hadn’t drained battery overnight (have you ever tried finding someone with a Motorola Razer charger on hand in 2023? It’s fucking difficult). The homescreen displayed 9:06am and twelve missed calls. All from Val. Shit fuck fuckingshit. Charlie called back, only pulling the phone away to tear off the tee that definitely wasn’t hers, some stupid oversized thing advertising “Hooters remembers 9/11” that she might’ve considered taking with her had the goodbye note not been so sweet. She found the remnants of her clothes scattered over the place, emitting occasional curses as the ringtone dialed through to her older sister. Val was going to kill her. Val’d broken her back trying to Charlie a chance to come work for whatever company she was with, and of course Charlie had to go and fuck it up with a singular night of substandard fun.

Smelling her close-fitting black turtleneck, Charlie’s nose wrinkled at the stench of stale alcohol and cigarettes. Jesus, she smelled like a dive. Crossing over to the bathroom, she took advantage of a bottle of cologne hiding among a half-empty canister of pomade and stick deodorant behind the bathroom mirror (which she knowingly averted her eyes from before even entering the area; all bathrooms likely had mirrors). The scent of patchouli and citrus was strong enough to hopefully mask last night’s sins. She stole a glob of the handsome stranger’s toothpaste and brushed it across her teeth with her finger before her sister picked up on the other side of the line.

“Hey Val - yeah. Yeah, sorry sorry I know, I just - I had a busy - I just overslept a bit.” She awkwardly folded up the Hooters 9/11 shirt, thankful to her vanished host for being sweeter than most, leaving it on the side of his bed. “I’m uh —“ She grabbed her bag and, slipping on her Adidas sneakers back on, made for the door and made sure it latched behind her. She looked around the neighborhood and realized in vain that she didn’t have a rat’s ass clue where she was. “Let me just find some side streets, I’ll text you in like 30 seconds. It’s not like I have Google Maps on this piece of shit- okay, seriously, just hold on like 2 minutes I’ll text you-“ Y2K enthusiasts were right. Nothing quite beat the satisfaction of hanging up on a flip phone with a satisfying snap. Not like she would’ve chosen it for herself; she’d tried a smart phone, but her reflection jumped out at her every time the screen went black.

When Val finally got her cross coordinated locations and made her way to the location halfway across town, it was already 9:27. Charlie was perched under a stop sign, slowly soaking from the light rain, finishing a cigarette and sporting a cheap pair of plastic gas station sunglasses in broad daylight. She spotted Val’s bright red car easily, jumping up at the recognition and - slamming the passenger mirror closed against the vehicle as soon as she opened the door - looked over to Val. No hint of remorse painted her face. In fact, she made no allusion to her inconveniencing side adventure. “Morning, sis.” And after a pause sharper than daggers, gave her a smile radiant as the sun. “You look nice.”

coded by archangel_

 

[BELIAL.]

valerie kallagher.

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  mm... work casual
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  on the way to adams drive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  charlie / Ha_lfLife
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

For someone so surprisingly put together, radiating positive energy and efficient planning, Valerie Kallagher barely slept at night.

She’d been properly medicated as an insomniac for the better part of half a decade, but all that took was a few twisted truths and complaints to get something to treat that, and even still she found no way to properly get a night of sleep on her own. She’d quit the pills, moving to more herbal and ‘homegrown’ treatments. Sinking a few melatonin gummies down with a glass of wine worked for a while, properly easing her body into a state of sleepiness, but all it took was one misplaced shadow or the unfamiliar creak of wood to send her spiralling into a manic fit again. It wasn’t that the medications didn’t work; no, they worked rather well, but rather that the dreams would start up again.

All it took was a bad day, a lapse in her willpower, anything to unexpectedly open her ‘sixth sense’ and see something she knew she didn’t want to or wasn’t prepared for and suddenly she’d be too panicked to sleep. Her anxieties were the one thing that she just couldn’t get treated, couldn’t properly put into words for a doctor’s recommendation: “I see ghosts and sometimes they talk to me, even when I don’t want them to. I don’t know how to turn the power off when it’s on, and it’ll all come at once and I start freaking the fuck out. I’m not crazy I swear.” The last sentence alone would earn a scoff and a scribble from any doctor, she was sure.

Living alone hadn’t done her good, either. For all that she prided herself on the independence, dates and brief dating sprees never going into sleepover territory, Allie hated the silence (or lack thereof, in cases that sent her spinning into the nightmare induced panic). Even with the lights on, every single one for hours that amounted to a hefty electric bill she footed every month with little regret, it wasn’t so much the fear of being alone that claimed her, but rather the insinuation of what being alone meant. She’d fought tooth and nail to be where she was now, juggling work and school since she’d turned sixteen, and it amounted to a chilly little brick and mortar townhouse that she shared with no one. It was hypocrisy to the highest degree; someone who pushed and yet grabbed on so tightly for familiarity. Had her parents not been dead, she probably would have found reprieve in their comfort, even for all of their sins.

Her brother, Chris, provided some relief. They chatted somewhat often, usually about the stresses in his life, and Val simply enjoyed hearing him prattle on. It was something to focus on, to muffle the fear of what the darkness threatened her with. Despite all that had transpired between her and Charlie, and the latter’s recent near-fatal accident (something that Val insisted, that it was an accident, to try and make Charlie feel somewhat normal living there now), their difficult relationship had finally provided that comfort-giving substance so craved by Valerie. As hard as it had been basically raising her sister when they were younger, it was near habit by now, even after so long. They knew how to exist together.. Mostly. Val now had a greater appreciation for the space Charlie needed, even if Val’s patience was often tested. Repetition and schedules worked for Allie, and dragging Charlie along to try and restore normality was a welcome test.

It was quite the test, Val found on that Fall morning, when after going through her own routines Charlie didn’t rouse from her room.

She’d known her sister went out last night, nothing out of the ordinary, but she’d at least expected a 7am walk of shame rather than not showing up at all. As much as she did worry for Charlie’s bodily safety, Val couldn’t help but feel more annoyed that she’d now be late for the property inspection and client interview because of said absence. If she didn’t show up in half an hour, she’d start ringing.

Then when those thirty minutes did go by, and the morning crept by on Val’s phone screen, she did finally almost lose her cool.

It took a bit of deep breathing, pacing about the townhome, and promising herself a big fucking cup of coffee would make it all better from the Dunkin’s drive-thru, before she could compose herself and begin to frantically call and text Charlie’s stupid flip-phone. It had taken all of her not to at least put a tracker somewhere, at least in case of situations like this or worse, since Charlie’s situation removed her ability to use any sort of modern technology with a large and visible screen. She knew Charlie would be okay, she’d already survived this long in life, but Val did care as a sister would. Even if it sometimes annoyed the shit out of her.

By the time she was in the car, assembled in one of her business casual work outfits that made her feel a little bit more calm and collected, and exiting the drive-thru with a handful of coffees and breakfasts, she did finally get the call. It was all that she should have expected from a late night tryst, yet still managed to let a loose and airy sigh fall from her lips.

Once she’d gotten the vague address from Charlie and punched it into her phone to clamp onto the dashboard, she let out yet another sigh seeing the ETA.

God, Charlie really owed her.

-

By the time she arrived, throwing a grimace Charlie’s way seeing her wearing the same clothes from the night before and sucking on a cigarette, she’d managed to lose most of her anger; though it helped that she was refusing to look at the clock until they were officially keen to leave.

“Thanks,”

was all she offered to Charlie’s very flippant attempt at pretending that nothing had happened.

“You look…”

How mean was too mean? How to the point could she get without feeling like a chastising mother?

"Like a wet dog. They didn’t offer you a coat or anything? Not even a hat?"

The rain wasn’t coming down hard, but it was chilly, and with how long she’d taken to get to the location she was sure Charlie was feeling the cold skin-deep.

They peeled from the curbside, Val punching her phone screen to the pre-saved address. 829 Adams Drive. Seeing this ETA made her wince and sigh once more.

She fumbled with the bags she’d shoved in her lap, thrusting it toward Charlie.

"Breakfast. Eat up. Your coffee’s the front one. I brought some clothes and some wet wipes in the back, just don’t flash anyone, alright? Please?"

They didn’t really have time to go back home whatsoever. The last thing that Val wanted was to be even more late.

"Anyway, you better have a good story for causing me a headache this morning. I’m going to assume you picked up some guy from the bar, because there’s no way any hospitable woman would have left you in this condition. And you smell. What is that?"

Val gave a sniff for emphasis, wrinkling her nose. Truth be told all she really smelled were the stale cigarettes and the vague whiff of mixed sweats, as well as the undertone of someone’s perfume. It was masculine, further lending her assumption as to who Charlie’s date was last night, and tickled her nose in a way that nearly seemed familiar.

“They didn’t offer you a shower, either? What gives?”

ghosts again

depeche mode

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Ha_lfLife]

CHARLIE KALLAGHER
location: Val’s Car ; interactions: BELIAL.

“I think it’s Versace.” She pulled her clinging knit top up to her nose, breathing in a full whiff of the overpowering, masculine scent before realizing that was a big mistake. Mixed with the lingering remnants of stale smoke and spilled liquor, the combination was enough to bring her headache back to the forefront of her thoughts. She took a much more cautious sniff at her underarm, sweaty musk masked with the deodorant she’d borrowed from Mustache. “And Old Spice.”

Considering Charlie’s older sister hadn’t really seen her for years before her impromptu re-entry into Val’s life six days ago, Val still surprised her with how well she actually knew her.

Exhibit A​

The Dunkin cup sitting in the holder at her elbow, half filled with whipped cream and the rest diluted to a light brown with more than its fair share of vanilla and sugar. She hadn’t opened up the bag she’d thrown on the dash yet, but if she did, she was almost positive there’d be a strawberry jelly donut in there. Nevermind that before a few days ago, Val hadn’t seen Charlie in years. But Val remembered her damn coffee order from back in high school?? Charlie, in a fleeting thought, touched on the fact that she had no idea what Val’s favorite foods were, how she liked her coffee … that was a depressing thought.

Anyway-

Exhibit B​

Val came prepared to deal with what one could only assign as a typical Charlie day after. The duffle bag Charlie reached into the backseat for was crammed with half the contents of Val’s bathroom counter - baby wipes, Clorox stain pen, breath mints, hairbrush, Qtips, dry shampoo, mascara, lip balm - and the outfit that the two of them had picked out together from Val’s closet yesterday. Well, it wasn’t really that much of an equal effort; Val went through her rows of freshly washed and pressed pieces with care, while Charlie laid on her bed, paying more attention to Dr. Phil on in the background, only chiming in to the occasional outfit proposal with a series of roasts of varying severity and humor. They eventually settled on a simple white sweater and black ankle length slacks.

Charlie unbuckled and haphazardly disposed of last night’s top as they reached a busier intersection and paused to take a sip of her drink before donning the sweater, knowing herself well enough to estimate the chances of spilling something on the sweater before even showing up to the job. Charlie let the sugar dissolve on her tongue and peered over at Val, a coy smile forming as she sat there in her bra.

“He wasn’t even there. Guy peaced outta there before I even got up. Like… was it that bad???” She was right, Val did know her that well; Strawberry jelly filled donut. She took a bite and continued on with her mouth half full. “You should’ve seen this guy, Val. Like he had the dumbest mustache but it was obvious he thought it was hot shit. Anyway, this guy- he dripped with sex appeal, okay? Nice dresser, very complimentary, I was sold after the first drink. And then we get back to his place and it’s like a fucking Soviet bunker. He only had one towel. Like the shower was fine but by the time I got up he’d already used it and it was wet. The guy’s like 40 and he owns less than you’ve probably got in your car right now.” She let out an elated laugh. “Honestly? Not my worst Sunday night.”

She scrubbed at her face with one of the wipes, then looked over to Val once more. “All good?” Shorthand for the sisters, Charlie’s way of asking if she had any remnants of last night’s makeup still streaking down her face. For the most part, she happy to be an independent spirit. But when it came to the simplest things, she found she always had to come crawling back to the mercies of others. No chance at checking her own image in a mirror, she’d learned she would have to rely on the honesty of friends to tell if she looked like shit. Once Val confirmed she was all clear, Charlie started the well-learned practice of applying makeup by feel alone.

Can’t you just take a picture of yourself? one might ask, to which she would swallow down the sadness that came at its reply. No. Whatever this curse was at its heart, pictures were ruined by it, too. She’d tried once when she was fourteen, by snapping a Polaroid of herself and her friends at a sleepover. The woman was there, too, and only burning the film with a zippo lighter would bring Charlie enough time peace to sleep afterwards.

The no pictures thing - that was somehow harder to come to terms with than the mess with her reflections. The idea that she couldn’t solidify herself in a time and place forever. That she’d just be transient her whole life and then, once she’d finally expired, her image would be gone forever. And soon those that remembered her face would be gone too, and the idea of her would disappear forever. Like she had never happened to begin with.

What was with her this morning? Like her hurting head was determined to make the rest of her feel miserable, too. Or maybe it was the lingering nerves of starting anew. New faces, replacing the LA ones all too easily, like she was sure they had already done to her the second her sister came to whisk her away.

Her face lightly done up and set, she finally pulled on her sister’s sweater and occupied herself with brushing out her hair.

“So whatre your coworkers like?”

coded by archangel_

 

[mourning star]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

MOOD. Still skeptical and curious.

ADDRESS 289 Fairway Drive.

LOCATION. The basement.

MENTIONS Guy // elytra .

aamira 'mimi' ismail.

/* ------ right side ------ */

Mimi sighed as she gazed into the interior of the breaker box. She stared at the circuit directory on the inside of the lid, her mouth twisted into a frown. Half of the names had faded over the years. Knowing that she would manually have to search through the map for the correct circuits, she huffed out a frustrated breath. Of course. Old houses would never be easy to work on; especially in terms of electricity. It might have been easier, she knew, if it were a normal house under normal circumstances. However, knowing she would be looking over her shoulder half the time meant this part of the job would probably take half the day.

Her fingers were reaching towards the main breaker to turn off the electricity when she heard Guy call for her. Her fingers hesitated before they fell away, turning herself fully to face the man. Her gaze drifted towards the octopus plush that sat on the stool, her lips twisting into a grin despite herself. She took a moment to toss her toolbelt over one of her shoulders before she was stepping into the middle of the room with another wave towards the plush.

"I know you're censoring him; he's never that polite." She murmured as she drifted past Guy, leading her to stop several feet from the stool. Her gaze drifted over the plush, feeling foolish as she offered the sentient object a shrug. "Also, good morning, Tickles. I'm not sure what you've picked up so far; but, I'm a little bit unsure on what is influencing the teleporting rooms. If that's even a thing happening."

Her head tilted back to take in the lighting fixtures, taking in the angle and how they probably lead towards the opposite wall instead of towards the paneling.

"Electrical wiring wouldn't be the problem," She decided, giving the art piece another glance. It wasn't even doing anything, not really, but the items embedded in the wood spoke of memories that tended to hold energy. Memories and energy were not often well-regarded on haunted properties. Her gaze once more turned to Guy, giving him her full attention as she continued, "I would be more worried about the plumbing and the water pipes. Someone would have to check the structure to see how close they are to the piece and whether it could be removed without causing any damage."

Mimi tugged off one of her gloves to rub at her brow, quiet as she thought of the best course of action.

"Let's check out whether this thing can even be moved before I go touching all up on it," She spoke aloud, moving back to her toolkit.

She crouched as she overlooked her supplies. Inside was the typical equipment she used on an electrician job: a voltage tester, insulated tools, etcetera. However, in one of the side boxes, she opened the lid to reveal her hunting supplies. Withdrawing the EMF reader, ghost box, and several small vials of holy water she tended to keep on her, she slipped each piece into the empty slots of her toolkit that weren't already filled with her tools.

She kept the EMF reader in her bared hand as she stepped forward, her brows furrowed.

"I swear to God, if this thing lights up like a Christmas tree, I'm bolting up the stairs..." She grumbled before she neared the piece. She flicked on the switch, listening to the meter click on before she placed it at the foot of the wooden piece. Her gaze lingered on the screen as she took a step back, hands on her hips as the thing, did indeed, immediately flicker to the red.

She winced at the long beep that proceeded the reading, her shoulders slumping as a result.

"Well," She said, unnecessarily, "there's your problem."

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

© weldherwings.

 

[elytra]

lucas grey (npc).

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  adams drive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  vaughn ( idalie )
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Lucas looked at the offered hand in the same way a germaphobe might look at the bathroom door handle at a particularly well-trafficked McDonalds: clearly not wanting to touch it, but knowing that he had to. Similar to said hypothetical germaphobe, if given the chance he would've likely used a paper towel as a barrier. One wasn't quickly available, though, so he gave Vaughn's hand a quick shake, before placing his hand back in his own pocket.

"Unfortunate business."

He echoed, looking back at the house with a tight-lipped frown.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so unfortunate if she wasn't so goddamn cryptic."

His foot tapped against the pavement, and then he sighed, rolling his eyes a bit and looking towards Vaughn once more.

"I don't believe in the supernatural."

He said, as if he needed it to be known that he wasn't some superstitious freak.

"That sort of thing isn't for me. But I'm tired of my shit disappearing and seeing things, and people say you get results."

Lucas fished the keys out of his pocket, twirling the keyring on his finger a bit as he started up the stairs of the house, to the door. As he started to unlock it, he continued to talk.

"The figures should be in the kitchen in a few minutes. Best to get there before they start their routine. You got any questions?"

rock & roll

EDEN

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Dover]

---

location

829 Adams Drive.

role

crew.

CW

mentions of dead animals.

mentions

elytra idalie

Arnetta 'Netta' Webber.

Rarely did the Coffee Table Jazz playlist on Spotify sound quite so threatening. It was still happy and upbeat, but in that I-would-gladly-cave-your-head-in-with-a-moka-pot kind of way. Although, perhaps that was less the vibe of the music and more off the rolling irritation Netta could feel coming off her sister in waves. That silent anger felt deafening in comparison to the jazzy piano and the loud rumble the Ackehurst company van's engine.

"Sounds a bit like a Starbucks in here," Netta tried to joke after a moment.

Blythe's lips pursed and she kept staring out the side window.

Better judgement would have told her to stop. Quit while she was already behind. Take the loss. Take the damn loss, Netta.

"Did you want me to pick you up too? I have to drop off the van first, but my car is at the office so I can swing by after."

Blythe's hands tightened on her Burberry handbag. At least the damp coffee splotch on it had stopped spreading. "No."

"I really am sorry about the damage. I can pay for-"

"Netta, you're talking and thinking way too loud. Please just," Blythe stopped herself and took a deep breath in. "Just don't worry about it."

Scowling, Netta pressed back into her seat and focused her eyes on the road. A big van like this wasn't meant to navigate the smaller streets that lead up to the realtor's office where Blythe worked. Some foolish little impulse in her wanted to make a joke about how they were both in the realty business now, but the quiet sigh from her sister nixed that idea. Such were the perks of having an empath for a sibling. Any notion Netta got to change the mood was known about before she even attempted.

It must have been some kind of desperation that led Blythe to call Netta for a ride while her car was in the shop. Netta wondered if Blythe was regretting being too pretentious to take an cab or a car service now. If not when Netta rolled up with a van, then definitely when she accidentally bumped Blythe's takeaway coffee cup and ruined a likely very expensive designer handbag.

"Drop me off here," Blythe said, pointing to an open parking spot on the street.

"We're two blocks from your office still."

"And?"

Netta rolled her eyes. Of course Blythe was too damn perfect to show up in a van. The absolute horror of it all! What if someone found out that she was in a van of all things!

Holding back the desire to gun it the rest of the way, Netta pulled over and let Blythe get out of the vehicle.

"You're welcome, by the way--"

Blythe slammed the door behind her.

Netta bit her tongue lest she shout a particularly unkind word after her sister, and instead, opted to fume all the way to 829 Adams Drive, where she finally settled down. She squinted through the lightly tinted windows at the home as she pulled up. In front of it she could make out one of her new coworkers—Vaughn, if she remembered his name correctly—talking some with some guy. Probably the homeowner. The home itself didn't look too bad on the outside. It was old enough that it didn't have that cookie cutter look of a lot of newer houses, but she wouldn't be shocked if there was something horrific inside. At one of her old house flipping jobs, she'd busted open a wall and found a pile of squirrel corpses in various levels of desiccation. Like they'd crawled in after each other over the course of years and decided to keel over in the same spot. Considering this place was supposed to be haunted, they'd probably find something weirder.

"Hey, boss!" Netta yelled out to Vaughn as she half stumbled out of the van, her shoe catching just slightly on the door. Just as careless as Blythe was with the doors before, Netta let the door slam after her. The realtors on the team weren't technically her bosses, but they kinda felt like it. After all, they'd be the ones directing the team and supervising everything. And they were psychics or hunters or something, so that felt like seniority too. She was just some gal with knowledge of the supernatural world and a family name that some people might connect to The Right Hand's snooty upper crust. And a slight curse problem, but nobody had to know about that part.

Netta rounded to the back of the van and pulled open the doors. Ackehurst seemed kept their trucks decently stocked in a weird mismatch of home renovation supplies and paranormal scouting tools. Netta was mostly just keen to grab the sledgehammer, but she'd grab that when the homeowner wasn't looking. Oh, and if they needed it, she supposed. For the time being, Netta grabbed her canvas tool bag and lugged it up the path to the house just as the homeowner was unlocking the front door.

"Morning," Netta butted in, "I got a question. The file said something about a knife going missing? What kind of knife we talking? Like a butter knife or a like a butcher's cleaver? If Casper's gonna get stabby, I'd like to know what with."

Shit, wait. Casper was actually this guy's dead grandma, wasn't it? Netta grinned nervously.

 

[BELIAL.]

valerie kallagher.

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  mm... work casual
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  on the way to adams drive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  charlie / Ha_lfLife
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Valerie gave a few wayward stares out her rearview and surrounding mirrors once she saw out of the corner of her eye that Charlie was removing some of her clothes. Of course she’d pick the on-ramp to start changing.

Hearing the story did make her mouth gape, a little more elated to get drama-by-proxy than deal with any of that herself. Once she was comfortable enough on the freeway, it’d be a quick enough trip at that point, she relaxed a bit to suck on her coffee straw. Hearing about her sister’s extracurriculars while acclimating back to Boston was a less than pleasing start of the morning, but Val wasn’t always uptight about it. There were boundaries of course, things and details she didn’t really need to hear, but the niggling of curiosity always dug her enough to start questioning and making inquiries. As much as she tried to appear like she was someone who ‘didn’t care’, she really did, and found it all very amusing.

The description of a derelict apartment was less funny though, Val wondering for a split second if Charlie had beguiled her way out of a serial killer’s apartment as fast as she’d been beguiled into his bed.

“All good?”

She turned to look as she merged off the freeway, giving a quick look before they hit a stop light.

“Yeah, you’re clean. Er. I’ll swipe some makeup on you when we get there. Rule number five of real estate, no matter what dirty job you’re doing, is to always look like you know what you’re doing. And in the case of looking pretty, it’s better so the client doesn't think you're a fresh hire straight out of LA.”

Val threw Charlie a teasing smile, drinking a bit more of her coffee. She eyed the GPS app, noting that traffic had been nice enough to lift the heavy burden of lateness just a bit off her shoulders. It’s not like Valentine or the others needed to know, anyway. If they asked, traffic. She didn’t feel like being a bitch and dragging Charlie for being AWOL.

At the mention of her coworkers Val shrugged, flipping her blinkers to turn.

“They’re alright. I don’t know anyone super super closely. Mimi-- you won’t be seeing her at this house-- is probably the only person I actually see outside of work. We get drinks sometimes. One of those ‘let’s-not-talk-about-work’ things while also actively drinking away work. It’s maybe not healthy, whatever, sue me. At least it's not some mustache twirling, Soviet conman who's so utterly captivating because he can say a few nice words.”

Her and Charlie were at least very aware of each other’s vices, probably more recently than ever before.

“But um… Of the people you’ll meet today? There’s another newbie showing up, I think her name’s Ar…netta? Something like that. Hasn’t been here long but she’s fine. You’ll probably get along with her. And well, you’ll have to. ”

Val pondered over another sip.

“Harlow and Vaughn have been around the same time or so. Exorcist and a Monster Hunter so, really, we’re more than safe with those two around. Vaughn’s the other real estate agent, but just go through me for stuff, okay? He’s just… he’s really confusing and I know he’ll probably pull your leg because you’re new, and we really don’t need that.”

She gave Charlie a glance over at those words, eyebrows furrowing in the middle.

“Really, we don’t.”

ghosts again

depeche mode

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Sear]

harlow tulach.

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  armed and comfy
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  doorstep of adams drive house
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  netta Dover , vaughn idalie , lucas elytra
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Ends were supposed to be met, not find each other a mile apart with Harlow stuck in the middle, white-knuckling an eviction notice. They were not making ends meet to their chagrin. A missed payment turned into two, and a contact labeled ‘Landlord’ landed itself in a notifications silenced list. If he were lucky, he could spend the evening after work on the phone, begging for another extension from a lady that smacked gum a smidgen too loud into the phone. It made Harlow want to reach through the phone and stick a toothpick in whatever bubble they were blowing.

Or they could risk their luck on craiglist again. There had to be someone looking for a roommate on there, no matter how the first apartment he saw on the site made them wonder if it was in the sewers. There was noticeable mold in the photos, creeping up the walls and covered up half-heartedly with white paint. It turned the color into a murky white and they clicked off of it as fast as they could.

A price that wouldn’t empty their wallet was tempting; black mold poisoning less.

In the end, the decision was to put it off until Harlow could think of a better plan than a message sent through craiglist. As it was, they still had time, and yet their items laid packed already in a bag near the door. Three years and their time in the city was only enough to yield enough bags they could carry in two hands. Grabbing the one that housed their work items, and ensuring that the blade that never strayed from their side was tucked into its scabbard on their back. They'd switch its location when they were at Adams Drive, not a second before. Motorcycles weren’t kind to blades out-of-place and if Harlow didn’t have the funds to keep a place longer than a year, he sure as hell didn’t have them for a car nor for a replacement blade.

Harlow Jr. was irreplaceable.

❈❈❈​

By the time Harlow had rattled to a stop in front of Adam’s drive they had to find a spot to squeeze into on the street between a company van and a wagon that made them pray to the Gods for a mechanic to look at. Netta was lugging a bag of sorts, and further up the path they could see Vaughn seconds from following who they could assume was the homeowner. They weren’t late per se, but Harlow threw some extra spring into their step and an easy-going smile onto their face as they made their way to come to a stop between Vaughn and Netta, catching only a note about a Casper which they decided to ignore.

“Morning folks,” Harlow flashed a smile at Lucas. “Please to meet you Lucas. I overheard a mention about a knife coming up the path. Hopefully a butter knife?”

tamer

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[wickedlittlecritta]

devin.

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  a very important coat
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  home ->289 Fairway Drive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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The sky and the sea were the same steely gray, the ocean rough and white capped, the sky heavy with rain. It was the kind of heavy winter day that tourists never saw, but that Devin always pictured when he thought of the Atlantic off of Cape Cod.

He stood in the water up to his knees, and it would have been unbearably cold if this were the waking world, but it wasn’t.

In his dreams Devin always wore a long coat with a high collar and an impossible number of pockets, and in this dream he reached into one of the pockets and withdrew a handful of teeth, human, with long roots.

This probably means something, Devin thought, but not too hard, and scattered the molars into the sea.

They turned, instantly and elegantly, into giant white fish, their scales glinting like full moons in an autumn night, as they swam around him, before heading out into the open ocean.

"Goodbye,"

Devin said

The sky and the sea settled, the horizon turning to a fuzzy gray line. There was something very solemn and sober about the dream in that moment, so of course that was when his alarm chose to go off.

"Augh,"

Devin said. He shut off his alarm first, and then rubbed his eyes before sitting up in bed and fumbling for the dream journal he kept on his nightstand, sitting up to write the dream down before day light and consciousness made it fuzzy. The little lined journal was getting full; he'd have to get a new one soon.

Devin's one bedroom apartment was done up in a style he liked to think of as Miyazaki wizard--cluttered, eclectic, and full of charming bullshit. His bedroom--currently dimly lit from morning sunlight struggling through the closed blinds in the bay window--was an excellent example, with its worn oriental rugs, many tapestries and art prints hiding the rental white walls, and antique furniture hidden under stacks of books. A dressing screen divided the room roughly in half, keeping his desk and bookshelf in a separate little office space closer to the door.

As much as he wanted to try and go back to sleep today was shaping up to be much too busy for that, and so Devin dragged himself out of bed for the morning rituals of dressing and making coffee and making a little breakfast plate of fruits and pasties and cheese like he was some kind of Roman emperor, because he was worth it, and then checking the news on his phone to make sure nothing truly fucked up had happened overnight. He sat in the velvet chaise lounge facing the window as he drank his coffee and read the news on his phone. He didn't own a tv, which AJ had called "sociopath behavior", but if he was a sociopath it mostly manifested in only watching obscure european art films that he could only find via less legal means, so it was whatever.

Mornings, Devin believed, were not for rushing, and so he did not rush over his breakfast and coffee, and he did not rush out of the house. He moseyed down the 7 floors of stairs from his apartment to the street, in fact, hands in the pockets of his big black peacoat. It was as close as he'd found to his dream coat in real life, though it had a completely possible number of pockets (five), and stayed black wool instead of changing colors and fabrics. He wore it over his thick Aran Isle sweater (gray), and jeans (black) and boots (black), and at the bottom of the stairs removed the keys to his car from the pocket of the coat.

Mornings were not for rushing, at least not before he got in the car.

Devin could afford a fancier car than his 2015 Mitsubishi Evo X--a nicer car, some would insist--but he loved the squirrely little JDM car like it was a beloved pet, or an old friend he was in cahoots with. It sat parked on the side of the road, huddled in the rain like a sleeping creature. It was a boxy, snub-nosed little thing, still bearing stock paint that Mitsubishi had charmingly named "Wicked White", though there was nothing stock about what he'd put under the hood.

It was a car the seventeen-year-old boi racer he'd once been would have lusted after, and she deserved nice things.

The car roared to life when he turned the engine on, the vehicle vibrating with the energy that being a race car promised, and Devin knew he was grinning like an idiot as he punched 289 Fairway Drive into his phone's gps before propping his phone into the holder on the console.

It wasn't a long drive, but long enough, and on the rain slick streets the Evo practically begged to slide sideways, like an eager dog yearning to chase a ball. But these days Devin mostly followed traffic laws, and so he kept the Evo at a sensible pace and direction, even through a Dunkin's drive through, until he found a spot to tuck it against a curb outside of the unassuming exterior of 289 Fairway Drive. Devin leaned against the roof of the Evo for a moment and squinted at the house and its sherbert orange siding before circling the car (giving the still hot hood two light taps with his knuckles as he passed) and heading inside.

The agents from the other company had been eager to pass off the keys, and standing in the kitchen Devin felt a prickle of unease down the back of his neck, despite the house being perfectly ordinary.

"Good morning, creepy house,"

he said cheerfully, setting the Dunkin's carrier with four coffees down and pulling his large red eye out.

"I hear we've gone rather Navidson Record here. Can we hold off on a demonstration until I've passed out the coffee?"

somnus (thief mix)

maggie stiefvater

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[idalie]

VAUGHN VALENTINE ⁠— real estate & hunter
tags: group one / BELIAL. Ha_lfLife Sear elytra Dover ; location: 829 adams drive ; interactions: Lucas, Harlow, Arnetta

Lucas wasn’t the sort to fall back on chasing spirits; he’d made that clear. A good-looking man, no older than thirty abouts, stuck with the aftermath of his grandmother's last will and testament—death was like that, webbing one up in the deceased lasts wishes, hassled over property and debt, the dredges of their bank accounts and passwords to their digital footprints. Even if one didn’t believe in ghosts, it was eerie to dwell on the remnants they’d left behind. Like finding an old postcard in a used book. Shifting back, Vaughn registered the discomfort of Lucas’ expression, raising his thumb to smooth over his moustache with a contemplative stroke, “Well, we don’t like rushin’ into labellin’ all phenomena, plenty have just been… ah, coincidence stretchin’ her legs. You know how it is.”

The Realtor inclined his head to follow, one foot in front of the other before the rumble of engine and pitch of another, feminine voice interrupted. Arnetta. A new crew starter, one that now swept in expressing her own concerns enough to make Valentine grimace, “Ms. Webber,” His teeth bared, gesturing back and forth from her to Lucas, “She’s one of our more recent hires—excuse us, these uh, fine old places just really get into their heads like the movies, heed nuthin’ of it.” Where the hell was Valerie? “Say this is some gorgeous turn of the century stuff—”

Harlow bounded up the path; a welcome sight if not for their unwelcome query. Well-acquainted with the exorcist, whom similarly joined Ackehurst some three years back, Vaughn considered their knowledge invaluable—for all Valentine’s experience with hauntings he’d always been far more two-feet down in the physical realm to fret over ritual and hearsay.

“Butter knives or steak knives, how ‘bout we check the wall cavities ‘fore jumpin’ to conclusions?” Vaughn’s brow arched, glancing underhandedly to Lucas, “Now, handsome fella such as yourself oughta be thinkin’ whether to settle down. Hm? Seems you want to get this place evaluated an’ sorted, put it all behind you. ‘Course these types of inspections, they might touch on subjects or the history of the dearly departed, ones that could be mighty sensitive.” Valentine tilted his head, “You won’t mind yourself, would ya? Lotta weight to bear.”

He turned away slightly, rotating on the heels of his brogues slipping the white-cased smartphone out his pocket, swiping the screen one-handedly as the battery icon dropped to a dangerous amber strip. He hadn’t charged it. It wasn’t that he was adverse to technology, rather, he quite enjoyed the limitless distractions but never remembered to plug it in until it was too late. Either that, or as most of Ackehurst knew, he’d be unreachable while waiting for another refurbishment after it smashed or broke during whatever fight the Realtor wound up in.

No sign of Val, and nothing from the office that said she wouldn’t be coming—antsy was an understatement for what felt like a short eternity. “Times gettin’ on, might we talk an’ walk? Had any renovations recently? Y’Grandmother—now she saw all this happenin’ too, never frightened her though, would you agree? These figures, missin’ items, never a source of her concern? I know old folks got old beliefs, hold on to ‘em tight. She never expressed these to you in a way you could, ah, understand?”

coded by archangel_

 

[Ha_lfLife]

CHARLIE KALLAGHER
location: Val’s Car ; interactions: BELIAL.

When she was presentable again, Charlie looked down to her lap. She grew bored rather quickly, and occupied herself with reading the back of the dry shampoo canister, eyes glancing over the same pitch in three languages:

Be the Best YOU! Even in a Hurry! With our Trademark Tropical Scent - a Delicious Mix of Papaya, Guava, and Ylang Ylang Fruit - No One Will Know You Skipped a Wash!

¡Sé el mejor TÚ! ¡Incluso con prisa! Con nuestro aroma tropical de marca registrada, una deliciosa mezcla de fruta de papaya, guayaba e ylang ylang, ¡nadie sabrá que te saltaste un lavado!

Soyez le meilleur VOUS ! Même pressé ! Avec notre parfum tropical de marque - un délicieux mélange de papaye, de goyave et de fruits d'ylang-ylang - personne ne saura que vous avez sauté un lavage !​

She missed daydreaming sometimes. Looking out the window at a scene speeding by was such a simple wonder. She didn’t appreciate it as a dumb kid. She probably could’ve chanced a look, to be honest. A quick peek or two. But she’d never be able to tell when a shining car hood or sunny glass storefront or even their own car’s window would reveal her face looking back at her. It was too risky. She always just stuck with her lap. The backs of bottles. Maybe a book if it was a long haul.

Luckily, the place wasn’t that far away. When the car slowed to a stop, Charlie finally looked up, seeing they’d parked behind some other various vehicles - some dinged up van, a motorbike, a lemon of a stationwagon that was probably abandoned there after the junkyard rejected it. Charlie snorted. “Talk about bringing down market value, huh?”

“Here, your face. Gimme.” Val commanded, and Charlie returned her gaze to her sister before getting a good look at the house, rolling her eyes at the small palette and single brush clasped between her last two fingers.

“Seriously, it’s fine, it’s-“ and decided to stop the futile protest when Val started dabbing the stuff on her cheek.

Her sister always had the nicest lashes and a surprisingly good complexion, Val thought to herself, despite the shit she shoved in her body. Her cheeks were red from the rubbing, and Valerie quickly dabbed at it with one of the flesh-toned colours. Pulling her leg behind her as she sat, she bit the inside of her lower lip to focus.

“I’m not sure what we’re expecting here,” she said as she swiped at Charlie’s face. “It’s a gamble every time if it’s something we gotta actually watch out for or if it’s something we can deal with immediately. Just… don’t look at any mirrors or anything okay? If you… If you see… her, just go outside. Text me after, whatever, just DON’T complicate this even more for yourself.”

She dug around with a stretched arm for some mascara. “It’s your first day so I’m not gonna give you shit for needing a minute. First day I really, really scared myself over something so stupid and simple. I regret it to this day. I wish I’d given myself that minute to breathe when I needed it.”

Valerie sighed, gently prodding at Charlie to tilt up to put the mascara on.

Charlie obliged and clenched her jaw, hating when Val acted like this. “Drop it, okay?” The words were a bit blunt but weren’t mean spirited. At least not intentionally. She knew deep down, her sister was just worried about her. And any time she showed herself being bothered by the curse, she knew it hurt Val. Her sister annoyed the shit out of her, but she didn’t want Val blaming herself all over again. “I’ve got her handled.”

When Val finally released her, Charlie offered her a smile, hesitant - almost as if it was asking do I look okay?.

She got out of the hatchback and met Val on the curb abutting the client’s lawn. She nudged Val as she got out of the driver’s side. “Which one is that?” She nodded towards a man lurking on the other side of the house’s first floor window. “Monster hunter or exorcist?”

Dressed in a dated style, his eyes boring into the girls on the sidewalk as they looked back to him, the looming figure was neither of the two team members Charlie guessed him to be.

“That’s not…” Val’s voice trailed as she squinted at the figure, who seemed to be tinted in cooler tones than the surrounding room. “You’re seeing him too?” Charlie offered a “mhm” in response. But after the next blink, he’d disappeared. Val stood frozen, an icy fear keeping her captive until Charlie broke the silence with an unbothered, “well that was weird.”

“Come on …” Val took hold on Charlie’s arm and guided her to the front door, still slightly ajar from the others’ recent entry. When they came to join the group of the living in the entryway, the man from the window was not among them.

coded by archangel_

 

[elytra]

guy van every.

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  nanas house of nightmares is going to be impossible to style
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  casual guy ready to take on the world (and ghosts)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  the basement of 289 Fairway Drive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  tickles, mimi ( mourning star )
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

(AN -- the lil strings of light are Guy's stupid little psychic ability that he can see instead of ghosts and stuff. He is so useless. You go bbygowrl)

Tickles didn't often speak to other people.

People would say he did, when Guy said he didn't. They would mention that the way he tormented them said otherwise. But, that wasn't speaking. That was psychological terrorism, and it was done with a lack of words. When engaging in mental violence, Tickles tended towards flashing images and loud auditory hallucinations more than he did speaking. Actually talking was saved for when he didn't feel like speaking through Guy, which only happened with people he liked (and didn't admit to liking) or when he was fed up with Guy's constant censorship.

In this case, it was both: Tickles was a fan of Mimi, and was also over having himself being misrepresented. So, when he spoke next, it was in both their heads instead of just in Guy's.

I told you.

In truth, Guy had guessed it was haunted. He wasn't a medium, he couldn't see ghosts when they didn't want to, but objects like that- haunted, cursed, what-have-you -tended to have connections to other realms. Connections he could see, sometimes stronger and sometimes weaker, like threads between worlds. Light-colored strings that, if he tried hard enough, he could reach out and tug on.

Or it felt like it, at least. He had never tried. Never wanted to, frankly, because the balance between overlays and realms was incredibly delicate. It was a curiosity, but not one he wanted to test.

Here was no different. He could see the wooden art piece, and the objects in it had flickering strings of light hanging off them, leading...somewhere. They trailed on the ground, through the tufts of the garish carpet that had no right being in the basement of a house from the 1800s, leading off every which way. Towards the breaker, downwards through the floor, through the ways, to the stairs. Guy had seen them.

He'd just elected to ignore them, because he considered finding ways to rework the room to look nicer far more important.

"It looks like each individual object is in some way...altered."

Guy finally allowed. If they were going to speak about the haunting, he might as well be involved.

"Instead of the piece as a whole. I don't know if they're all hauntings or if your device is only picking up on a few of them, though."

His hand reached out, toying with one of the ethereal strings. His eyes followed it as the lights around them flickered and buzzed, and then his gaze fell upon the wall which the string lead through. Blank, with that peeling grey paint, like everywhere else. Unlike everywhere else, that particular patch of wall had once been a staircase upwards.

Guy paused. Then, he tilted his head back, looking towards Mimi.

"Looks like your plan to bolt up the stairs is out of the question."

That string was a dead end. Maybe another would do. He picked up Tickles under one arm, using the other free hand to fold up the kiddie stool and put it in his bag, which he then shouldered. His hand found a new string- pinkish, slightly glowing, slinking out of the abandoned shoe sole -and lifted it to see where it went. It wound through the room, heading into the area where the breaker used to be, which was now a door that led to a new room.

He walked towards it cautiously, not yet stepping through. Haunted houses were dangerous. Moving houses, he was sure, were even more so (he didn't want to even think of what it would do to his layout plans). So, it was best to be cautious. To be smart.

"Well, adventure awaits!"

Don't you dare!

"Bon voyage!"

With no small amount of satisfaction, Guy proceeded to hold Tickles by one of his tentacles, gently swinging him back and forth before gracefully tossing him through the doorway. Tickles, of course, was sure to scream the whole way. He screamed even more when he got through the door and, instead of falling to the ground, went upwards towards where the ceiling was.

Guy stepped closer, crouching to get a good look at the ceiling of the room without actually going through it. Interestingly enough, it seemed like the furniture was indeed upwards, fashioned like a living room from the 50s. The string he was holding, visible only to him, led through the door and went upwards, weaving through the legs of the furniture pieces.

"Hm."

He gnawed at his lower lip a bit. Upside down rooms were a bit harder to design. Hopefully it wasn't permanent. He glanced back at Mimi

"Seems there's no way to go but up. Best we be careful; I'm not interested in a concussion."

I already have one, thank you for checking in. You fucking muppet.

"If you had any semblance of a skull or even a brain, I might believe you. Thankfully, you're made of fluff and have no nerve endings, so I'm sure you're doing swell."

rock & roll

EDEN

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[elytra]

lucas grey (npc).

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  turtleneck & class
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  adams drive
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  vaughn ( idalie )
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

The more people arrived, the less amicable Lucas seemed to be, though he had the decency to try and cover it up. Though, the change of topic from talking about the knives seemed to be a welcome one. His shoulders relaxed a bit as he set about opening the door, stepping in and holding it open for the group.

"Look, Nana was..."

Lucas trailed off, looking up, as if trying to think of a word that wasn't 'delusional'.

"She was interesting. Left stuff out for the figures. I always assumed she just took her own shit and misplaced it."

The foyer was connected to the living room and the kitchen. The living room, where the man had been seen by Charlie and Val, was now empty, whoever had been there vacating when the group entered. Whether it was a reaction or simply a coincidence would be unclear to those who caught a glimpse- namely, Charlie and Val. It appeared the mysterious figure had went off towards the dining room, where the stairs to the basement were contained.

Lucas, though, was completely unawares of it all. He continued addressing Vaughn, mostly, and only briefly glanced at Val and Charlie as they entered.

"We never did any reno. Neither did nan. But there's definitely been work on the place since it was built. The basement was finished sometime in the 50s, I'd say."

Lucas said, shrugging

"I took a look at the old layout. The basement had an extra little alcove in it that ain't there now. Probably because it was used to put in new wiring or something when they finished it up, I don't know."

rock & roll

EDEN

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[BELIAL.]

valerie kallagher.

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  829 adams drive (basement)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  muahah no one
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

The man in the window perplexed her. Charlie had been quick to ask if it were Harlow or Vaughn, and while she would have given her the benefit of the doubt, there was no way in hell any sane person was slightly transparent, blue-ish in hue and wearing something straight out of an Agatha Christie adaptation. His bowler hat stuck out to her, as well as the suit of someone who either didn’t belong in the home, or was just visiting.

That was enough to pique her curiosity, but she wasn’t about to drag Charlie down to follow a gut instinct. When they entered, quietly folding into the group already chatting with the owner, Val did her best to avoid Vaughn’s eye. Of course he’d give her shit later for being late, but she was busy elsewhere.

Without so much as giving a hint to Charlie what her intentions were Val peeled off, hearing the last bits of Lucas’ dialogue as she turned back into the dining room, to where she thought she’d seen the figure heading. Without a doubt she’d be joined any second by the others who’d be just as curious where she was going, being late and all. In haste, though, perhaps she'd be able to see on her own where this strange occurrence lead.

There was the sudden, obvious presence of more people in front of her. Val jumped, her shoulders rising to her ears, thinking that somehow the group had magically maneuvered in front of her. But it wasn’t the crew...

Echoes, she figured, watching as they seemed to be following a routine or a path of sorts. Their outfits mirrored that of the first man, the men near replicas in their ethereal state, save for a few independent traits sported. Her eyes narrowed, and while two of the men were making their way down the obscured stairs to the lower level, another one drifted in over her shoulder, right after the others.

Val took no haste in following, feeling a little safer believing that these were echoes and not some latent spirit or ‘formerly human’ leading her to her demise. Or maybe they were, anyway. It wasn’t as if help wasn’t a shout away.

Getting as swept up in their movement as she could, Valerie saw their mouths moving, yet no sound came out. An obvious point for their state of being, but it was one of these situations when she wished that echoes were a little more tangible. To get a glimpse of these flickers of the past, to know what exactly had happened to foster such a concentration of remnant energy, was really interesting.

Suddenly it became rather apparent what ‘spirits’ it was that Lucas, and his grandmother by proxy, had reported seeing. Either that, or something was waiting in the basement for her.

She crept, not bothering for a light switch, as her hand dug in her trouser pocket for her phone. She flipped the flashlight on, peering about and down the stairs, gripping on the wall wherever she could for stability.

As her flashlight swept over the space, a finished basement of all places, she ignored the ugly rug and the sparsely placed, forgotten, decades old furniture that was shoved into the corners. Her attention was kept, rather, on the men and their continued routine. They stood on the other side of the basement, unmoving suddenly.

She watched one pluck something from an inner coat pocket; a box bigger than his hand yet having seamlessly fit into his coat, and place it on the ground. More words were exchanged, but at this point to something… that wasn’t there. All she saw were the men, and that box.

The man stood, and as he did so the box seemed to flicker out of existence, leaving his palm visible as it curled back up to his side; something akin to a flame etched into his ghostly palm. She didn’t know what it meant or what it was, but something told her that any sort of tattoo or scarring on someone’s hand of all places did mean something.

The other men moved when the first one stood, moving toward the farthest wall. The first man seemed to move something over, his arms going rigid with the force, before they all moved to disappear into the wall.

She exhaled, finally, not realising she’d been holding her breath the whole time.

Still perched on the stairs she gave a quick look over her shoulder before skipping all the way down, immediately heading for the wall that the echoes had been so transfixed with.

Clutching her phone tightly in her right hand, she grazed her fingers over the bubbling, peeling wallpaper. Val had to really bring her phone up to the wall once she saw something half obscured behind the aged wall decor.

A gut urge, similar to the desire to touch what ought not to be, compelled Val to pull at the wallpaper. It came off in a strip, her manicured nails filing under each section until a sizable chunk had been pulled down.

There lay a symbol, plastered onto the drywall. A right hand, palm up, in a larger circle, marked the path that the echoes had gone.

But what the hell did it even mean?

ghosts again

depeche mode

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Dover]

---

location

829 Adams Drive, basement.

role

crew.

CW

n/a.

mentions

elytra idalie Sear Ha_lfLife BELIAL.

Arnetta 'Netta' Webber.

Netta winced. She'd messed it up already. Really, she should know better at this point. Leave the talking to the people that were good at talking, because she was liable to stick her foot in it. Talking wasn't what she was hired to do anyway. She was hear to gut houses and build them back up, not interrogate homeowners about the violence levels of their dearly departed family members.

"Sorry. I'm sure it's fine." Best keep it at that lest her mouth wind her up in trouble again. She kept a half step back, keeping pace for a moment with Harlow. Another person who had been here multiple years. It left her a bit out of sorts, struggling to find a place where she fit amongst the already established group. Though, she'd heard talk of a new hire. In a silent prayer, she hopped it was someone as new to the supernatural realty business as she was.

Speaking of which, the door creaked quietly behind them as they were joined by two more members of Ackehurst. Valerie, Netta knew, though not the woman next to her. She'd met the other realtor briefly, just like she'd met everyone else in the office briefly. After two weeks of training time, Netta was eager to prove she could be an asset to this team on this first house. She needed to get in good with someone since she'd likely mucked that up with Vaughn.

So she smiled pleasantly at them, gave a quiet little wave so she didn't interrupted either Vaughn or Lucas again, and took a step back from the group when Valerie unceremoniously peeled off from it.

"I'm just gonna take a peek at that basement, then, while we wait for floor plans," Netta whispered conspiratorially to Harlow. Hands clasped behind her back, Netta took another step back, and another, and then scurried to the basement after Valerie.

It was difficult to be quiet in an old place like this. The floorboards creaked even when you were careful on them. She peered down the darkened, narrow stairs that led down into the basement and could only make out the pale light of Valerie's phone light that disappeared as she went deeper into the room. The flashlight, along with the back camera, on her own phone was shattered. Try as she might, she couldn't find the damned light switch to the basement either, though she did manage to turn on two separate lights in the foyer. It was probably in some weird place. Light switches were always in weird places in old houses.

But she did always keep a mini flashlight hooked to the tool bag! Triumphantly, Netta grabbed the flashlight, pointed it down the stairs, and clicked the little button on it. Nothing. Click. Nada. Click, click, click. It sputtered light once and gave out. Stupid battery operated flashlights. She tucked it back in the bag and instead opted to very carefully descend the stairs without visual aid.

By the time she arrived downstairs, Valerie was already peeled fading wallpaper off the walls.

"Hey," Netta called out. Just in case she hadn't made enough noise to announce her presence coming down the stairs. "The owner said something about an old alcove that was removed down here. Was wondering if you or Mr. Valentine had the old plans to this place yet?"

She peered over Valerie's shoulder at the wall. Illuminated by Valerie's flashlight, the symbol was plain to see. A hand, palm up as if prohibiting those deemed less worthy from breaching the circle encompassing it.

"Oh, ew. I didn't know The Right Hand and their grubby little paws on this house." Netta frowned. "Or had. Lucas, the homeowner doesn't seem like the type. He's got some sort of will-they-won't-they thing going between his belief in the supernatural or lack thereof."

Some little inkling of social self-preservation nagged at her as it occurred to her that she didn't even know if the people at Ackehurst belonged to the various supernatural societies. There was a not zero chance that she'd just insulted Valerie too. "I guess they don't all have grubby little paws. Maybe just the ones I know." Smooth.

Netta stepped next to Valerie, picking at the wallpaper too in search of more symbols. "I guess we're replacing the wallpaper then, huh?"

 

[idalie]

VAUGHN VALENTINE ⁠— real estate & hunter
tags: group one / BELIAL. Ha_lfLife Sear elytra Dover ; location: 829 adams drive basement ; interactions: Lucas, Harlow, Charlie ➜ Valerie, Arnetta

Listening to Lucas, Vaughn’s expression tipped forward, pursing his lips as though to insinuate he’d clung to every word with a level of near-uncomfortable detail. It worked on older women who wanted to complain and Lucas seemed he’d had enough trouble with the house it ought’ve been a minor relief Ackehurst was taking greater interest in it. If not for Valerie’s arrival, slinking past them and deeper into the home’s interior, he might’ve voiced the full advertised spiel.

Call it a hot flush of irritation Valentine didn’t realise he’d been holding onto, until the back of Kallagher’s head vanished from view; leaving the other recent hire to the corner of his periphery and none of the aid he’d been expecting. If the realtor had turned, even somewhat, the blonde would’ve elicited clearer memories. Still fresh, like how her perfume had come off against his sheets; or the smell of her hair, that balmy feminine reminisce of shampoo and product, always packed with oils he’d never even heard of being marketed. Then again, with the apocalyptic state of the men’s hygiene aisle selling every woody and spiced scent from pine to sea salt, it was a greater abyss in his wisdom than home decor.

Arnetta next slipped away, the brunette becoming a silhouette as he glanced between Lucas and Harlow with a growing anxiousness, manifesting into his thumb rubbing idle circles against his index. Smearing a grease paint-esque substance broadly ignored⁠—hand cream residue his first assumption.

“Mister Grey, my apologies, I just seen one of our late-comers⁠—I been meanin’ to catch her up, since this place, well, it’s a fine addition, workin’ out the peculiarities y’know how it is.” Vaughn expressly placed his heavy hand upon Harlow’s shoulder, squeezing lightly, “My associate here, an’ their fondness for cookware utensils’ll be more than glad to explain our mission statement. Be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, no longer. Y'won't miss me for a second.” The grin was as wide as it was toothier than the last, parting ways whilst bringing the briefcase up beneath his arm.

From the sound of low voices, he sought out the basement⁠—thoughts flickering back to Grey acknowledging there’d been mention of an alcove. Further talk of things going ‘missing’ or perhaps, offered, only cemented his initial suspicions of menders. He should’ve packed traps.

No overhead lights had been flipped, but soft illumination from below presumed the girls had some sort of torch, ducking into the stairwell as his feet resounded off the downward passage. Emerging into the basement proper, the under house prospect of few escape routes besides the way one had come in bringing a sense of minor dread, Vaughn scowled. Preparing some greater talking-downs to his senior realtor, perhaps swinging his weight about to garner her irritation⁠—which was more than easily accomplished by moving things from one place to another on her desk⁠—Valentine hesitated to start poking and prodding at the symbol present beneath now-stripped wallpaper.

Furniture and half-lit antiques creating jagged shadows in the gloom, Valentine moved forward with a creak of his leather shoes, “Not that I mean to interrupt,” He cleared his throat, “Or to shirk off a coworker, Val. Nice cave paintin'. Work long on it?”

An exhale passed through his nose, more akin to a gentle snort at his own joke, before smoothing his hand against the wall. Flat. No seams. Cool to the touch. The Realtor dropped to a crouch, running a finger across the skirting board until it hit the already existing hole, small enough he hooked into it to feel the worn rim. The alcove, he presumed, distinctly growing more discomforted by the clues.

“I don’t like assumin’ rodents steal clocks, but sure as hell is hot, I got some idea what could. 'Scuse the intrusion.” Rapping against the wall cavity from base to ceiling, reaffirming his guesswork, Vaughn glanced at Val. His knuckles hit to the left of the sigil, sending a plume of plaster dust that gave way to gauze and flakes of wallpaper paste. His rings seemingly packed with it. Without hesitating, utilising the corner of his briefcase, another gouge dented the wall, again until a swift kick brought the opening low enough he could fit his leg; squeezing behind. Dust stung Vaughn’s eyes, momentarily blinding until the stagnant room seemed to sigh as he trampled forward, disturbing remnants unmoved. The lamps lining the walls were broken, set askew, albeit a counter ran to the side. Sightlessly gripping along it, cold leather and parchment, the spine of a book well-read fit into his outreached palm, “Val, point that torch in⁠—would you? Feel that breeze?"

The journal turned over in his hands. "Picked up some light readin' for you girls too."

coded by archangel_

 

[Ha_lfLife]

CHARLIE KALLAGHER
location: 829 Adams Dr., Sitting Room ; interactions: BELIAL. elytra

Charlie trailed through the threshold after her sister, but to her confusion, Val didn’t stop at the huddle of people gathered in the foyer. Instinctively, Charlie ducked into the doorway to the immediate left after Val, choosing easily to follow the familiar rather than fend for herself in a group of strangers. “Where’re we going …?” She posited, her voice kept low, not wanting to be heard over whatever conversation was happening next door.

Val had already moved from the sitting room to the dining room and was doing that thing she did when she sensed something strange. Charlie was used to the routine by this point, though she hadn’t seen it in person in such a long time that she had to reorient herself to all of Val’s oddities when she sensed something. Like a hound who’d picked up a scent sought after, it was almost impossible to pull Val away from an idea once it’d come into her head. Charlie opted to leave Val to her goosechase, poking lazily around the sitting room while she waited for Val to come back.

Charlie was pretty sure most of the stuff in the room predated her. It was like she’d stumbled into a time capsule from 1985, but not in a fun, retro kind of way - this was just … depressing, in the way that nursing home visiting halls and funeral homes were. The sofa set and easy chairs were overstuffed and upholstered with ugly pink and teal floral printed cotton, the trim below each reaching the floor in a ruffle. The carpet was ugly and over-treaded, but she’d guessed from all the HGTV she’d watched while faded at 10:00am on a weekday that there were some “spectacular original hardwoods hiding under there.”

“This place smells like mothballs,” Charlie called out to her sister, but didn’t get a response. In fact, she hadn’t heard her sister shuffling around for a minute now. Peeling herself away from her own observations, Charlie peeked into the adjoining dining room and didn’t see Val. Oh no, it’s okay, you go ahead. She scoffed to herself amusedly, resolving to loiter here until retrieved.

She strolled around the quiet parlor, hand tracing over the simple oak mantle of the fireplace, stopping next to the installment to take a closer look at the ugly wallpaper.

“I never saw a worse paper in my life. One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin.”​

Though she was pretty sure “The Yellow Wall-Paper” had something about ever-morphing patterns of toadstools. This wallpaper was just lifeless and ugly, with none of the whimsy of ridiculous patterns from the 20th Century. Wide teal stripes trailed down from the ceiling, their borders covered with the leaves of green vines, crawling them like columns. Some patches were discolored and peeling where the sun had been staring directly at them for far too long.

The bookshelves on the wall opposite the front-facing windows were filled with trinkets, books, and heirlooms. Charlie’s nosy self couldn’t resist running her fingers over the clothbound spines of various volumes that covered content from Vanity Fair to An American Housewife’s Guide to Home Cooking: The New and Improved Fourth Edition.

Resting on the wider shelf below the books was a silver tray holding a handful of crystal tasting glasses and a few spirits surely meant for hosting and impressing guests. One of them that Charlie picked up to investigate was a Fonseco Porto from 1962, the swishing from inside the tinted bottle hinting that some of its contents still remained. She hesitantly pulled open the cork and took a whiff, her tongue tasting the iron just from the smell alone. She tried not to gag as she recorked it and put it back where it belonged, matching the circle of accumulated dust on the tray to the rim of the bottle.

Laying next to the bar tray was a large, faded vinyl-covered scrapbook. Charlie picked it up next and flipped through the pages. A family album, pictures ranging from the 1960s to the 2000s, judging by the handwritten captions above each photo glued into place. She absent-mindedly meandered around the room while looking at the family pictures. It was only a matter of time before she’d run into something, in this particular case - her backside bumped into the keys of an upright piano next to the doorway to the foyer, which protested with a startling dissonant range of notes all at once. Charlie jumped, a quick inhaled breath through her nose the only sound she made until a second of quiet passed. She breathed the same air out in relief, her hand clenching to the spine of the photo album.

“Jesus …” She breathed, before looking up and seeing in the doorway a man, which startled her just as much as the piano had.

No, it wasn’t the apparition of the man in the window. This was just the guy from the foyer, the one who’d been speaking when she and Val darted by. “Sorry …” She apologized and then let out a surprised laugh. “I scared myself.”

Embarrassed, her eyes went back down to the book still held open in her arms. The page she was on now had a 5”x7” photo of the very man standing before her now, at least a decade younger, adorned in a graduate cap and gown, though he didn’t offer much of a smile. She looked back up to Lucas and then back down to the picture, a wide and disarming smile forming on her face. “No way, did you go to Westfield? Go Bombers!” She followed with an explanation, lowering the book as she gave the stranger her full attention. “My sister and I - Val, I mean Valerie, she’s around here somewhere - went to Easthampton. Well, I mean we moved around a lot but we went to high school there.” Sensing she was rambling, she shut herself up and gave the man a once-over, her dark eyes soft and friendly.

He was cute. Tall. He looked tired. And his current look indicated that he was wondering who the fuck she was. “I’m just here with my sister. I mean, I’m waiting on my orders…”

And then, trying to normalize the awkwardness of the meeting, she went back to the pages of the photo album. She turned the page to a photo of an older lady, seemingly sixty or thereabouts in the aged hues of the picture, smiling and holding a cute little baby with the same eyes and hair and expression as the one in the graduation photo. “Aw, is this you?”

The downside of Valerie tagging Charlie along on a whim was that Charlie didn’t get a very official briefing of the house. While the others in attendance surely knew that the woman in the photo was Lucas’s late “Nana”, Charlie didn’t know either of them from Adam. For all she knew, Nana could be down the road at the retirement home as they spoke. But the innocence in her voice was at least disarming enough that the query didn’t sound distasteful.

coded by archangel_

 

[TrashRabbit]

A.J. Axtel

Contractor, Ghost Hunter, Normal Guy

289 Fairway Drive

Getting some first impressions, drinking a cofee

Kitchen

Carhart jacket & khaki shorts, his running feet

interactions

wickedlittlecritta

AJ had not had coffee yet and his music was cranked loud as he pulled up. Orinoco Flow by Enya was ending and was jump cut slammed into Mirror Mirror by Baby metal. He cranked the steering knob one handed round and round and down shifted with the other hand, and parallel parked the red 97 Dodge Ram with the exact grace and poise of a guy who used to drive a tank for the military. The truck squeaked loudly with the weight of the built in tool boxes in the cab and the tall worn rack made from two by fours. It was one of those automotive relics that was piled high with supplies and tools a Frankenstein of parts, tricks and accessible driving tools. His other ride was a bright red supped up Miatta, which surprised some people either because they didn’t take him as the car type or because they assumed he’d have something more expensive. He’d have bought something expensive for himself if the micro processor in his right knee wasn’t worth more than his house.

When he parked he let baby metal keep singing and peered through the windshield at the house. From the outside it didn’t look so bad, he caught site of Mimi heading in her match blue overalls and head scarf. He hadn’t worked with her much before but he was happy to have an electrician on the team. Last time he’d been put on breaker duty it hadn’t gone well for him. Baby metal finished and he killed the engine. He could do with a little more ‘have you ever just sat in your truck’ but Devin had already texted him [Can’t wait to meet you in the back rooms, I’m bringing coffee : D ] Which meant he had chosen correctly this morning when he’d got dressed. The Axtel foot index was high. He had picked the expensive knee with the micro processor and the mixed hybrid running blades slid into black Nike sneakers- no work boots. He hoped OSHA would forgive him. It hadn’t inspired warmed fuzy feelings when he was briefed that the rooms shifted.

He got out of the truck to reveal he was wearing the traditional and seasonal appropriate garb of his people; khaki shorts. He went to the cab and pulled out the slick tool drawers there and put on his tool belt; Emf in one pocket next to his receptacle tester, next to his hammer next to his other ghost gadgets, screw drivers and all. He didn’t rush; he was never going to be the guy to forget his shit in the car. It was something he and Devin had in common despite loving things that went fast. Both of them noxiously doing everything in their own time.

He knocked twice on the door as he entered, just to announce himself- or scare the shit out of everyone already assembled for the day and let himself in through the unlocked door. It was a drainingly beige back rooms house. It had 80’s middle class vibe that bugged him, but the deed info said it was from the 1890s. Architectural crimes had happened here. He was certain. And he dreaded them. He was having flashbacks to replacing a load bearing wall in particular awful house as he entered. He glanced at the cealing in the hall and first few rooms as he made his way to Devin. He had only beat him there by a little bit. Mimi was already out of site. Not a great start with the rooms shift on the table.

“I hear we've gone rather Navidson Record here. Can we hold off on a demonstration until I've passed out the coffee?” Devin was addressing the house, back to him.

“That’s the gay one with the Minotaur right?” he asks. Takes his coffee from him and frowns. Devin insisted this was his order, and he wasn’t wrong but like; black drip with a pump of blueberry was actually sociopath hours and no one needed to know that.

“Sure is buddy,” Devin said and took a sip.

AJ just nodded and took a sip himself- the joy of knowing some one since high school sometimes was not having to make small talk before coffee. And after he’d put enough coffee in him and thought about the house of leaves he did a lap of the room looking at the walls and ceiling and the joining in the doorways, just to keep his brain busy. Sipped again.

“You know. This place could be nice if it wasn’t beige,” He said and took out his emf reader. He twiddled it on and walked the same slow lap around the room counter clock wise back to Devin. All the while it made a loud wailing sound that wavered and sang and bounced in frequency. He twiddled it a bit as he walked like he was trying so fidget the sound back under his control. He even gave it a soft bounce again his thigh to concussive maintenance it back into normal.

“Hey Devin?” he said over the sound. Sipped his coffee

He waited a beat for the appropriate response of, “Yeah, man?”

“Shits haunted.”

coded by natasha.

 

[mourning star]

/* ------ left side ------ */

/* ------ left side info ------ */

MOOD. Just trying to do her best.

ADDRESS 289 Fairway Drive.

LOCATION. The Upside-down Living Room.

MENTIONS Guy // elytra .

aamira 'mimi' ismail.

/* ------ right side ------ */

Mimi jumped as a voice that wasn’t her own flashed through her mind.

Long lashes fluttered sporadically before she was turning her head to stare down at the small plush sitting unassumingly on the stool. What a horrifying thing to hear — a fully articulate voice being able to mock the two unassuming humans in the room. She bit her lip, unsure of what to do, before deciding that talking aloud wouldn’t hurt.

It wasn’t like Guy had any room to judge her for speaking to an inanimate object anyway.

“You didn’t say anything to me,” She protested half-heartedly before she turned back to collect the EMF reader. Her lips twisted into a frown as she twisted the reader about in her hands, mumbling, “And, I’m not sure what is causing this thing to go off anyway. I don’t think it would be this entire thing; but, I’m not gonna rule it out…”

When Guy spoke, she glanced up from her study to watch the way he slid his fingers through the air. She didn’t understand his gift, not fully; but, she wasn’t exactly sure now was the moment to question it.

Turning her attention back to the art piece, she took in each piece with a critical eye.

Her attention didn’t shift as he brushed past her, cataloging each item with idle scrutiny. His reference to her previous joke made her chuckle, cutting her hand through the air as if to dismiss the very thought.

“I’m not gonna ditch you both to run awa—oh.”

Mimi turned to meet his eye; but, found her gaze locked on the missing stairs.

She blinked, frozen for a long moment before she was pinching the bridge of her nose. A long sigh left her, acknowledging that now they were in a serious situation where their lives might now be put in danger.

When her hand drifted away from her face, all her former levity was gone.

She found herself following Guy as he shifted towards where all her tools had been. The sudden disappearance of multiple variables -- the stairway, her tools -- finally settled over her. It seemed the home had decided they had a particular path to follow.

What the path led to was up to the three of them to find out.

Mimi found herself idling a few steps away as she fiddled with her toolbelt, overlooking the various odds and ends she kept. Most of it was meant to hold items during the more hands-on aspects of her work in exorcism. Her hands ended up closing around a small cable attached to a rope she often used to assist her in climbing.

The rope was around seven feet in length, attached to two clips at either end.

She glanced up in time to watch as Guy threw Tickles into the room, an involuntary squeak of surprise leaving her. She covered her mouth before she stepped forward, glancing down at the small plush and where it was sprawled awkwardly on the ceiling. The hair that hung along her back slipped past the top of her head, dangling within the reversed gravity of the living room. She sighed, a little relieved to see no real harm had come to the thing before Guy began to speak.

His clear frustration made her frown, glancing between the pair.

Mimi finally huffed in exasperation, already over the one-sided squabbling of her companions.

“Enough, please.” She spoke softly. “Arguing won’t help us right now. I know that you both have… eccentric personalities; but, getting along for the next couple of minutes while we try not to get ourselves killed is probably the best option for all of us here.”

She met Guy’s eye, her expression softening as she registered it was only the two of them in a shifting maze that could easily be holding something sinister on the other side of an archway.

She crouched at his side, picking up the end of one of the cables at eye level.

“You get one side," She informed him."And, I get the other. If you need help, tug twice.”

Her fingers clipped one of the cables around one of the loopholes of his pants. She clipped the other end on her toolbelt, the snap of the metal a resounding, yet comforting noise.

She hummed thoughtfully as she got to her feet, fingers curling around the upper frame of the door.

“Alright, here we go…” She shook her head before she was free-falling into the open space.

Her fingers curled tight around the frame as she tucked her knees close to her chest. Her body collided with the side wall that led to the ceiling, a loud thud sounding as her body hit the wall.

The impact had jarred her more than it hurt.

Straightening her feet, she looked down at the ceiling that now was only a foot or so from where she dangled. Her fingers slid away from the frame, allowing her to hit the floor effortlessly.

She couldn’t help but rub at her hip, a little put out at the less-than-graceful movement.

Shifting from where she stood, she moved to where Tickles lay. Deciding to be lenient, she quietly adjusted the poor plush so he could watch the doorway where Guy still stood.

“I’ll be nice enough to let you watch so you can get it out of your system,” She told the object primly, nodding her head decisively before she was standing once more. Hands landed on her hips, cocking her head as she called up to her fellow agent, “Well? Let’s get this whole ‘house of mirrors’ thing over with. I got some lighting fixtures I still gotta work on.”

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

© weldherwings.