The Mortician had been diligently working at his desk while the sun set, irritation burning his eyes anytime light pierced through the thick curtains of his office. People had a nasty habit of dying and causing him to actually have to take clients in order to keep his business running, and each time they did, he found himself having to work during the day, despite his wishes to sleep. As a result, dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, and he'd grown more temperamental as the days passed. He really needed to find someone to handle business during the day. Maybe he needed to talk to Mercy about doing it...
But as he worked, an out-of-place breeze blew back a few strands of his raven hair, causing him to slowly set down his pen and look up and around the room suspiciously. He let out a heavy sigh and pushed up from his chair, crossing the room to lock his office door. Afterward, he pulled down the secret door leading to his attic and climbed up, walking into the compartment just beyond his bed.
The breeze followed him every step of the way and blew repeatedly at his hair; the Mortician grumbled in response.
"Will you hold on?! I've almost got it!" With an odd, powdery concoction in the palm of his hands, he drew an arcane circle upon a slab of stone on the floor of his attic and promptly lit a match, lighting the powder in a quick rush of flames. In the rising smoke stood a familiar woman who caused his gaze to soften, and even for a few brief seconds, he smiled. "Sally..."
Her long, ghostly hair billowed around her body, from her head to her waist, a calm expression in her translucent features as she began to practically glide toward him. "Jasper," she greeted with a smile that also quickly faded. "You have a visitor in your cemetery." She drifted out of the smoke and after him as the powder continued to burn and leave a strange, wooden scent to permeate the air around him. "I have watched her; she has seen me. She's looked right at me, and she bears characteristics of one of the creatures from the stories. Do you think-"
His incoherent grumbling and growling stopped her speech as he peered carefully out at the graveyard, the sun safely beyond the horizon and leaving in its wake the deep purples and blues of twilight. "These 'characteristics': describe them to me."
"Her face is young, but burdened."
"Typical for young people these days, Sally," Jasper interjected impatiently, but he was surprised to find that the apparition behind him responded in the same tone.
"Not like this, Jasper." She drifted closer to him until she was close enough for him to feel the unnatural chill of her presence. "I have watched her from afar. She sees others like me without the incense, the powders, any of the reagents you use. She only looks and she sees. It troubles her, I can tell; she cannot differentiate between the living and the dead. The veil is dangerously thin for her."
"That sounds like- but it can't be-"
"Her? But I think it is." Sally's chin lifted as she spoke over his shoulder, peering out his window at the redhead trespassing through his cemetery. She looked like she'd seen better days. Her clothes were dirty, her jeans worn and starting to tear at the knees. Her jacket was ratty, torn, and (he imagined) hardly useful anymore, her hair a tangled mop. "In the stories, she returned from the Otherworld with full strands of grey in her hair, and one golden eye had turned an odd grey-blue. Yes?" Waiting for him to nod, she turned her head to look upon him with a strange smile that spoke of many emotions at once; none she spoke of openly. She only continued. "Look closely at this one. She bears the same features, but she cannot possibly be that old at all."
When the Mortician abruptly turned on his heel and walked with purpose and urgency toward the ladder out of the attic, the apparition regarded him not with surprise, but with disappointment. "Jasper! Wait! I can follow you, but you won't be able to hear me if you..."
But it was too late. He'd already departed from the attic, and she faded back out of sight of the typical naked eye, left only to drift unseen after him as he snuck past Mercy's room and out the funeral home as quietly as he could after throwing on his coat. Tall and lanky, he hunched down and crept with surprising agility toward the cemetery walls, inching around until he reached the gate, straining to hear gently spoken words from several meters away.
"Why- ... -lost- ... not-..."
Jasper sighed and dragged his hand over his face. As he scratched at the stubble along his chin, he decided to follow his instincts. So with that, he rose to a stand and braced himself against the gate that he closed with a pronounced creak, watching her spin toward him with surprise. As he'd suspected, there was no one there to talk to that he could see.
"I'm sorry, I was just-..." As she spoke in a tone that expressed more fear over being caught than remorse, he found himself having to fight back the urge to show any expression aside from the curiosity he allowed to escape.
"You. Kid. What's your name?" Even as he tried to speak gently, it was plainly evident that Jasper had no idea how to speak to people when he hadn't had time to think his words through.
"Viviana."
"Viviana... what?"
She only stared at him through the wrought iron gate for another moment in silence. Another moment and her eyes shifted slightly to his right and past him. She was looking at something, and the upstanding hairs on the back of his neck gave him a relatively decent idea of who it was.
Maybe this really is her...
Waiting as patiently as he could for a response, Jasper continued to lean his forearms against the gate and above his head, staring in at her with coffee brown eyes that urged answers from her.
She resisted. Rather than answer, she sprinted for the gate as roughly as she could as if intending to charge the gate and knock him backward so she could escape. It was a half-baked idea, but one that surprised him enough to stumble back a step before he forcefully pushed back against the gate with a grunt. It was then that he saw her up close, prominent pepper grey streaks in her otherwise brown hair and something unexplainable in her mismatched eyes. This was definitely her, and his first instinct was to try to find a way to reduce her fear. But how?
His gaze dropped toward her jacket. He was able to see patches of skin along the arms through the fabric. How long had she worn that thing? With a sigh, he continued to brace himself against the gate, thankful that the situation seemed to be in his hands. He had her captured, to an extent. Removing his own coat, he stared quietly at her before he forced himself to speak in a lighter tone - as playfully as he could manage.
"Viviana," he spoke as he held his coat in one hand, "you seem cold. How about we make a deal?" He sighed inwardly at the suspicion plastered all over her face. Still, he continued. "You tell me your last name and I'll give you my coat. Maybe something to eat? You hungry?" Confused by the sudden, worn-down sadness in her expression, he waited for a response.
Even before she spoke, she reached out a hand to take his coat. Perhaps his idea had been a good one after all. "Starling." True to his word, he reached through the gate and met her hands halfway, allowing her time to wrap herself in it. "... Thanks."
He snorted at the sight of her swallowed by it, as small as she was compared to him. But as he did, he shook his head and cautiously opened the gate. "Don't mention it, kid. C'mon. I'll get ya some food." He blinked several times as an unearthly chill blew furiously at him for every step he took toward the funeral home. Viviana, too, seemed to stare at something just beyond him. Jasper finally sighed, conceded, and gestured down the open stretch of road toward the large building surrounded by blossoming trees. "... I've never been to the cafe at the Court. Shall we?"
"I can't afford it."
"Did I ask you to pay your own way, Viv? C'mon. It's my treat. My idea, after all. Don't make it weird." He waited for Viviana to reluctantly catch up to him, then started off at a brisk pace. Even without his coat, the cold seemed not to bother him.
But as he worked, an out-of-place breeze blew back a few strands of his raven hair, causing him to slowly set down his pen and look up and around the room suspiciously. He let out a heavy sigh and pushed up from his chair, crossing the room to lock his office door. Afterward, he pulled down the secret door leading to his attic and climbed up, walking into the compartment just beyond his bed.
The breeze followed him every step of the way and blew repeatedly at his hair; the Mortician grumbled in response.
"Will you hold on?! I've almost got it!" With an odd, powdery concoction in the palm of his hands, he drew an arcane circle upon a slab of stone on the floor of his attic and promptly lit a match, lighting the powder in a quick rush of flames. In the rising smoke stood a familiar woman who caused his gaze to soften, and even for a few brief seconds, he smiled. "Sally..."
Her long, ghostly hair billowed around her body, from her head to her waist, a calm expression in her translucent features as she began to practically glide toward him. "Jasper," she greeted with a smile that also quickly faded. "You have a visitor in your cemetery." She drifted out of the smoke and after him as the powder continued to burn and leave a strange, wooden scent to permeate the air around him. "I have watched her; she has seen me. She's looked right at me, and she bears characteristics of one of the creatures from the stories. Do you think-"
His incoherent grumbling and growling stopped her speech as he peered carefully out at the graveyard, the sun safely beyond the horizon and leaving in its wake the deep purples and blues of twilight. "These 'characteristics': describe them to me."
"Her face is young, but burdened."
"Typical for young people these days, Sally," Jasper interjected impatiently, but he was surprised to find that the apparition behind him responded in the same tone.
"Not like this, Jasper." She drifted closer to him until she was close enough for him to feel the unnatural chill of her presence. "I have watched her from afar. She sees others like me without the incense, the powders, any of the reagents you use. She only looks and she sees. It troubles her, I can tell; she cannot differentiate between the living and the dead. The veil is dangerously thin for her."
"That sounds like- but it can't be-"
"Her? But I think it is." Sally's chin lifted as she spoke over his shoulder, peering out his window at the redhead trespassing through his cemetery. She looked like she'd seen better days. Her clothes were dirty, her jeans worn and starting to tear at the knees. Her jacket was ratty, torn, and (he imagined) hardly useful anymore, her hair a tangled mop. "In the stories, she returned from the Otherworld with full strands of grey in her hair, and one golden eye had turned an odd grey-blue. Yes?" Waiting for him to nod, she turned her head to look upon him with a strange smile that spoke of many emotions at once; none she spoke of openly. She only continued. "Look closely at this one. She bears the same features, but she cannot possibly be that old at all."
When the Mortician abruptly turned on his heel and walked with purpose and urgency toward the ladder out of the attic, the apparition regarded him not with surprise, but with disappointment. "Jasper! Wait! I can follow you, but you won't be able to hear me if you..."
But it was too late. He'd already departed from the attic, and she faded back out of sight of the typical naked eye, left only to drift unseen after him as he snuck past Mercy's room and out the funeral home as quietly as he could after throwing on his coat. Tall and lanky, he hunched down and crept with surprising agility toward the cemetery walls, inching around until he reached the gate, straining to hear gently spoken words from several meters away.
"Why- ... -lost- ... not-..."
Jasper sighed and dragged his hand over his face. As he scratched at the stubble along his chin, he decided to follow his instincts. So with that, he rose to a stand and braced himself against the gate that he closed with a pronounced creak, watching her spin toward him with surprise. As he'd suspected, there was no one there to talk to that he could see.
"I'm sorry, I was just-..." As she spoke in a tone that expressed more fear over being caught than remorse, he found himself having to fight back the urge to show any expression aside from the curiosity he allowed to escape.
"You. Kid. What's your name?" Even as he tried to speak gently, it was plainly evident that Jasper had no idea how to speak to people when he hadn't had time to think his words through.
"Viviana."
"Viviana... what?"
She only stared at him through the wrought iron gate for another moment in silence. Another moment and her eyes shifted slightly to his right and past him. She was looking at something, and the upstanding hairs on the back of his neck gave him a relatively decent idea of who it was.
Maybe this really is her...
Waiting as patiently as he could for a response, Jasper continued to lean his forearms against the gate and above his head, staring in at her with coffee brown eyes that urged answers from her.
She resisted. Rather than answer, she sprinted for the gate as roughly as she could as if intending to charge the gate and knock him backward so she could escape. It was a half-baked idea, but one that surprised him enough to stumble back a step before he forcefully pushed back against the gate with a grunt. It was then that he saw her up close, prominent pepper grey streaks in her otherwise brown hair and something unexplainable in her mismatched eyes. This was definitely her, and his first instinct was to try to find a way to reduce her fear. But how?
His gaze dropped toward her jacket. He was able to see patches of skin along the arms through the fabric. How long had she worn that thing? With a sigh, he continued to brace himself against the gate, thankful that the situation seemed to be in his hands. He had her captured, to an extent. Removing his own coat, he stared quietly at her before he forced himself to speak in a lighter tone - as playfully as he could manage.
"Viviana," he spoke as he held his coat in one hand, "you seem cold. How about we make a deal?" He sighed inwardly at the suspicion plastered all over her face. Still, he continued. "You tell me your last name and I'll give you my coat. Maybe something to eat? You hungry?" Confused by the sudden, worn-down sadness in her expression, he waited for a response.
Even before she spoke, she reached out a hand to take his coat. Perhaps his idea had been a good one after all. "Starling." True to his word, he reached through the gate and met her hands halfway, allowing her time to wrap herself in it. "... Thanks."
He snorted at the sight of her swallowed by it, as small as she was compared to him. But as he did, he shook his head and cautiously opened the gate. "Don't mention it, kid. C'mon. I'll get ya some food." He blinked several times as an unearthly chill blew furiously at him for every step he took toward the funeral home. Viviana, too, seemed to stare at something just beyond him. Jasper finally sighed, conceded, and gestured down the open stretch of road toward the large building surrounded by blossoming trees. "... I've never been to the cafe at the Court. Shall we?"
"I can't afford it."
"Did I ask you to pay your own way, Viv? C'mon. It's my treat. My idea, after all. Don't make it weird." He waited for Viviana to reluctantly catch up to him, then started off at a brisk pace. Even without his coat, the cold seemed not to bother him.
Last edited by Ana on Sat Apr 09, 2016 6:33 pm; edited 1 time in total