Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Aug 13, 2015 9:14 pm

by Simply

The unusual haze lingered in the air and smelled of pine. She inhaled slowly and the world seemed to dissolve away from her. Once again she was standing in the Caledonian Forest miles outside of Glasgow and the fires rose upwards, covering the moon with smoke. The fire burned on pure Scottish pine, the aroma filling her hair, her nostrils. It coated her clothing – the soft shift she wore in the awakening of 1680.

Ash’s words drew her back from the memory brought on by the ritual and she blinked repeatedly at him. “I…” Slowly, her head shook back and forth. “I don’t know what to do about it. You shouldn’t really exist, to be completely honest. One of your parents is hiding something from you.” It would be magically impossible for him to not have a direct magical link to the druids of old. Occasionally a mortal would develop magically powers spontaneously – such as the ability to sense impending storms or an uncanny knack for tarot cards – but nothing on this scale. Even in her time, Ash would have been revered as a god among men. Swallowing, she chewed on one of her fingernails.

The mess around them was rather extensive and she understood why he just needed to give up for a moment and retire to the couch. Dark eyes washed over him in a sudden display of sympathy. She moved over and sat beside the book, careful not to touch it, but so that he could look in her eyes directly from his position on the couch. Sighing, she settled her chin on her hands and rested her elbows on her knees, leaning towards him.

“Well, in all honesty, we have two options.” She looked at him directly. “Your powers are dormant, that much I can surmise from the display that we just witnessed. The amount that you could control if you had complete access to your magic…” A low whistle followed her last word, a clear expression of the inexplicable nature of his prowess. “So, we can awaken them. The spell is a bit more complex but I’ve seen it done before and could confidently replicate it, with the book’s assistance. It would take us some time to gather the ingredients…they are not common household items. “ A absent motion was made with her fingers, before they returned to rest gently against her cheek.

“Or…” The sound was drawn from her as though the second idea pained her more than the return of the void she had resided in for some time before arriving here. “Or we can repair whatever crack has occurred in the wall that someone placed to barricade your abilities. That’s a simple spell.” But we won’t be able to communicate anymore. The idea made her suddenly sad, but she maintained her façade as she looked at him. She wouldn’t allow her feelings to sway his decision in any way. This was his life, his choice. As she waited to hear what his response would be, Margaret thought about why she would be sad if he chose to block his powers forever. Not only was he the most magical being she had encountered since she was alive, but she rather liked having someone to talk to that would actually talk back to her. Talking at people, especially when they were making foolish decisions, was unbearable at times. It led to long periods of darkness and depression. She hoped he might choose to develop his powers. It would be magnificently stimulating to teach a fledgling the fundamentals of magic and watch him grow.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 6:48 pm

by Requiem

"So you're telling me that we can take this... whatever this is to whole other level," Ash furrowed his brow and turned his head to face Margaret. "Or we can just... stop it altogether?"
A few days ago--hell, even a few hours ago, Ashton Kendrick hadn't believed in the existence of magic. And all of a sudden, his world was filled to the brim with phenomenon such as ghosts and other things that could not be explained. Shattered glass and light bulbs somehow incited by a bowl of water, some fire and a drop of blood...

And it was he who was at the heart of it all. At least, in terms of this given situation. Not only that, but there was the potential for it to be so much worse. So much more.

But he wasn't the only one affected by this choice. And that did not escape his attention. "But... what does that mean for you?" He asked at last. "Because I don't want it. Whatever powers you think I have... believe me, I really don't need this in my life. I've got student loans and an alcoholic father who can't seem to stay out of prison, as if that isn't already enough. But this magic stuff..." Heaving a heavy sigh, he shook his head. "If we put an end to it... will that makes you, like... disappear?"

Maggie never had a chance to answer. Not before there was a firm knock at the door. "Ash? Ashton, are you home?"

"Oh, shit." The young man swore under his breath, sitting upright with a gasp. "Lacie... Ah, hold on." Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way to the door, prepared to greet his friend and ton= inform her that it wasn't in much of a shape for her to visit. But as soon as he opened the door, the blonde barreled in, wide eyes filled with as much anger as there was concern.

"What the--I've been leaving you messages on your phone for days. I even tried calling a few times, and you never picked up. What the hell is going on, Ashton? What happened here?"

"Someone broke in while I was in the hospital." He pulled at the very first excuse that came to mind, and not without some ire. Lying was not his preference nor his forte, but right now, he did not need to add Lacie to his list of problems. "I'm sorry I didn't get back to you, but in case you haven't noticed, I've been dealing with quite a bit on my plate. I was just napping before you started banging on the door to try and muster the energy to clean this mess up."

Lacie's fair face was stricken, and it was obvious that Ash did not make a habit of talking to her like that. "Well why didn't you just call to ask for some help?" Instead of sympathy or an apology, that was what he received as a response. "I'm here now, so if you show me where the broom is--"

"I want to be left alone, Lacie." Ashton's voice hit a decibel that he hadn't thought was possible. But it was the only way to get it through his friend's head. "I'm sorry. But I just want to rest and deal with my own problems. I'll give you a call when I don't feel like shit anymore."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Lacie didn't look at Ashton. Instead, she cast her gaze around the apartment, wary, as if she were looking for something. Finally, she made her way back to the door, not caring to prevent it from slamming behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Ash let out a huge sigh and collapsed on the couch again. "This... this is just too much," he sighed, draping a hand across his eyes. "Tell me honestly, Maggie. What benefits could there possibly be for me to fall deeper into this pit of magic?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed Nov 11, 2015 10:27 pm

by Simply

The woman entered and Margaret immediately stiffened. She followed Lacie around the room, watching her movements and listening to the horrible way that she screeched at Ash. This new addition to the room made her skin crawl and she could not wait for her to depart since the moment that she arrived. Something was not quite right about Ash’s friend, even though the ghost could not place her finger on the exact reason why.

Margaret, though, was even surprised when Ashton raised his voice at his friend. She cast her dark head back and forth from the two still-alive individuals. The witch missed the way that the other woman scanned the room, but she had instinctively moved the book underneath something that second another person had entered. It made her feel better, safer. That volume was not for the eyes of others. Only for her and Ash, she thought possessively – over the text or her companion, she did not know.

His exclamation drew her attention and she hovered over to him, sitting on the coffee table that was strewn with glass and debris. Fortunately, she was not of the physical word and resting on such things did not bother her in the slightest.

“Infinite benefits. But a burden, as well. All those born to magic must accept that.” She cast her eyes away from him and looked at her hands and she picked at the fingernails that never changed length. “You will be able to do so much, things your cannot imagine are ever possible. You will be able to do that with but a single word. Think of it, Ashton!” When her eyes rose to his face, even though it was shielded from her own, Margaret’s glittered with envy and excitement.

“You have so much power. I cannot even believe it myself. Your line must be strong beyond fathoming.” Her voice grew softer then. “Which, surprises me. Such power would not be unnoticed and someone had to seal it away from you. This was entirely intentional.” Margaret chewed her lip, deep in thought before she snapped herself out of it. “I digressed.” A toss of her head then, to bring herself back to what he had asked her. “If you can conceive it, you can manage to bring it to life, so to speak.”

“But you would be unable to tell anyone. Not you father, not your friends. In that, it is a terrible weight to bear.”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sat Nov 14, 2015 5:49 pm

by Requiem

His tiny, shoddy apartment was a bigger mess than he'd ever seen it. Laci was royally pissed off at him. And on top of all of that, along with broken and bruised ribs, Ashton had unleashed something powerful... Something potentially terrible that he did not understand.
And now... now a ghost was telling him to just go with the flow. Make the best of his newfound potential, wherever it had come from. He could hardly come to fathom any of it.

"I kind of wish this was all some kind of joke," he confessed in a defeated sight, dropping his head into his hands. "I only went through all of that weird mojo because I honestly didn't think it would work. How am I... what am I supposed to do with myself? Walk around, shattering every piece of glass that I come near? Maggie, this isn't... I don't know about this. What am I supposed to tell Laci? My Dad?"

Nothing, as it turned out. He couldn't breathe a word of what was going on, and for good reason. They'd think he was a lunatic; or, worse, they'd be terrified of him. Ash Kenway had never been one to keep secrets; he'd never had anything to hide. And, suddenly, he was forced to bear the burden of keeping to himself the biggest secret of his life.

And his only guidance was from a ghost.

Looking up from his hands, he shot his ephemeral companion a forlorn, lost look. "What have I gotten myself into? This is something I could have happily died without unleashing. My life already has enough complications as it is... so whatever happened before, whatever 'sealed' it... can it be sealed again? Is there a way?"

It was out of desperation that he reached out to touch her arm; he needed some sort of reassurance. But the surprise on his face was palpable when he came into contact with what felt like cool, smooth skin. Something solid. "Oh my god... Maggie, are you doing anything different? I can..." Curiously, he moved his hand, and his fingertips brushed against the bottom of her hair. Soft and wavy in texture. "I can actually feel you. Like you're alive."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Nov 15, 2015 2:53 pm

by Simply

Brown eyes examined his face carefully and the hurt lurking in the soft features. It was unfathomable to her that he would want to turn off what he had been given. The power was not something that he had been born into, though. First, a ghost saves him from death. Then, he can see said ghost and communicate with her when no one else can. Thirdly, this ghost convinces him to steal a magical artifact of extraordinary power. Finally, they unleashed his magic onto the world.

“It can be a joke, just a bad dream, if you want it to be.” Margaret murmured gently to him. He was in quite a bit of pain – physically and emotionally. “You can make it go away. We can rebind you to what it was before the accident. The items we will need are a little less commonplace than the ones for the releasing. ” It was not what she wanted but his life was not hers to control. It was so nice to be able to talk to someone, to be able to…feel them.

Surprise filled her eyes when she felt his skin on her skin. Margaret had touched him before, to push him off course when he was riding his bike, but never like this. Pinpricks erupted up her arm. The ghost hadn’t felt the touch of another person in centuries. The smoothness of his fingertips against the bare skin of her arm was the drug she had been missing. The look at his face mimicked her own emotions and Margaret leaned into him slightly when he touched her hair. All that she could do was gasp gently.

“I’m not…you must be.” Tentatively, the witch reached out to him and touched his cheek. There was nothing in the movement but her genuine excitement to have physical contact with a human being. Her hand cupped his face slightly, almost hovering so that her palm did not rest on his skin too heavily. Margaret could feel him. The smile on her lips was so candid and lit up her whole face. Brown eyes glittered and she drew back so hesitantly that the lingering movement might have been uncomfortable for him. She couldn’t help herself.

“The power you possess.” Another disbelieving sigh. “The most powerful druid in millennia. A planeswalker.” An excited laugh escaped her lips and she rubbed at her face. Raking her hands through her hair, her heart skipped one of its metaphorical beats. Margaret touched the back of his hand again and finally set her hands in her lap.

“We can get this place cleaned up and then start getting the items for the spell. It is at the end of the grimoire, if I recall correctly.” Margaret stood up and took a painstakingly slow breath in order to keep it silent. The action calmed her nerves but her hands shook slightly. The only person, perhaps in the entire world, that could see and touch her wanted to be rid of the ability. As much as it broke her heart, she would not permit herself to sway his decision. Ashton longed to be free of the magic and she would assist him in that.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2015 4:18 pm

by Requiem

Ashton had wanted nothing more than to be done with this--all of this. Ghosts, druids, magic... Everything that it had never crossed his mind to believe. Not until that accident, when his life had torn a fissure in all probability, and as a result he found himself trapped in the world's most bizarre modern fantasy ghost story. Prior to all of this, his life had already been full of obstacles that no one his age should have been forced to deal with, and he had finally reached his peak of utmost tolerance, now finding himself desperately and hopelessly overwhelmed.

That was what he'd wanted; to reverse the insanity he had unlocked, and to return to the more predictable daily turmoils of his life. His incarcerated father, school, student loans, crappy part time jobs... Until, that is, he saw the look on her face when the very essences of what they were made of connected.
He was touching her. As if she was made of something, other than the stuff of holograms. As if she was... As if she was actually...

"You feel... real." The words escaped Ash's lips before he could contemplate them, and immediately left him with the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. "Not, like... What I meant to say is, you feel like... like you're alive."
Margaret felt it, too. He could tell by the way her dark eyes illuminated with a relief and excitement that he hadn't seen before. Of course, when was the last time anyone had been able to make physical contact, so casually?

Suddenly, Maggie was, for all intents and purposes, alive to him. With or without a heartbeat.

"Wait." Ashton stood as she turned to survey the state that the spell had left the apartment in. "We could... we don't have to do it right away. I'm exhausted, and by the time I get all of this glass swept up, I'll either be back in the emergency room, or asleep on my bed." His mouth curled into a small grin, and he shrugged a shoulder--and winced. "So don't sweat it right now. Anyway, it makes things seem way less weird if you actually have physical substance, so... We can see how things go. Take it one day at a time, maybe?"

A planeswalker... What did that mean? Moreover, what did it mean with regard to his family? After all, this wasn't something that you woke up with one morning, completely at random. At least, it didn't seem that way.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2015 10:31 pm

by Simply

Skin to skin. The elation of it lingered in the magical fibers of her being. She had finally made contact with another human being and she would not have wanted it to be another person, not one single individual that she had met over the last centuries. As she turned away from him, she tried to squash that happy feeling inside of her because she knew that it could not last. Ashton was quite adamant about riding himself of the phenomenal abilities that he had just unleashed. It was unfathomable to her, but it was not her decision to make.

And he asked her to wait.

“All right.” A thrill flickered inside of her and she dared not turn around with hope in her eyes. She tried to compose herself before facing him once more. The smile on his face caused her to mimic the motion.

“One day at a time. Agreed.” She nodded her head and sat herself back down on the coffee table that was faintly littered with glass. “The fact that you can make physical contact with me means that some of your power stems from the original source of magic. You are able to traverse the barrier between planes, between where you are,“ she made hand motions throughout her discussion, indicating their separate planes of existence with grouping movements, “and where I am – this place.” Margaret raised her hand about her head in a dismissing effort.

“Which such indications, I mean…you did not even make a purposeful effort to touch me,” she shrugged. “You merely decided to reach out, to touch me, and so you were able to do it. Without a spell, without an intonation, you made the decision and you were capable of it.” She smiled, delightedly and clasped her hands together.

Margaret wanted to know where such power came from. His family certainly had to have a long connection to the source of magic. He had to be descended from the High Priests, the men of myth and legend even when she was alive. Of course, it was rumored that they still existed and kept their identities a secret. They maintained the purity of their lineages through intermarriage with the strongest of their kind. For as long as she had searched, she had never found them and decided that they were mostly fiction.

“You could just…clean it up, you know.” She looked at him pointedly. “With magic.”

Posted: Tue Jul 08, 2014 7:50 am

by Simply

Margaret met a couple of recently departed souls as she wandered the halls of the Intensive Care Unit and emergency room. Some seemed confused as to why no one else could see them and others readily accepted their passage into the afterlife, slowly phasing out of existence that way that the young witch had never been able to. She watched them carefully, not paying them any mind. It was not in her nature to explain things to the newly arrived in this plane. They would figure it out shortly, or move on to whatever laid beyond. She was unsympathetic to their concerns and merely floated past with an air of nonchalance.

As she grew tried of perusing the different areas of the hospital, she circled back towards Ashton’s room. She hesitated outside for a moment, dark eyes flickering towards the nurses’ station. That was when she heard his voice through the door. For a moment, she considered leaving and no coming back. It would likely be better for the boy. Could he really handle the reality of witches and ghosts? Would he be able to see other shades once he had recovered enough to move from his bed? She should leave. Something held her in place though, a sense of duty to keep the promise that she had made him.

Without hesitating once she had made up her mind, she passed through the solid wood of the door and caught his bleary eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know anyone by the name.” Her retort came quickly and she stood at the foot of his bed with her arms folded across her chest. Her eyes narrowed considerably and she smirked slightly. The soft brown eyes fell on his face and could see the confusion and bewilderment on his eyes as he had momentarily thought that he had lost his mind to the drugs or worse.

“Well,” a slight pause as she moved to the chair that Lacie had resided in, “it appears as though your ability to see me will be hanging around at least a little while longer. Though we are going to have to work on how you speak in public if I happen to be present. Like…using your cell phone when you answer me. Otherwise, people are going to start thinking you had a psychotic break of some sort or post-traumatic stress disorder due to your accident or something.” She paused a moment and cocked her head.

“Huh, perhaps that is how some people were perceived previously. “ it was a thought that just flickered into her mind and she shook her head. Another time, she would contemplate the possibilities that some mental patients might have just been extremely sensitive mediums.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Tue Jul 08, 2014 4:33 pm

by Requiem

Her timing was impeccable. With little else to do save ponder what had happened, and the unlikelihood that he could have survived an accident that would have landed anyone else dead, Ash was about to concede defeat towards the possibility that there had actually been a girl--well, a ghost of a girl--in his room the previous night. Pain medication had a reputation for hallucinogenic properties; when he had broken his wrist falling out of a tree when he'd been ten years old, it had required surgery to reset the bone. The scary part hadn't been the surgery, but the night terrors from the pain killers finally kicked in.

At least this particular hallucination had been pretty, amusing, and not all too terrifying for a ghost...

Until, there she was: materializing in front of the door, like she'd always been there, fixing him with a half-annoyed, half-amused look. "Margaret," he spoke her name to see if she'd react, see if the lines near her mouth would soften. His fear for loss of sanity and clarity of mind resolved when he saw her sardonic smile, and his shoulders relaxed. "I knew it... I'm not creative enough to dream up someone like you."

Right away, he realized she had a point regarding their conversational exchanges. His chances of being discharged anytime that day might be hindered if a nurse were to walk in on him talking to what--to her-- would only appear to be thin air. "Oh... yeah," he nodded once. Cell phone sounded like a prime idea, and after taking a steady inhale, chanced reaching across his bed to the table where his belongings had been placed. His cell phone (the screen was cracked, but otherwise it seemed perfectly functional) was sitting atop his jeans, easily within reach, but as he pulled back with it in his hand, pain shot through his ribs, soliciting a groan from deep in his chest. "Damnit...."
The things he did on behalf of entertaining dead people.

Returning his brown-eyed gaze to the ephemeral young woman, Ash turned his cell phone on and brought it up to his ear. Some hospitals took issue with the use of cell phones, given that they could interfere with equipment, but that was far from his concern at the given moment. And a lot of the equipment surrounding his bed must have been wheeled away sometime during the night, or very early morning, when the doctors and nurses were confident he was stable enough not to slip into a coma.

"So... you gonna be seeing me home safely, then?" The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "See, now I'm giving you permission. So you don't have to creep around like... a creeper." Wow. How was it possible he was suddenly less articulate, with the drugs out of his system? He had hit his head hard... "You know what I mean. Considering I assume you don't get the chance to chat with people often... Not like I've got anything better to do."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Jul 20, 2014 10:01 pm

by Simply

When he said her name, she half-smiled with a gentle curl upwards of the corner of one side of her mouth. She turned away from him, as if to hide it, and rolled her eyes. This one was going to be a problem, she mused to herself. “You have a charmer’s tongue on you.” She narrowed her eyes at him, though her following words were mentioned in jest. “Are you sure you don’t have any thaumaturge blood?” And if he questioned her, she would purposefully leave him wondering as to what that type of witch truly was.

Her eyes flickered with amusement, though, when he struggled to get his cell phone from its position. Margaret made no move to help him. He should remain relatively unaware of her abilities or the fact that she had been murdered for her magical abilities as a white witch. When he spoke, Ash had drawn her out of her thoughts and she shook her head slightly, as though slinging off the heaviness of her reflections. Sighing softly into the large space between them, she shrugged her shoulders and focused her gaze on his.

The charmer’s grin played his mouth and she frowned slightly. Too often had she watched other women fall for men’s tricks – never having had to chance to herself, you see, being dead and all that nonsense. “How gracious of you to lend me your permission.” She retorted, strolling over to where his things lay and looking down at them with feigned interest. “I’m not a creeper and I don’t creep around, as you say. I was, if you forget, protecting you so excuse me, I certainly won’t make the mistake of saving your life again.” Though her voice grew more playful despite herself towards the end, Margaret gave him a firm glare.

The boy had a point and she pursed her lips slightly. “I suppose I could keep you company until your ability to see me fades.” A shrug raised her shoulders, while unbeknownst to him, her heart gave a little thrill. To be able to talk to someone, a real live someone was something she had never imagined that she would get to do again. And while she may be quite the extraordinary ghost, so many of them were moping about being dead or seeking vengeance on their former lover for moving on too quickly. It did get rather lonely…

“Though I don’t know if you want to hold that to your head all the time. Perhaps one of those Bluetooth devices? So that way, even if you accidentally respond to me, you won’t look entirely crazy?” She coughed a bit and turned her back on him. Here she was making long term plans, as though they would be able to communicate for the rest of his life. Ah well, while it lasted at least. Perhaps…a thought suddenly struck her. He could retrieve the books she needed from the archives. She would be able to read so much faster with someone else turning the pages. Perhaps…perhaps he could help her with The Quickening.

The insides of her lower stomach dropped suddenly. She couldn’t ask that of him. Not yet…she would wait and see and perhaps he wouldn’t mind just getting her a book now and again. She scratched at the back of her neck as though she could actually have an itch that needed attention.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Jul 21, 2014 3:52 pm

by Requiem

"A thauma-what?" Still groggy from the drugs that lingered in his bodily systems, Ash struggled to form the word on his tongue. "No idea what that is, but it sounds like something of an insult. But trust me, you'd know if I was actually trying to be charming; because I'd be failing, and you'd be laughing so hard that if you weren't already dead, you would be." The sad part was, he wasn't even really exaggerating; there was a reason, other than just being too focused, that he'd never pursued finding a girlfriend.

But what he lacked in the successful ability to flirt, however, the witch lacked in a sense of humour. It was sort of endearing, her steadfast and serious nature, and brought a wry grin to his tired face. "I'm just teasing you, Maggie. I think we can both agree that my life isn't so interesting that anyone might feel the need to legit creep me, anyway." At least she had the courtesy to allow him essential privacy, and really, this girl--er, ghost--did not really appear to be the weird obsessive type.

In fact, he'd have been weirded out if she was; he was not exactly stalk-ee material.

"Don't have a Bluetooth, and I'm not sure I'd want to invest in one to talk to a ghost," the young man mused, lifting his shoulders in a shrug--and wincing, and regretting it. "I'm not exactly a social butterfly... I can be careful. Anyway, aren't people who talk to themselves supposedly pretty sane? It's just when you start arguing with yourself that it becomes problematic and people start to notice... Guess you'd better be prepared to agree with everything I say." Ash smirked and winked, knowing she'd roll her eyes at his harmless joke, but not minding. It was kind of endearing, in a way that made her... well, her.

Just as he was about to comment on the pensive look that suddenly crossed her face, the nurse from the night before pushed through the door. "Hello, Mr. Kenway. How are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm fine," Ash replied, doing his best not to glance in Margaret's direction, despite that she was the one he'd have preferred to be talking to. "Can I ask if or when I'll be given the OK to leave today?"

"As soon as we get through a few short questions, we can decide," the older woman assured him, and proceeded to ask him if he was experiencing a list of symptoms associated with concussion. Aside from the dull throb in his head and sharp pain in his ribs of he inhaled too quickly, he didn't feel as though he was experiencing much pain. When she asked him to stand and walk in a straight line, and tested the strength in his limbs, it appeared as though he was in the clear, barring any concrete evidence a CT scan or MRI would yield.

"Please do not hesitate to contact the hospital if any unusual symptoms do show up," the kindly nurse told him. "If you can find a friend to look out for you for the next forty-eight hours or so, in case something happens that you cannot make the call, I'd strongly recommend it. And I understand you're no longer a minor, but would you prefer we notify your... father, is it? To inform him as to the incident. There have been no phone calls regarding your admittance, so we aren't sure he's aware..."

"I'll take care of it." Ash said evasively, and waited for the nurse to leave before he grabbed his clothes from the table next to him and disappeared behind one of the curtains to change; he trusted his ghostly companion to respect his privacy. "So," he said, returning when he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt once again (and given the broken ribs, it had taken far longer than usual); "You wanna be my friend for the next forty-eight hours, Maggie? I mean, if you can push my bike out of traffic, I'm just assuming you can grab the phone in an emergency."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Jul 21, 2014 10:32 pm

by Simply

“Well I am glad that the only person that can see me lacks social skills.” She interpreted from him that it meant that he lacked the ability to effectively communicate with people and form lasting friendships. Her eyes narrowed slightly. What if he was slightly deranged or really odd…? But, she had not encountered anything out of the ordinary that would make her think that he was incapable of human interaction…or, ghost-human interactions.

Sighing, she rolled her eyes at his words, unaware that he had been prepared for that exactly reaction. Was she really so predictable so soon? Yes, being hundreds of years old had certainly set her in her ways and opinions. Her eyes flickered upwards towards the nurse that entered the room. She watched and made sure that she had moved out of the way of any motion that the woman might make through her. The tinkling sensation was not very pleasant.

Hesitating, she turned away from the curtain so that he could change into the clothes that he had grabbed out of their resting place. She had seen him change his shirt before but nothing more than that. When he would shower or change fully, Margaret would excuse herself and drift through other areas of his small apartment. While the dead witch had seen her share of naked individuals (sometimes in the act of rather indecent – but intriguing- actions), she had a sense that he would not like having a peeping Tom of a witch lurking about.

“Your friend?” She inquired, raising both of her eyebrows at the proposition. “Well, I would be more than willing to follow you around but I do not know if I would be able to provide any assistance if you were to go careening into a pole again.” She looked at him directly, and tossed her dark hair around her shoulders, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. “I can only access your physical realm on occasion.” She moved over towards him and reached out her hand, making as though to press it against his chest. She phased through him quite effortlessly and hastily drew back. The tingling that she received when their auras met made her gasp in alarm, almost as it had with Lacie. She staggered backward for a moment, reaching to her chest as though attempting to catch some breath that she had lost.

Straightening, Margaret tossed her head again, shaking off the feeling. “See? I’m of no use, but I suppose you will be fine. It was just a small concussion after all. That rest and the medications seemed to do you good.”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Jul 21, 2014 11:53 pm

by Requiem

|O.o.C: PAGE 2 YEEEEAH|

Margaret wasn't the only one to feel a jolt of something when her hand passed directly through the physical matter of his body. When physical matter met ghostly, ephemeral substance, it felt as though he was suddenly freezing from the inside out; a cold that gripped his heart such that he clutched his chest and staggered backwards a few paces, staring at the 'invisible' woman in awe. She didn't look much better off, eyes wide like it had frightened her as much as it startled him.

Strange... It wasn't the first time she'd passed through him, but with her hand practically reaching in and grabbing a hold of his heart, there was no doubt that she wasn't some figment of her imagination.

"What was that...?" He asked, letting his hand drop away from his chest when the chill began to thaw. "Are you all right? Don't tell me dead people can actually get hurt... It's not like I'm some exorcist or anything." And she wasn't exactly the type of ghost to be exorcised, either; at least, she didn't seem particularly evil or vengeful from what little he knew of her. Nothing like what either classic or contemporary horror portrayed.

Gingerly, Ash picked up his backpack and eased it onto he shoulder opposite his semi-fractured ribs. Probably not what the doctor would recommend, and most definitely not what his sore body wanted. But he couldn't very well leave all his stuff behind, particularly when he had a textbook that didn't even belong to him. He'd have to make a point to get it back to Lacie sooner than later... Surely she'd understand if he needed to take it easy for a few days, though.

"Small concussion, my ass... 'Small concussions' don't land you in the hospital overnight. Pretty sure about that one." Shaking his head, he moved for the door, glancing over his shoulder to see if he followed. "I'm headed home. If you've got some other means of magically getting there, then I can just meet up with you when I arrive. Us living mortals are forced to take taxis when their bikes are destroyed in car accidents."
With a faint smile, he dialed a number on his phone (for real) to call a cab, and went to find the receptionist to sign discharge papers. There was no way of knowing if he'd see Margaret when he walked through the front door of his apartment, but he hoped she'd be there, if for no other reason than he had more questions for her than a lifetime could permit him to ask.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Tue Jul 22, 2014 9:45 pm

by Simply

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” She muttered. “It is not particularly pleasant for me either. I can’t compare it to an exorcism, though,” She cocked her head to one side. “I was never one for possession and so I was never exorcised. Though I imagine that it would be quite the unpleasant experience.” A shiver traveled down her spine at the thought of being forced painfully out of someone’s body. It didn’t quite appeal to her. “Your aura is stronger than most though. I think that has something to do with that and why it gives me such a shock. For the most part, I just have a small tingle from other people.” Swallowing, she shrugged again. “I’m sorry if it startled you. I didn’t realize it felt so cold to humans.”

Margaret smiled slightly when he mentioned his ass. Although she was not a prude, hearing people say those things directly too her was a shock. Having been raised in the 1600s, such words had rarely ever reached her ears or directly at her specifically in reference to something that she had said. At the rest of his words, a small smile reached her lips and she rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you there.” And she shimmered briefly, before reappearing on the first floor of the hospital.

Glancing around, Margaret began the long trek back to his apartment. She moved faster than the humans around her, but still took the time to take in all the noise and commotion that surrounded her. After all, what reason did she have to rush about? She would survive in this transparent state for many more years…unless the Quickening took place the following year. She would likely be forced into some sort of afterworld…or perhaps she would cease to exist entirely. She frowned at the thought as she walked through the door into his apartment complex.

Standing in his tiny living room a very short time later, she looked around, spinning to familiarize herself with everything again. Deep brown eyes noticed that there were not any family photos that lined his walls or littered his tables. She narrowed her eyes, not having observed it beforehand. Licking her lips (like they even got dry), the young (or was it old?) witch rolled her shoulders and lowered herself onto his couch to wait, crossing her legs as she hovered in that odd state between actually sitting on the couch and levitating above it.

When he finally walked through the door she turned towards him. “About time. Did the cab get lost?” She asked, quite serious. Margaret was far too serious nearly all the time.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 24, 2014 12:15 am

by Requiem

The time between checking out and climbing into the waiting cab felt as though it had taken forever. There were more questions, more signatures required, phone numbers that he had to provide in the event that something went horribly wrong and they needed to contact next of kin.
None of them could understand his hesitancy in providing them with his father's number; he didn't feel as though he had to explain, given that he was no longer a minor, but to shut them up, he provided them with the excuse that the man was not fit to serve as an emergency contact. Instead, he left his grandparents' number, and there was no need to mention that the elderly couple were so hard of hearing that they probably wouldn't hear the phone ring.

When at last they let him walk out the double glass doors and carefully climb into the cab, Ash was so exhausted that he feared he'd fall asleep if he blinked. Fortunately, as the cushioning effects of the painkillers ebbed, the throb in his head and sharp ache in his ribs kept him wide awake over every bump, pot hole and sudden stop on the road. He couldn't get back to his apartment building soon enough, and when the ride came to a merciful stop, he had never been so grateful for the elevators in his housing complex.

He hardly had a moment to wonder if Maggie--er, Margaret--would actually be there when he opened the front door; because as soon as he opened the front door, there she was, throwing questions at him before he even had time to gingerly drop his backpack onto a worn armchair. "No. It's a cab; it took the long way around, because it meant I'd have to pay more money. That's just the way they are."

Ashton caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror as he crossed the room, and almost winced at the pallor of his face. "Damn, Maggie. Could've at least warned me I looked this bad..." Curiously, he reached for the hem of his shirt with his good arm, and without warning (or good sense, considering how it hurt), pulled it over his head. He sucked in air through his teeth and curled his lips at the sight of his ribcage, black and blue with bruises as it was. "Ugh... no white T-shirts for a while." The bruises would stand out beneath the fabric like ink stains, and he was a sorry sight as things stood.

"So," he began, turning back to Margaret, "I take it you have quicker means of getting here. Sorry for, ah, keeping you waiting... in my own apartment. Which you've been haunting, anyway."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Aug 03, 2014 7:55 pm

by Simply

“Hmmm.” Was all she muttered in response to his weak explanation of what had taken him so long. Her eyes flickered over to him carefully and caught him glancing at his reflection. A shrug lifted her shoulders as her first response to his words before she narrowed her eyes at the way her said what was a common nickname for Margaret. “Well, you did run into a light pole and you have not have a decent shower in over twenty-four hours…I thought you could deduce that you needed to get yourself together.”

A smirk did play her lips for a moment, before she saw the bruises that laced his body where he had made a rather rough impact with the handlebars of his bicycle. She winced slightly, imagining what that must feel like…thought it was difficult. She had not felt anything in a long time, so imagining the amount of force that would cause such an impact was a little difficult. She contemplated sensations for a moment, before he derailed her train of thought. “Hmmm?” She said the syllables again but this time with inflection as a query.

“Ah, yes. Traveling is much quicker for me. I don’t have to respect the boundaries of physics, particularly.” Another shrug, her characteristic gesture, played her shoulders. “And I was not haunting you.” She reiterated, narrowing her eyelids at him considerably before standing up and moving over to examine his bruises, just out a curiosity. “If I had been haunting you,” the ghost began, bending down to look at one that pressed itself against his lower ribs, “if I had been haunting you, plates would be broken. Lights would have flickered…so on and so forth.” She waved a hand dismissively before standing up to her full height – which was still a few inches shorter than his.

“I can’t smell anything, but I suspect you should bathe yourself. Hospitals supposed have a very characteristic odor. “ She took a few steps away, strolling leisurely around his small apartment as if she knew every inch of it already. “Though would you turn your television to the Discovery channel?” She resumed her place on the couch, hovering above it slightly, the fabric not sinking with any weight, as it would have with a live individual. “It would take quite a lot of energy for me to do and I do not quite feel up to it just yet…you know, after saving your life.” She smiled back at him, reminding him not-so-subtly that he owed that to her and that the Discovery channel would be a simple way to repay the favor. “Then you can shower and perhaps we can try to determine why you can see and hear me so vividly.”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sat Aug 09, 2014 10:02 pm

by Requiem

"You know I'm just teasing you, Maggie." Ash shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fine--you're not haunting. So what do I call it, then? Squatting? Loitering? Freeloading? Whatever it is, so long as you don't wander into the bathroom when it's occupied. Even if you do seem to like what you see..." He couldn't help but smirk at how closely she scrutinized him; like he was more a specimen than a person, but he couldn't blame her. Not if he was the first physical and verbal company she'd had in... well, however long it had been.

A sudden blanket of self-consciousness enveloped him like a blanket just following that snide comment, however, and he turned his nose to his armpit to take a whiff. Funny, how he hadn't noticed how own odor until she'd pointed it out to him... And, strangely, it left him rather embarrassed.
Though he'd be damned to admit it. "You're dead, and you're worried about how I smell?" His dark eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he scratched the back of his neck, suffering a small shrug. "Well, I could use a shower, anyway. Just be sure not to break the laws of physics; I'm not gonna bother locking the door."

He grinned and grabbed the remote to his television, and obliged her specific request in channels (which happened to be his favourite as well). Then, turning his back on his ghostly company, Aston cleared the handful of steps towards his bathroom and closed the door; and, true to his word, he didn't lock it behind him. Company or not, it wouldn't make sense, if atoms and particles didn't stand a chance against Margaret's ephemeral presence. The hot water pressure on his bruised skin was a relief as much as it was a pain, beating down his bruises while it relaxed his taut muscles, but he grinned and bore it at the thought of not smelling like sleep, and the bitter antiseptic of staying overnight at a hospital.

Donning a towel about his waist, the young man stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, momentarily forgetting the female presence in his tiny apartment until he caught her patiently waiting in the living room out of the corner of his eye. "Uh... sorry. Not really used to having girls around." Of course, it likely wasn't the first time she'd noticed him heading straight to his bedroom from the bathroom to dress; he was, in fact, rather interested to find out anything else she might have noticed. At least he wasn't one for singing in the shower.
"Anything good on Discovery?" He called from just down the hall, as he struggled to pull jeans and a T-shirt on. "Nothing on, oh, why some people suddenly come into the ability to see ghosts, or anything?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Aug 18, 2014 6:22 pm

by Simply

“Margaret.” She emphasized, again, firmly. Maggie was such a common name, in her mind. She wanted to be proper – perhaps it was something she had carried with her since she physically walked the earth. Margaret was a proud name. It was a Christian name. It was a name of status from when she had been nothing more than a dark-skinned servant girl. It was ridiculous but she liked her name. “And I wouldn’t call it any of those things. I was saving your life, if anything. “ Then he spoke again and she snorted, making a sound passing through her nostrils as if she was still breathing.

“Yeah yeah. Go bathe.” She really enjoyed the work ‘yeah.’ It was so much better than saying yes all the time. It was a word she had first heard from someone in the 1800s, a young girl she had followed around in California before California was really a strong concept in the minds of U.S. Senators. As she sat watching a Discovery presentation on Stonehenge in England, she remembered those standing stones. Her mistress had taken her once. Inquisitive, her mistress was, which was fortunate for Margaret. She had learned a great deal of England and Scotland and a small bit of Ireland. Those stones had been a great power for Druids – male witches with extraordinary power. As a witch, Margaret had been familiar with them, though her power was descended through the African line of her mother. It was a different kind of magic, though they were all related. Frowning at the thought of her true life, Margaret didn’t initially notice him emerge half dressed from the bathroom.

Dark eyes flickered upwards when she heard his words, scanning his body over quickly. She had seen it before, a time or two when he had walked around shirtless, oblivious of her presence. Now though, she could feel the heat in the room, almost, pressing against her skin. She looked away, back at the screen. “No apologies necessary. I’ve seen much more than that.” She responded, before letting her eyes dart back toward him, catching his expression. “Not you. Men in general.” She laughed a bit, having lost any prudishness she had when alive.

Another snort, almost a laugh at his words, followed his question. “No, unfortunately the answers to our pressing questions were not found on the television. “ She rose, tugging at the imaginary fabric of her sweater. Things that she imagined for herself, she could touch with ease. Like what clothing she wanted to wear, how long she wanted her hair to be, etc. It took so much strength, however, to move anything in the physical world. “Just the standing stones, the Giant's dance. Stonewall, as you call it.” She shrugged. “Have you heard of it?” She didn’t know how significant it was anymore. “It was a major congregation spot for druids of the area, even now I think but in the utmost secrecy.”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Aug 21, 2014 2:51 pm

by Requiem

"Ah... that's... great?" Ashton raised an eyebrow after winning the battle with the almost broken zipper on his jeans which, once closed, often refused to open again. Not the best pair of pairs to wear if he anticipated having to pee regularly throughout the day. "Just FYI--for your information--talking about how many guys you've seen naked or how frequently you've seen them naked is usually something you do with your girlfriends. Like, friends who are girls... other guys, not so much. Let's just not make things awkward, huh?" Not that he could have cared less, had she seen him naked; while he had the decency to be modest, he wasn't hiding behind any shame.

Finally dressed, he made his way back to the small den and gingerly took a seat in an old arm chair he'd inherited from an uncle. It was difficult not to think about just how much moving hurt him, and in front of Margaret, who had seen him crash and go unconscious, bravado was probably unnecessary. But that didn't mean he was about to give way to whining and complaining; dead or not, aside from Lacie, she was the only girl to ever set foot in his apartment. And her company really wasn't all that bad... The adamant way she insisted he address her by her full, given name was also rather endearing.

Raking his fingertips through his damp locks, Ashton furrowed his brow at her query. "Stonewall? Do you mean Stonehenge, as in Wiltshire?" Glancing sidelong at the screen confirmed the answer for him. "I don't know a lot about it, to be honest. Someone did a project on the place in elementary school, once... There's a whole lot of mystery surrounding it. Hot tourist spot, too. Never would have guessed there was any truth to rumours about magic..."

Druids, magic, ghosts... Ash had learned more secrets about his world in twenty-four hours than he ever would have expected. The pessimistic part of his brain made him wonder if any of this still wasn't just a huge, post-trauma hallucination. "So is that were all of your magic comes from, or something? Or do you magic-wielding people just like to hang out in mysterious places for the sake of reputation?" He was, of course, only joking, and followed up with a serious question: "So... what about it makes it so special, anyway? Aside from the fact it just looks really cool."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Aug 22, 2014 10:10 am

by Simply

Margaret looked in the direction of the bedroom for a long moment when he spoke about girlfriends and how it was rather inappropriate to speak of such things. Another shrug lifted her shoulders, though a tinge of pink might have played at her cheeks (if she still had blood to tint them). “Girl friends. Yes, because there are ample people to speak to.” She pursed her lips slightly and wished that she could momentarily mute the television but quickly pushed the thought aside. “Besides, you shouldn’t be such a square. It wasn’t like I described them in detail. “ But she smirked slightly and waved her hand. “But as you say, I will not make things awkward. I fear it is awkward enough, talking to a dead person.” She turned to face him as he emerged into the room.

She snorted a bit at her mistake. “Yes, Stonehenge. I misspoke. My thoughts had wandered to Hadrian's stonewall. You know, in Britain. Now that is a powerful set of stones.” Her eyes glazed slightly as her mind drifted. It was apt to do that. Wandering was something she had been doing for years and her mind had followed. Licking her lips, she turned her attention back to him. “Sorry, yes, Stonehenge.” His hair was damp and glistened slightly in the light of the room. She studied him for a long moment.

There had to be something about the boy that gave him his abilities. There was absolutely no record of any mere mortal being able to commune with the spirits of the deceased. Oh yes, there were tarot readers and psychics these days and while most were frauds, some still had a drop of druid or witch blood in their systems to give a glimmer of truth to their tales. Perhaps he was such a person? It was worth finding out.

Dark hair whipped around her face as she shook her head. “No, not really. Magic just exists. It’s in your blood when you’re born and it returns to the earth when you die, to be used by a newborn witch. But there are seats of power. Stonehenge is one such place. Many years before I was even a concept, the druids in the area felt the pull each year to that place, so the story goes. A great monument to the power was constructed in hopes of channeling it – the stones you see. The stones were bathed in the blood of human sacrifices, ensuring that the stones would remain erect for as long as someone with druid blood walked the earth.” She shrugged. “It’s an old story so I don’t necessarily believe it.” Seeing his face, she corrected herself. “It is a seat of great power and witches and druids still meet there regularly. I don’t necessarily think it will crumble to the ground when the last of us dies, however.” She smiled at bit at his joke. “And we must maintain an shroud of mystery about ourselves. There would be not point in being a witch if you couldn’t have a little fun with it.”

Brushing off her skirt as she rose, she studied him. “Still hurting? Or do you think you could manage a trip to the university library. I think we should go there. I was sitting here, wondering for a long time why you could see me and I think we need to test your blood. Might give us some insight?”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sat Aug 23, 2014 10:56 am

by Requiem

"Oh... right. Yeah." Ash pulled on his lower lip with his teeth, realizing the insensitivity of the comment. Margaret didn't have friends, let alone of the female sort. No one else, as far as he knew, could see her. And here he was making comments as if she was any other girl with blood in her veins. "Sorry. That was kind of a dick thing to say," he amended, scratching the back of his neck. "I guess it's just easy to forget you're not alive. I mean, you're standing here in front of me, talking about the Discovery channel and Stonehenge, and you look... well, you look real."

Her concern for her misnaming the ancient place of standing stones drew a small smile to his face, however, and the awkwardness of his innocent slip faded quickly enough. Perhaps this was why he didn't mind the ghost's company; she never dwelled on the negative, and was happy to move on to the next topic. The exact opposite of Lacie, who would rag on him for the slightest slip up, and then never fail to continue to bring it up in future conversations. Sometimes, he wondered why he was even her friend...

And then he remembered it was because she was the only real friend he had.

"Apology accepted--this time," he teased, winking at her as he gingerly straightened his sore form in the armchair. "Because, y'know. Misnaming Stonehenge is a huge offense, obviously." He sat back and listened quietly as she went on to explain what she knew of the place, his smile fading when she mentioned the bit about human blood sacrifices. "Yeah... that's a little unsettling," he agreed, hoping it wasn't true. "But you guys--witches, I mean... they still exist? That's even freakier. And here I was just getting used to the existence of ghosts..."

Her request for a trip to the library perplexed Ashton--after all, why couldn't she just go herself?--until she explained her reasoning. And it left him all the more confused. "Test my... blood? For what? You fancy yourself a doctor, Maggie?" But he rose from his seat anyway, rolling back his shoulders and pressing on the back of his neck. Sure, he was still sore, but it wasn't anything that he couldn't handle, with the help of some painkillers... and preferably not the ones the hospital prescribed. "I could head down by cab, though; biking is obviously out of the question."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Aug 25, 2014 4:30 pm

by Simply

The ghost smiled, her face almost lightening with the expression. She waved her hand, tossing his apologies aside. “Forget about it.” There was no point in wasting time on frivolities such as grudges. His humor was tough to get used to. It had been a long time since someone had directed a joke or tease in her direction. It was heartwarming though and she tried her best to adjust to the new person in her life – the only person in her life.

“I think it would be worthwhile, to see if you have any traces of magical blood inside of you. If you could, that could explain what is happening here.” She began to pace the room, her hand rose to her face and she gently tapped two fingers back and forth against her chin. “The crash could have caused the neurons in your brain to fire, to connect or dislodge the magical portions of your brain. “ She had always been intrigued on the biomechanics and neurology of witches and druids. If she had lived in today’s age, perhaps she would be a witch scientist. Ha! Now that would be a trip. She thought to herself slightly.

“If that was the case, then you may be able to see me for the rest of your life. Or it could dissolve over time if you don’t have a strong magical line – which is the most likely case. There are very few powerful family lines left and those tend to intermarry to preserve the purity of their blood. And if that was the case, you’d know it by now.” A shrug raised her shoulders and she turned back to him.

“I think a cab would be best. I could meet you there. It would be in the restricted section though so you may or may not have to sneak in…” She trailed off, making a slightly face at him. “That’s where they keep the really old grimoires that they think are historically valuable but entirely made up. It should have the spell I’m thinking of to test you. And we may have to steal it…” she looked at him again, pulling a face at him. “You in?”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Sep 01, 2014 8:11 pm

by Requiem

The more he spoke to Margaret, the more Ashton began to wonder if he was conversing with some fantastical hallucination. A ghost was one thing... A ghost capable of magic, who, once upon a time, had been a living person capable of magic, was something else entirely. Deadpan, he raised his eyebrows and rubbed the back of his neck. "Magical... blood? Blood is magical? Or... can be magical?" But that wasn't what startled him the most. Rather, it was her insinuation that they had something in common--an adeptness to magic--that nearly inspired hysterical giggling on his part.

"Okay. So... I guess I don't really have grounds to deny that that's possible. Considering I know shit all about magic." He began, turning her explanation over in his head. "I mean, I won't lie, it kinda sounds like weird parapsychology you're getting into. But then, you exist, so..." It was all circular reasoning, and what it came down to was that Ash had no excuse not to believe anything the dead young woman was telling him. It was all starting to feel like he'd been plunged into some paranormal novel or video game, and as such, was expected to suspend previously endorsed beliefs. Perhaps, once he got past that, they'd start to make some progress.

Gingerly crouching to grab his sneakers, and wincing the entire time as it aggravated his broken ribs, he took a seat again to pull them onto his feet. The nurse had told him to rest for a few days, and here he was, making a trek to the library. "I wonder if this is what they mean by curiosity killed the cat," Ash commented, looking up at his ephemeral companion with a grin. "I shouldn't even be moving right now. But, hey... you're interesting, and I'll be honest, I'm kind of intrigued as to why I can see you. Guess it's worth upsetting a couple of broken ribs and braving a concussion, huh?"

He grabbed his wallet from the end table and pocketed it, before reaching for his cell phone to call a cab. Told that one would be coming his way in about five minutes, he pocketed the device and carefully rolled back his shoulders. "I'm assuming you're gonna beat me to it, getting there," he teased, "unless you're keen on coming for a ride in the cab. It's riveting, I assure you." It was all in jest, of course; there was no reason for her to accompany him in a vehicle when she could wink in and out of existence at her own convenience.
At the same time, he was already growing to like her company. And sharing a boring cab ride to the library oddly appealed to him, even if he couldn't dare to speak to her.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Sep 14, 2014 8:26 pm

by Simply

As he bent to retrieve his shoes, her eyes followed the way he delicately folded himself over to grasp them in order to inflict little pain on his damaged frame. It made her almost feel bad to drag him from the solitude of his home. Almost. She absolutely had to know why he could see her and communicate with her. It gnawed at ever fiber of her ghostly being. Her fingers twitched at her sides, something they did when the desire to provide material assistance proved to be nearly overwhelming. But he rose just fine on his own and the sensation passed. “Well I’m already dead, and I think it would be fair to say that curiosity played its fair hand in my death.” Margaret mentioned it casually, brushing a hand through the air. “But I won’t let you die on a simple library excursion. One life-threatening event per week, scout’s honor.” Holding up her hands as the Boy Scouts of America would, having been to a few Eagle ceremonies in her time.

She considered her options for a moment. “I can ride. The cab will feel cold though. Most of the time people can’t notice if I’m just in the room, but an enclosed space like a car…” She shrugged again, smiling. “But if the journey fails to be as riveting as you describe, I will only hold it against you for the rest of your life. I can be very annoying, I assure you.” A joke? From the ghost? Well, he was beginning to rub off on her already. That was expected, when you only were able to talk to another person once every three hundred years.

“Come on. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get back and you can rest. Probably need to ice those.” She poked towards his ribs with a freezing finger as she phased through the door and waited patiently for him to escape and bolt it behind them. “Now, I think the best option for our time together would be to discuss your parents. Did they ever spend any time in the UK? Ireland?” She inhaled deeply, beginning a firm line of questioning that she hoped would lead them to some answers. If there was a way for her to discover a manner in which to communicate with more than just one person on the planet, she had to know what it was.

“But only very powerful warlocks and druids can commune with the dead so I think you know if you had magically blood.” She said this as though refuting the question that she had just asked him. The arriving on the first floor right as the cab pulled itself against the curb with a squeal that made even her non-existent auditory nerves burn. “Can he drive? I think I would be more capable of navigating the niceties of a motorized vehicle than he does.” She peered through the front passenger window before looking at him. “I might have to take back my promise with this guy.” She smiled slightly, swaying back and forth.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Sep 19, 2014 8:14 am

by Requiem

"Scouts honour? Huh, you do get around in the afterlife, don't you. Scouts isn't even for girls." Bemused at her attempt at humour (it was endearing, if not entirely funny), Ashton grinned and shook his head. "I feel like I've had my fair share of life-threatening events for... oh, say, my lifetime. But I suppose I can swing a week-to-week promise for now. So long as my body gets the opportunity to heal, in-between."
Although, he truly hoped she was joking. Because there was no way that any amount of magic in his blood (if that truly actually ended up being the case) would ensure his survival in another accident like what had occurred the day before.

The sudden barrage of questions and commentary towards his heritage forced Ashton to slug through the thoughts in his mind which currently flowed like molasses. "Uh... UK?" Pinching the bridge of his nose, he left his apartment and slowly made his way to the elevator. There would be no staircases for him unless it was unavoidable, until his ribs had fully healed. Doctor's orders, and he was more than happy to oblige. "I mean, I'm a Kenway... I think it has Scottish origins. I've never been to the UK myself, and as far as I know, neither have either of my parents, but I guess I've got some roots there. I'd tell you more if knew the first thing about my geneology..."

As the cab can screeching to a stop the moment they made it back outside, the young man had to bite back laughter at his ghostly companion's judgement on the part of the cab driver. "Guess we won't have to worry about your ride being a boring one, at least," he murmured very quietly before smiling and approaching the cabbie and letting him know that his destination was the library. As it turned out, Margaret wasn't far off the mark about the guy; the ride was rough and Ash found himself wincing every time the vehicle hit a bump. The cold that Margaret, sitting next to him, emanated was far from the most prominent discomfort to wrack his body.

It couldn't be over fast enough, and when at last the driver pulled up to the side of the broad, post-modern building, he doled out the cash and gingerly rubbed the stiff muscles around his neck. "All right, Maggie, I'll give you that one... not the best chauffeur. Reminds me of why I bike everywhere." But that was nothing but a daydream until he healed, not to mention dug up the cash to purchase a new bike. Keeping his voice low, and without making eye contact (it was sometimes difficult to remember no one else could see her), he slowly made his way towards the entrance. "So, if you can give me some idea as to where I can find this tome, it could save us a lot of time, and me a lot of pain."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Feb 12, 2015 8:07 pm

by Simply

The tell-tale I-told-you-so smirk played her lips briefly as he exited the death trap he had called his transportation. However, the way he shortened her name made her narrow her eyes in his direction but she swallowed the words that would have been wasted on him either way. As he walked, she hurried after him, gliding across the concrete street. She caught up, just at his elbow as they entered the facility. The inside was magnificent. It was large and breathtaking, with light streaming in from the windows tens of feet above their heads. It had been renovated since she had been her twenty years ago. Hmmm. She made the noise in her head.

“Well, about that…” Somewhat sheepishly, Margaret cast his a sidelong glance and smiled. “It is not exactly in a readily accessible location. Soo…” The word was dragged out as she moved forward into the library with a purposeful step. She continued to walk as she spoke, her voice trailing behind her like a train. “We’re going to have to break in and then steal it.” The emphasis was placed on then. She kept walking, phasing through the door. This door would lead them to another door that concealed the private and restricted section. Waiting for him to catch up to her, Margaret peered out the small window of the horrendously painted metal door.

When he arrived, she summoned all of the little strength that she had and pushed against the handle bar that would allow him to get in through the locked door. Once he had grasped it firmly, she withdrew. The air rushed back into her lung that no longer required oxygen, as though her exertion had draw the life out of her – as ironic as it sounded. Any amount of interaction with the world of the living would always leave her with the sensation of some form of dying. Suffocation, as it was currently, tended to be the most common. Occasionally it was drowning. Worst of all, it would be reminiscent of how she actually died. Shivering at the thought and brushing her hands up and down the backs of her arms, she motioned for him to follow.

“The reserved section, the forbidden section, I supposed,” she mused, almost to herself, “is a little further along but I can’t open the lightproof, weatherproof containers that the have the manuscripts stored in. It exhausted me to merely open a door. I certainly wouldn’t be capable of destroying a lock and withdrawing its contents. “ A shrug lifted her shoulders. “I’m not even precisely certain where the volume we require is located. It is in one of the containers, I am sure, yet you need to be extremely careful when you remove it. It is older than I am even. I saw it once in person, when I was still alive.” The words grew wistful and her gaze traveled away from his. “It remains the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Apr 26, 2015 5:52 pm

by Requiem

"Not in a readily accessible location?" Ash repeated the words without intonation, narrowing his eyes a little at their connotation. "Do you mean, as in, it's not readily available to the public, or that you'd have someone who just got hit by a car attempt to sneak into some secret location?" Did she mean to make a thief of him? Were it not for the fact that every muscle and bone in his body ached at the slightest movement, he might have--might have--considered a cloak and dagger approach. It wouldn't have been the first time, as he guiltily recalled his twelve-year-old self who would sneak into the adult section of the movie rental store just down the street from him with his wrong-side-of-the-track friends--much to Lacie's never-ending disapproval, but he'd been twelve, and back then, girls' opinions hadn't really mattered to him.

Margaret confirmed his suspicion, much to his chagrin, as he passed through the automatic doors, the tall, plastic pillars on either side of him beeping as it counted another body in the library. "You're kidding," he spoke on a sigh, barely moving his lips. Fortunately, it didn't appear that anyone cared to pay heed to the rather bedraggled young man, who took his every step with caution and care. "Maggie, this is insane... I've already got to figure out how to get the money to bail my stupid father out of jail. The last thing that I need is to be fined for theft..."

Regardless of what he wanted, it seemed that his ghostly companion had already made up her mind, and was already heading for an old and crudely painted door that looked as though it wasn't entered on a regular basis. Paranoia gripped the young man as Margaret pushed the doors open, and his head shot side to side, expecting interference or, at the very least, disapproving eyes. Once again, no one seemed to care to pay him any heed, not even at the audible groan the ancient door made as it opened. It almost made him wonder if he was as invisible to the library patrons as Margaret was, but he was not about to go and test that theory. Not while his luck had, of late, not been on his side.

"Okay, so what you're saying is you broke me into the room where this thing is being kept, but you have no idea where it is?" Ash stared incredulously at the ghostly young woman, before he remembered to gingerly close the door before someone took notice and he was busted. "Maggie, this could take all bloody day... There are over a hundred containers in here." Looking from aisle to small aisle, he felt his heart hasten at the thought that it might take him so long that they'd be stuck here, after hours. Or, at least, he would. "Can't you, like... I don't know. You've got magic, right? Can't you sense it? At least point me in the right direction so I can narrow it down? Otherwise we could be looking for a needle in a haystack..."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon May 25, 2015 5:00 pm

by Simply

“Bail out your father…” She repeated the words and turned to look at him carefully. The inflection that he used made it seem like this was not the first time that he would have to procure funds to help spring his father from a cell. “He does this often…No, for another time.” Delicate fingers waved in the air back and forth, brushing the thought aside. The discussion was tabled for now. They had more pressing matters to attend to.

“It’s not that I lack an idea for where it is, Ashton.” She responded promptly. “I have an idea of where it is…somewhere in here. I just don’t know the precise location.” His disbelieving expression was not lost on her. Ash’s recommendation to utilize her powers was a reasonable suggestion but it would cause her to blip. When she garnered too much of her energy and expelled it, her ghostly self would begin to shimmer and extinguish for hours on end. The in-between world in which she hovered for that time was agonizingly bleak. Only twice in her entirely immortal, supernatural life had she ever harnessed and utilized that magnitude of power. The idea of doing it again made her nonfunctional stomach churn.

Chewing on the inside of her lip, Margaret looked at him carefully, surveying the smooth lines of his youthful face. “I can.” The words were uttered in a slow, monotone fashion as she looked around them. “I will not be any use to you afterwards, though. You will have to find a way to extricate yourself from this room and the reserved section without my help.” A shrug lifted her shoulders. “It will be easier to leave than it was to enter. Our entrance presented no problems.” The words were a reminder of how straightforward their breaking and entering had been.

“It uses all of my energy but I will be able to narrow it down for you.” She looked at him directly and raised her eyebrows, questioning his readiness to proceed with the plan that they had embarked on. They needed to determine whether he had any druid blood and why he could see her. If he had druid blood perhaps he could help her escape this halfway plane that she was in. Rubbing the back of her neck, Margaret looked at him and began to draw in all the magic that she had remaining in her ethereal form. She began to pace back and forth in front of some of the boxes with the precious items individuals had safely locked inside. “Are you ready? Pay very close attention because I will not last long. I’ll meet you back at your apartment in a few hours, maybe a day.” She exhaled slowly, trying to make sure that she didn’t opt out of their plan due to fear.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed May 27, 2015 9:51 pm

by Requiem

"Wait--what do you mean it'll 'use all f your energy'?" Ash's face contorted in a look of confusion and dislike. "And that you 'won't last long'? You're not planning on wigging out and leaving me here all alone, are ya Maggie? Because I might need a little help getting this book out of here, if I manage to sneak out of this room without anyone noticing. Can you pull some kind of invisibility magic trick on me or... or anything?"
As it turned out, Margaret was chalk full of magic tricks, many which benefited him (and, vicariously, her), but it wasn't quite enough.

As she paced Margaret became... well, translucent. And the more translucent she became, the more he could see the ancient plastic containers through her. And with each pass she made, some of the containers... well, for some reason, they began to stand out to him. Ashton couldn't quite put a finger on how or why, but the overwhelming clutter didn't seem so overwhelming when enhanced by Maggie's energy. Unfortunately, that only lasted for a short time, before the ghostly young woman vanished from his view altogether.
"Maggie--hey!" Ash gasped, looking this way and that for his preternatural friend who was no longer there. "You're seriously bailing on me? Goddamnit..."

So he was without his spirit guide (figuratively and literally), but at least he had a better idea as to what he was looking for... even if he couldn't really understand just how or why that was. Unaware of how much or how little time he might have in the restricted area, the young man ignored his aches and pains and began to go through container after container. Unlike moments ago, nothing continued to stand out to him, which, considering he had no real idea as to what he was looking for, was probably reasonable to expect. But it only frustrated him, adding insult to injury as he sifted through the old tomes, sneezing on a number of occasions from dust that wafted up from the ancient pages, making him fear for his stealth.

Then, suddenly, it was in his hands. It looked no different from the other brown covers and yellow pages, it didn't feel any different... and yet it did. Ash couldn't describe how he knew, except for the fact that he didn't want to put the book down, unlike the others. Opening it to a random page, his eyes glanced over old Anglo-Saxon alphabet, in a language that he couldn't begin to decipher. Linguistics and the qualities of letters and languages were not exactly his strong suit. "Letters and words that I can't pronounce... seems like as good a guess as any."

Replacing the open containers on their shelves, he tucked the book under his hoodie, held his breath, and exited through the heavy door. If he could get that book out of the library and get back home without rousing suspicion, it would be a miracle, as far as he was concerned.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Jun 21, 2015 10:03 pm

by Simply

The last thing she saw was Ash pull a face at her and then there was nothing.

Literally, nothingness. Most people discuss just having a few minutes of absolute silence. Some pursue the pharmaceutical route in order to obtain the briefest moment of complete sensory deprivation. It was even used for torture…and that was entirely the way Margaret felt about it. Floating in this purgatory, she was unable to see her hands. Tactile sense was lost on her and she would attempt to touch her face, hands, arms and nothing registered.

When it felt like hours, she would attempt to cry. No tears would roll down her cheeks and nothing would allow her a release. Finally, at the moment when surely she was about to release herself into utter nothingness, accepting her death, she would begin to feel the wind against her cheeks. It would start as a mere breeze and then a gust and then a whirlwind, shoving her (or pulling, she hadn’t been able to quantify it) out of the silent hell that she was in. Gasping and wheezing, Margaret tumbled to the ground a few long blocks from Ash’s apartment complex. Dark brown eyes flickered around her, adjusting to the light rapidly. One of the few perks of actually being dead, she supposed.

The supernatural entity pushed herself up and dusted herself off, even though the particulates wouldn’t adhere to her nonexistent clothing. Slender fingers shakily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she began to trek to his apartment. When she passed someone with a phone she glanced over their shoulder. If she was a cursing woman, which she was most certainly not, she would had let one slip passed her lips. She had been in that limbo over seventeen hours, that’s why it was so bright.

Sucking in a cool breath of air, Margaret phased through the door of Ash’s apartment, hoping to find him present. “Ash?” She called out, before spying the book on his coffee table. She attempted to hurry towards it and stumbled, physically stumbled forward. Reaching out, she forced her magic through her hand and caught herself on the couch before hovering above it in a sitting position. It was very exhausting. She rubbed at her eyes and wanted to reach out for the book but the idea of returning to the darkness so soon instilled fear in her. Instead, she would have to rely ont the human that had vanished. Though she couldn't blame him. She had done the same thing.“Ash?” She called out again. Perhaps he was in the shower again. The thought wasn’t completely unappealing to her…

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Jun 22, 2015 1:05 pm

by Requiem

"Maggie?"
Ash's voice rang from his bedroom, accompanied by the swish and folding of fabric. "Just hold on, I'll be out in a second!"
Two rushed minutes later, the young man emerged from his bedroom in a plain blue T-shirt and relaxed jeans, hair still damp and cheeks still flushed from his morning shower. "Jeez, you and your timing... You have, like, a shower radar or something?" By his tone of voice, he was, of course, just teasing her. And, by the almost palpable relief on his face, there was no guessing that he was happy to see her.

"Took you long enough... where the heck did you vanish to, anyway? Do you have any idea how stressful it was trying to sneak out of the library with a book that wasn't available to be taken out at will?" Moving towards the table, he grabbed his cooling coffee and took a sip, winching at the mug's contact with his lips. Still too hot. "I only managed to smuggle it out because nobody happened to notice when I slipped around the sensors at the door. I've never stolen anything in my life... it was a little unsettling."

The book sat in the middle of the table, still and unopened. It had been there ever since he'd brought it back home, remaining untouched, yet to be investigated. He'd been waiting for Margaret to return before putting his hands on that thing again... It gave him weird vibes. He didn't like it. "That thing creeped me out all night," he confided, warm, brown eyes settling on the ancient tome. "I kept thinking it would... I don't know. Start glowing or floating or summoning demons. Or something... I was actually too freaked out to get up and go to the bathroom after midnight." He wished he was joking, too, but there was no sign of jest in the shape of his mouth. The book had unsettled him from the moment he'd put his hands on it.

Returning his attention to Margaret, he studied her face, as if looking for answers in the contours of her lips and the cut of her cheekbones. "So... what now? I don't know what to do with the thing... I don't even recognize the language it's written in. I'm really hoping you can understand it..." Which was a fair assumption, on his part. She had been the one to urge him to seek the book in the first place, and logic dictated that she wouldn't have done so, had she not already been acquainted with the tome and its contents. Taking another tentative sip of his scalding coffee, Ashton added, "And... whatever we do with this book isn't gonna make you, like... vanish again, is it?" There was real concern mirrored in his eyes, for all he tried to make light of the fact she'd left him all alone in the library. "Because I don't want to be stuck here by myself with some rampant voodoo that I don't understand."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2015 5:57 pm

by Simply

The sound of her name rang out across the apartment space and she jerked her head upward, drawn away from the sight of the book she had been waiting to see for centuries. Faintly, she heard the sound of him dressing and shortly thereafter he emerged from his room. Still, as she focused on him carefully, Margaret could still hear the pounding rhythm of the book – it’s heartbeat – in her ears. It sang to her with its slow, sweet siren song. Yet, his voice withdrew her far enough away from it that she could fabricate a response to his inquiry.

“It is limbo, for lack of a better word. I believe that it is because I temporarily tear the magical threads that hold my phantasmal being together. “ She waved her had as though it was no longer a big deal, though there was a slight tremor to the movement. A shaking in her pinky as she held it in the air for a few moments. It was quickly placed back down in her lap. “Eventually, my magic sews them back together but the greater the exertion, the longer I linger in the inbetween.” She said the final word quickly, as one word – a name she used in her mind to refer to the place she had been taken. Swallowing, she looked him over carefully.

“Dear gods. It is not a book from one of your fantasy novels.” Yet as she said it, she was not convinced. It began to hum again at her, so she abruptly began talking once more. “We need to test you. It will not bite, so please, come and open it. The spell to determine the purity of a magical line should be near the middle if all I have heard is true. “ The urge to mask the humming persisted and she continued to speak in a slightly louder tone than normal. “And we shall make a thief of your yet.” A slight smirk played her lips. Had she made a joke?!

His concern was not missed but she did not want to become attached to him. It was likely that this was just some simple result of his accident with the pole. He could see her because some of her power transferred to him when she saved his life. Yet, the desire to learn more was overwhelming and she absolutely had to test him. ‘I can read it. Come sit.” She motioned beside of her. “It should not be too difficult to translate but you will have to perform the entirety of the ritual. “ She offered him a quick, not entirely genuine smile. “I won’t disappear so long as I don’t have to utilize my powers. I’m dead after all. I can’t eat to refuel myself.”

Once he was sitting, she stared at the book. “All right, begin turning the pages and I’ll tell you when to stop.” The pages began to flip and the humming grew louder. Margaret rose and pressed a hand to her head, walking behind him. She leaned on the couch and the sound lessened, no longer deafening. “No. No.” She kept saying even when the desire to read more of the spells pressed against her heart. There were so many things she was interested in. A spell to create twins. A spell to fertilize the ground for two thousand years. The curse of parasites. The continued on, page by page, when finally she slammed her hand down onto the couch, thought without making contact with it – causing the motion to be utterly pointless. “Stop. There.”

It was beautiful. Her eyes ran over it, once and then twice. Simple but effective. Of course. “We’ll need cold, purified water. A glass bowl. A dark cloth. A knife and a flame too, though the source of the flame is irrelevant. Ice, though the ice will have to be at the last possible moment." Dark gaze turned towards him. "Come now. Don't you want to know?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 16, 2015 12:13 am

by Requiem

"Whoa. Threads... phantasmal being...?" Ashton repeated the words, bewilderment on his face as Margaret attempted to explain her whereabouts for the past twenty-four hours. Although he couldn't even begin to conceptualize what had happened to her, where she had been or in what physical (er... or ghostly) state, the idea of existing in fragments was enough to make him wince. He she hadn't already been dead, he might have been worried. "Jeez. That doesn't sound like it would be comfortable at all," he commented, lips turning downward in a frown. "And this all happened because you helped me find that book? Remind me to ask for your help less often, huh?"

Not that he would have found that ancient tome before getting caught, had she not intervened. But that small fact didn't help him feel any less responsible; that tremor in her hands hadn't gone unnoticed.

Eyeing the tome with a wary eye, he moved towards the table, gingerly rubbing his side. "And, technically, the fact that this thing is sitting in my apartment instead of back at the library officially makes me a thief. And I am so not convinced that this thing won't bite me," he added, although the possibility hadn't occurred to him until she'd mentioned it. Now his fingers tingled with reluctance as he reached for it.
Fortunately, nothing came to pass when he picked it up. The cover and spine was smooth and firm, leather that probably hadn't been touched since it had first been placed in the city library. The hell is something like this doing here, of all places, anyway...

Ash took a seat next to the ghostly young woman on the second-hand futon in his small living room, still finding it strange how the cushion did not give under her weight. Aside from her slightly strange vernacular, it was so easy to forget she wasn't flesh it blood. She looked it, sounded it; something must have coloured her cheeks when she was frustrated or embarrassed. He wasn't even going to pretend that he understood how the afterlife of a ghost paralleled the flux and flow of human energy; but he wished he could.
Who knew? Maybe this book would aid in his comprehension. If he did pass this 'test', that is.

"Not gonna lie, Maggie; the fact that this involves some sort of ritual at all doesn't exactly play into my comfort zone." But that didn't seem to matter much to his spectral guest; and, on a morbidly curious level, he wanted to see if this would work at all. So he did as she instructed, gently turning the ancient, yellowed pages one at a time, until the soundless sight of her hand coming down upon the couch startled him so badly that his body jerked the wrong way, sending an ache through his healing ribs that made him wince. "Ow... okay. Hope you can understand this; I'm not exactly literate in Elvish, or whatever the heck this is."

Apparently, it was no problem for her. He made a mental note of the objects that this ritual would require, not seeming particularly fazed until she mentioned the knife. "Whoa--hold on, now. This isn't going to get freaky, is it? Like cutting-my-own-flesh creepy? I just came back from the hospital, Margaret. I'd rather not accidentally slit the wrong vein and end up back there..."
But she already had him; he did want to know. He wanted answers just as badly as she did, and was confident that he'd sooner regret not going through with this than he would executing it. With a defeated sigh, he set the book aside. "All right, all right... let me see what I can find."

The water wasn't a problem. Neither was the indigo dish towel, or the class candy dish, or even the knife. Flame, on the other hand, proved a little more difficult. He owned a few emergency candles, but couldn't remember for the life of him where the matchbook was. Ultimately, he had to tap into his meager supply of creativity, and held the wick of a candle to the raw element on the stove until it caught fire. As he retrieved item after item, he set them on the kitchen table, one at a time, until they were all in front of him, including half a tray of ice cubes. "I don't know if I want to find out what comes next," he said slowly, eyeing the paring knife with suspicion, "but I'm going to ask, anyway. So: what now?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 17, 2015 10:11 pm

by Simply

She shrugged, though his concern was endearing. In her mind though, she tossed his apprehension aside. The ghost had no time for such sentiments. All of her thoughts were on the magnificent artifact that now rested on his coffee table, accompanied by odds and ends from the present. It was striking, the comparison of the yellowing pages and ancient verbiage with the bright lights from electricity and the ticking of the watch that heralded the seconds as they zipped by. If she had breath, it certainly would have been taken away by the beauty of this moment.

“People today.” The exasperation was evident in her tone. “You have such a fascination with the fantastic, with magic, because to you it is not real – could never be real.” She looked at him intently, all of her focus on his face. “But it is.” Excitement laced the words, which filled the space between them, crossing the divide of their worlds. “Simple sacrifices must be made for spells and enchantments, now get to it.” But she smiled as he began to move about his apartment, procuring the items that they would need to test the extent of his magical abilities. The doubt about his lineage was masked by the overwhelming desire to read more of the craft inside the book. “And a little bit of flesh cutting….” She trailed off, barely whispering the words and peeking at him from under her eyelashes.

“Not in a, drain you of all of your life source, kind of cutting.” The addition was made to sooth his discomfort, but Margaret was not apt at soothing people. It came with the territory of being able to see and not interact with other humans. Eventually, she grew to not readily recognize human expressions when they were directed at her.

The items spread before her when she stood on the opposite side of the kitchen table. She pointed at each one and spoke purposefully. “Spells are extremely sensitive to phonation and order. If you don’t follow me precisely, we could end up causing a drought or altering your genetic sequence. While both are unlikely, it is vital that you follow my instructions precisely. Understood?” She smiled. “Good.” Summoning, some of her strength, she grasped the bowl and placed it in the middle of the wooden table. Exhaling softly, Margaret filled the bowl with water, careful to pour it slowly so that no drops rested on the sides and that it soon came to rest without a ripple present. Another sigh left her lips.

“That is all that I can manage, but I didn’t want to risk you spilling a drop around the bowl. It’s very important. Now cut that cloth. It’s far too big. We need something that will be able to fit inside the bowl.” Margaret sat in the chair in front of the bowl on one side of the table, motioning for him to do that same. As he reduced the size of the cloth, she smiled. “Perfect. Place the knife beside the bowl…no, not, yes okay there.” She remarked as he moved it around. “First, I will speak the words. Even though I’m dead, it should still work appropriately. Magic recognizes no boundaries.” That was a bit of a simplified statement but the basis was true. “You’re going to slice the tip of your finger, or your palm, whichever you prefer. We only need a three drops.” She held her hand over the water, a fist made with her palm side up. Ceremonially, she turned her hand on its side and demonstrating how three drops would fall from his palm. “Then remove your hand. More than three drops and we’ll have to start over – new cut, new everything.” She made an irritated motion at the thought. “Then you’ll take the rag. Hold it perfectly over the flame until it catches fire in the center. Right in the center.” Emphasis was placed firmly on the last four words. “Allow it to burn from the inside outward until it splits the cloth in half. Drop the pieces into the bowl. We’ll know then if you have any amount of magical power. When the flaming cloth meets your blood, it will also meet that pure water. If no fire burns, you’re completely mortal, remarkably unremarkable.” An internal flame lit in her eyes the next moment. “But if it burns…” She trailed off.

“Ready?”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed Jul 22, 2015 10:51 am

by Requiem

"Ready? You kidding?" Ash raised his eyebrows at Margaret as he finished trimming the edges off of the dish towel with a frustratingly dull pair of scissors. "Not a chance. But I didn't just go and cut up a dish rag for nothing, so... let's get this over with."
He sat still while his ghostly companion let strange words rolled under her tongue, a vernacular that he never would have recognized as even being human. Hell for all he knew, the tome itself hadn't been crafted by human hands--anyway, were witches human? Or were their in and of themselves their own species? These were questions that the young man deigned to keep in mind for when this was all over--if he lived to tell the tale, that is.

As Maggie's words drew to a halt, he picked up the knife, and hesitated, allowing himself a moment's worth of reconsideration--one more chance for an out--before ht drew the tip across the pad of his index finger. Perhaps it was to be attributed to the heavy-duty pain killers in his system, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as he'd though, as red lifeblood beaded atop his skin. Clenching his hand into a fist to coax a little bit more blood out, he recalled the ghostly young woman's instructions--three drops of blood, and no more!--and counted as the droplets his the surface of the clear water.

Picking up the ragged remains of the towel in spite of a slightly bloody hand, the young man held it over the flame. The fire burned and smoked as it ate away hungrily at the synthetic fibres, quickly filling the air with the smell of burnt a polyester-wool blend. He barely managed to drop the two pieces into the bowl of water in time to spare his fingertips from burning, hissing as the heat coaxed him to release the fabric in the mixture of blood and pure water.
It would go out; water and fire did not mix, and the result had to be smoke as following extinguished flame, no matter what laws of science you followed. At least, that was what Ashton had been expecting.

Imagine his surprise when not only did the rag continue to burn, but the flame shot up, sending him reeling backwards, knowing over the chair in which he had been sitting.

The chaos didn't stop there. The sound of shattered glass sprinkling onto faux-hardwood floors as one by one, every light bulb in the apartment blew as if by a power surge, rang throughout his small home. The clock on the microwave suddenly shorted out as well, along with his laptop which sat on the seat of a living room chair, the screensaver going black as all electricity went the way of the wind.
Ash was left holding his breath, heart hammering against his rib cage in the silence of the aftermath. Eyes wide, he turned to Margaret, seeking a logical explanation--which he would not find.

"What... what the hell just happened?"

|O.o.C: UGH I am so sorry this took so long and how crappy this is, but I had a reply all typed up for you and walked away from my laptop and then IT DECIDED TO REBOOT AND I LOST IT D= But I wanted to get you something and I couldn't remember what I'd written before. =C|

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sat Jul 25, 2015 4:20 pm

by Simply

Even Margaret could feel the heat of the flames that exploded upwards against her nonexistent skin. She shied back, as though it could cross the barrier between the worlds that separated her and Ash. Small explosions surrounded her, the splintering of glass hitting the wooden floors on the ground. It tinkling down as timed slowed around the ghost. The turning of time allowed her to spin on her feet and take in the outburst of power that erupted around them. Glass sprinkled down like rain, coating the floor in a dangerous minefield of shards. If it weren’t so dangerous to the man in front of her, she would have found beauty in the snowing of the crystal and the brightness of the flames.

Then time sped back up and he was questioning her. The pieces began to fit together and she could not believe what was happening around her. Swallowing, she gathered herself and responded to him. “I…it can’t be possible.” Her brows came together, forming a cute wrinkle between her eyebrows. Dark eyes scanned him over and over again as she rounded to table to come closer to him. The spell would not awaken whatever power lay dormant inside him, but it revealed a lot to her and to them, if he knew what to look for.

“You’re….” She hadn’t been around someone like him in…since she was alive. Licking her lips, she summoned what little power she had remaining inside of her and reached out to him. It was risky, considering how much she has exerted at the library just a short while ago, but she wanted to feel it, if she could. One hand pressed gently against his cheek, feeling the light stubble beneath her palm. The connection was surprising and she could not help it when her breath hitched in her throat. Power pulsed through her fingertips, traveling up her arm and making her heart race. Ash was full of so much energy, even though the spell had ceased.

Withdrawing, Margaret gasped, trying to inhale the breath that the touch had stolen from her. Her other hand pressed against her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her chest. Dear gods. “You…uh…”She was at a loss for words at the moment and backtracked a few steps away from him. “You have more power than I have seen since the decline of the witches around the time of my death. You…you’re an anomaly.” She shook her head and turned her back on him, running her hands through her hair. She was excited but in the pit of her stomach, she was terribly nervous. Something about this much power in one human being tugged at her memory.

“You should not exist. The amount of magic that you have shouldn’t exist anymore.” Margaret turned back to him, dark hair in disarray around her face. Although his power was not fully awakened, it sang to her. It was why witches formed covens and had elders of the most powerful lineages. Witches were drawn to the power of others, wanting to be around it. She was doing all she could to resist the urge to touch him again, even at the risk of the abysmal void she would be subjected to. Yet, she defied the desire.

“You’re the equivalent of a high priest. A Druid, Ash. I know you can’t fathom what that means but it’s…it’s…I…I don’t know what to say.”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Mon Jul 27, 2015 12:39 pm

by Requiem

"What? I'm what, Margaret?" All colour had drained from Ash's face in the aftermath of that storm of glass that he had just narrowly avoided, with the overhead lightbulb now lying in tiny, glittering shards across the table and on the floor, off which the light from the still-burning flame bounced off. It should have gone out by now... it should have gone out at its first contact with the water. But it hadn't, and now his ghostly companion, who was supposed to have all the answers for him, looked suddenly lost and bewildered.
Which, needless to say, only served to put further pressure on his already frayed nerves.

If Margaret couldn't explain the magnitude of this... this reaction, then what the hell was he supposed to think?

"Margaret..." A peculiar feeling settled on his skin when the ghostly young woman reached out and cupped his cheek with her palm. It was almost like a tingle, cool and yet entirely without a temperature. Like something that was struggling so desperately to have a presence and substance, but which still ceased to truly exist in a world of flesh-and-blood corporeal beings. Then again, the fact that she remained at all, with consciousness albeit trapped in a transient, ethereal form, attested the witch's stubbornness to be snuffed out of existence. "Was the supposed to happen? The blown light and shattered glass and... Just, what the hell does it mean?"

The only thing worse than no answer was an answer that he didn't quite know how to take--which was precisely what Margaret had provided him with. High priest. Druid. Anomaly. "Okay. Okay, so say that you're right, for a second," he spoke slowly, breathing out on a ten second count despite his racing heart, just to maintain his composure. "Say that this is all true, and I'm some magical, high priest druid 'anomaly', and that's why every freaking light bulb in my house just exploded," he began, but from his plot trajectory alone, he knew that keeping his cool was lost on him. "What the hell am I supposed to do about it? I just made lights explode, Maggie. Even if this explains why I can see you, what am I supposed to do now?"

Surveying the mess of tiny glass shards throughout his apartment, he balked at the thought of having to lean over with a dust pan to clean them up. His healing ribs wouldn't much like that, and he vaguely remembered the nurses warning him against doing any strenuous house work for the next couple of weeks, at least. At a loss, and suddenly very tired, he took one more look at the mess and shook his head. "Whatever. I... need to go lie down," he murmured, raking a hand through his hair. "If you happen to find any spells in that book that makes messes disappear, let me know."
Without another word, he gently reclined his sore body on the futon in the living room, careful to avoid the shattered glass from the lamp on an end table. The last thing he wanted was to make another trip to the hospital for stitches in the bottom of his foot.

by Simply

August 1682
The Meeting was tonight and it would not be prudent to be late to her Initiation. Technically, Margaret had been inducted into the witches’ circle when she was but fourteen, right after the first blossoming of her womanhood. That, however, was the local chapter only. This was Edinburgh chapter and nearly a decade after her powers had first manifested in extraordinary ways. Her mother had been a casting witch from the isles off of the African continent and brought to Scotland to be a servant in a rich man’s court. She taught Margaret what little she could before she died of the fever in 1676 – both magically and domestically.

Dark eyes flickered upwards to the trees that lined the outskirts of the large Scottish city to one side. She turned, daring a glance back only once to see the flickering lights of the candles in the windows. A flicker of fear arose in her chest, the anxiety real in the flutters of each beat of her heart. She inhaled, steading herself. This was what she had longed for from the moment that her mistress had brought her to the city. The invitation had been long in the making but it was welcome nonetheless. She was desired. They wanted her to be a part of their coven, their circle.

Meeting. After sundown. One hundred paces into the tree line. It was all the second message had said but she had clutched the small paper to her chest with a inhaled of excitement. Margaret considered sending out a search spell to make sure that she was not being followed and that nothing threatening awaited her – but that was nonsense. All of the witches in the coven would have placed barrier protection spells. She shook her head at how silly she was being. This was an honor. It would show her distrust and anger the Elders.

In her head she counted the paces, slowly as her body ached to run towards something she had craved since she was a child at her mother’s knee. 98, 99, 100… The moment she placed her foot delicately down on the ground she inhaled, just in time to have a blade thrust against her throat. She tensed immediately.

“Don’t move, bandraoi.” The second the word left the filthy mouth of the person behind her, she knew that everything was wrong. The air smelled foul – like tar and burning bones. Dark magic filled the air and the pit of her stomach tightened in fear. She made to call out but the words clung in her throat like thick syrup. She clenched her eyes tightly shut and the entire world dissolved into darkness.

PHOTO

When her eyes blurrily opened, she was greeted by multiple pinpoints of bright light and shadows above her moving in the darkness. They chanted and hissed and she closed her eyes again. Willing it to be a nightmare, hoping to start awake in her tiny cot in her mistress’ home. But spells were not made of will or hope. She opened her eyes and anger swelled in her chest. She knew who they were, though she had never met them. She had heard whispers of them by her mother to their coven when she was but three. Darkness surrounded them and the darkness they worked towards twisted their faces hideously. What people pictured when the word witch was thrust about – this was them. Crones with malformed features and sparse hair loomed over her. She could feel he decay and rot in their breaths and smell the stench of corpses.

“Cailleach.” She spat, turning to the woman who stood next to her with a slender blade of bronze.

“So you know us, white one.” The descriptor was clearly not a reference to the color of her skin – as that was a deep caramel, nearly brown. She had her father to thank for the fact that she was not a deep black like her mother- his unsolicited advances toward the maid in the night had resulted in Margaret’s birth.

“It’s hard to mistake that stench.” Margaret hissed back and while her words were sharp and strong, she knew inside that she was weak and alone. No one would be coming to save her. No one would be coming to her aid. She would die her – their sacrifice. Her heat pounded in her chest. There was nothing she could do.

The crone laughed, echoed by her companions. “The words have been spoken and the turn on the moon is ripe. The Quickening will occur.” Her mouth twisted into what Margaret could only surmise was a smile. It revealed pointed teeth – what little remained from when the hag had been a human woman, before the darkness twisted her soul and ate at her flesh. “Five hundred years we have waited for the purity of the white one and soon we shall achieve it.” Unceremoniously, the crone sliced the length of Margaret’s arm. The white witch wanted to remain silent, to not give in to the pain and the terror that gripped her, but she could not. She screamed in pain and watched as the blood welled up and spilled over her skin.

The crone hissed to someone behind her. A bowl was produced to catch the liquid that spilled from her, carrying her lifeforce with it. “We only need a minute more of her breath in her blood. She must sustain.” More foolish words had never been spoken. The crone had grown too comfortable with how their plans had progressed. Margaret accepted her death readily and the only thing she could do now would be to thwart whatever plan had been placed in motion. If she were but to die a moment too soon….She smiled and let her eyes close and her life slip away as the horrible screeches of protest met her ears.

The Inbetween Time

The afterlife had abandoned her. She had not been permitted entrance to the next world – whatever lay beyond. Others like her said it was unfinished business, a vendetta, some nonsense. It had not started immediately. Margaret has arrived standing beside her body some time after her death. She stared down at it…at herself. Her dress was soaked in blood and her face had been branded in order to be scarred beyond recognition. Her limbs were swollen and disfigured because of the rain from a few days prior. There were apparently stages of grief, she learned a few centuries later, but she didn’t go through any of them. She had accepted her death…hastened it and therefore she had come to terms that she floated in another plane directly on top of the human one, the land of the living.

She spent the years of solitude and isolation observing people that captured her fancy. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of being a witch, but Margaret was able to touch things to an extent. She could also sense the greatness in people around her and when something large was on the horizon. She witnessed rebellions, new regimes, and assasinations. It led her to following Einstein, famous outlaws, JFK assassinations, Rihanna, and other characters on the stage of human existence.

She was present at the Alamo, watching as hundreds of men died in the sweltering heat of Texas. Margaret was present for the bombing of Hiroshima and when Hilter committed suicide in the lone bunker. Her eyes had scanned the scene of the death of numerous Americans during the cowardly attacks of 9/11. From time to time during these extremely tragic events, she would find extraordinarily normal people and follow the progress of their lives – though their ups and downs and birth to death. It was remarkable, that are some points when people were dying in mass graves in a far part of the world, a girl was crying into her pillow about a boy dating her friend. Margaret wondered if her tears had ever been so…heartfelt but completely irrelevant to the greater turning of the earth.

Never did she forget those that had harmed her, but they shielded themselves from her ghostly presence. She could not find them, for all of her attempts. She researched as best as she could – though it was hard to research manuscripts when the most she could do at a time was drag a volume to the ground and spend the next year flipping through pages. The Quickening was a confluence of the moon and certain astrological conditions that made it ripe for the darkness to permeate the world, capturing souls that didn’t even need to consent. It made her glad that she had died. White witches still abounded and lived among mortals but their numbers had vastly declined since the 500s, when they matched humans life for life. Now, if Margaret could make any educated judgment based on the coven meetings that she wandered through…there were maybe 15,000 white witches left. Now, that didn’t mean that there weren’t more people with the potential for magic, but only 15,000 in the entirety of the world capable of using their craft. She watched as they did what they could to maintain some balance, to understand the path of the darkness. She knew though, that they did no understand the Quickening. They didn’t understand that a virgin white witch’s blood was needed and that their death had to be spectacularly coordinated. The next Quickening potential would not be until 2015. Well, that was still a hundred years away. Perhaps she would have moved on by then…

June 2014
Well, it turned out that she would likely be present for the next potential time for the Quickening, which was constantly on her mind these days. She found herself searching the furthest reaches of old libraries and private collections in the hopes of stumbling upon the location where the lunar cycle would hit precisely. It happened that in 1682 that the prime location was a small wood outside of Edinburgh, Scotland. Without knowing the location, any attempt she made to prevent the ultimate end of the universe would be pointless. She contemplated her next move as she sat…well, hovered in a siting position, on a bench on a busy city street. What city…she wasn’t precisely sure. Her hair was straighter now, something to fit in with the times, in case some medium managed to snag a shimmer of her ghostly form. She has allowed herself to dress in a black skirt and cashmere sweater- yes, in her mind it was cashmere. She had felt the material once, in a Neiman Marcus in the 1970s. She had seen women fawning of it and the outrageous tag that showed a number she knew to expensive. She summoned whatever gave her power in this plane and ran her fingers across it, leaving only the faintest indent in the fabric. The touch had been remarkable. She could understand the comfort that a sweater or a blanket of that material would provide. She smiled to herself and marveled at the textile ingenuity of modern humans.

Brown eyes flickered up the street to see a boy…a man riding a bike, coming down the road. She cocked her head at him and narrowed her eyes, as though to be certain that they were not being deceived. The aura around him was shimmering with a black edge and she knew that he was marked for death. When? She was not sure, but as he drew closer she noticed that the black only hung around the outskirts of an aura that she had never seen before. It shimmered with all of the colors of the rainbow…of the world. No, not the traditional roygbiv that students were taught in school. Literally, every color. She could make out deep plums, vibrant oranges next to golden yellows and Mediterranean blues. She stood, startled by the sight and walked across the street, shivering only when a bus full of passengers slammed its was through her shimmering form.

She had seen auras or pure gold and silver and ones that danced between different hues. Never, though, had she seen one that possessed all the colors at the same exact time. Pursing her lips she stood, letting him pass her in a fury before she moved after him, faster than any ordinary person could walk – but hey – perks of being dead. Margaret stared at him as he was completely oblivious to her presence.

And so it began that she followed him. For a whole week she followed him, in and out of stores and his apartment. The only place she left him alone was the bathroom. While she may be well over 300 years old, Margaret was till raised in the 1600s when modesty was rather prized…at least among her class – she could not speak for those of her mistress’ station. As she followed him, she marveled at how ridiculously ordinary he was – which startled her. Someone with an aura like that…they had to be bound for something beyond death. The last person she had seen with an aura that drew her attention was Martin Luther King….but his too, had been marked by a black rim.

As she hovered in his living room, watching him eat, she pondered his death. She couldn’t let him die. Not before he accomplished what he was meant to. She ran her hands through her hair, tugging on the end of a few strands as she had always done when contemplating. Two days later, she was still tugging at her hair while he was riding his bike and she walking next to him. The immediate blacking of his aura was almost overlooked as she was so self-absorbed. She happened to just turn her head enough to catch it, how it had been overcome by a depth of darkness that completely enveloped him. Gasping, she looked ahead and saw it. The car wasn’t going to stop and he wasn’t going to see it. He was going to die by getting hit by a car. She wrinkled her nose at the idea of it and drew on the power that gave her whatever ability she had to touch tangible things. “I do apologize for this. It may hurt a bit.” Reaching out, just before his front wheel was to cross the street, she shoved the handles hard. Oh, he was going to be pretty badly banged up when he ran into the light post adjacent to him, but at least he wouldn’t be run over- at least he’d be alive. When he slammed into the long metal rod, Margaret winced and proceeded forward to take a closer look.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed Jul 02, 2014 2:50 am

by Requiem

The numbers on Ashton’s digital alarm clock flashed 3:49AM in glaring, obtrusive crimson, almost as obnoxious as the cellphone vibrating against his wooden nightstand. Though wide awake by the first pattern of buzzing spasms, he waited for the third cycle—a caller desperate to get a hold of him—before he bothered to answer. No phone call after midnight is ever a good one, he remembered his father telling him once when he was young. That’s because nothing good ever happens after midnight; if you’re not in bed, catchin’ those Zs, then you’re only getting’ in trouble, yeah?

He’d been right. And the irony was never lost on Ash, each and every time the old man called. Continually ringing his cell phone because he knew his only son never turned it off, and he knew when he was being ignored. Perhaps, given his father’s history of a life progressively wasted away at the neck of a beer bottle, he should have intuited this turn of events… And yet, the young man of twenty-one was in no way prepared for the news that, 3:55AM, now, would bring.

“Ashy, boy?” His father’s voice battled for clarity through a sheet of static, and Ash wondered fleetingly if the television had been disconnected from cable services again. It wouldn’t have been the first time, though in the past it hadn’t been such a dire issue that the man had seen fit to call at such an ungodly hour. “Ash, I got… it’s, well, it’s a bit of a sit’ation.”

“I can’t afford it.” The words tumbled mechanically past Ash’s sleepy lips. It was the first thing he said in response to his father, who began every conversation with a query that usually entailed needing money. He regretted ever giving the man his number, following graduating from high school and setting off to university, ten hours away by car. Yet he realized, deep down in what hope remained in his heart, that he’d have regretted it more had he decided to sever contact completely. Martin Kenway wasn’t much, anymore, but he was still something; he was all Ash had left.

The static on the other line was thick enough to almost muffle the sound of Martin clearing his throat. “Just hear me out, Ashy. I did… I think I screwed up. But in a big way.”

What was your first clue?, Ash thought bitterly as he propped himself up on his elbows, cradling his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Dad, do you know what time it is?”

“I got nabbed, Ash.” Martin’s voice, so carefully controlled just seconds ago, suddenly broke out in heaving sobs. “It was… I didn’t think I had that much… Just a couple, y’know, and then I remembered I owed Jerry for the game I lost last week… It was only across town—you know where Jerry lives, eh, Ashy?” A prolonged sniffle interrupted his speech. “So it was only across town, I jumped in the truck…”

Profanity so cutting it would have made his poor, late mother faint tore from his vocal cords as realization hit him. “You didn’t. Dad…” Spine straightening like a ramrod, Ash threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood—for what? To rush out the door? Drive from Fredericton, all the way back to the little island of Cape Breton for his father’s benefit?
The truth was harsh; and the truth was, he was of no more use to his father in his own home than he was miles and miles away.

Pulse pounding in his ears with the whisperings of a headache, he composed himself with a slow inhale and spoke into the receiver: “Dad. Another DUI means they’ll put you away…” A fact of which Martin was likely already acutely aware, but he had to say it out loud to ground himself in reality, convince himself this wasn’t just a nightmare. “Is it bail money? Look, I’m still hunting for a summer job…”

“Not bail, Ashy.” Martin’s voice grew soft as his inebriated sobbing petered off. Defeated. It sent a chill down Aston’s spine. “I don’t get that this time. They got… they decided I’m gonna be here, for a little while. Just a little while…”

The night suddenly felt so much darker. Though he’d been sweating in his thick bed sheets just moments ago, a clawing cold clutched at Ash’s skin, and wouldn’t let go. “Dad. What did you… What can I even do?”

“Just a few years, Ashy…” As if repeating that would console his anxious son. “But I didn’t get out of some financial stuff… See, I’m kinda behind on some payments… credit cards, y’know. They didn’t let me off the hook even though they got me here in the slammer… Ashy? You there, Ashton?”

It was minutes later that Ash actually hung up, but he was gone long before then, his mind wandering to dark and hopeless places. This just went to show how wrong he had been, thinking he could leave Cape Breton, his father, and all of the mayhem behind him. Blood ties were strong, covered distances, and could never, ever, be escaped. Miles and hours between them, and Martin Kenway was still a strong presence in Ash’s life.
He always would be.
>

<

>

It hadn’t always been this way.

There hadn’t been anything remarkable, in the negative sense, about Ashton’s childhood when his mother had been alive. In fact, he couldn’t even remember his father picking up a glass of wine when it wasn’t a holiday or a social get together, back then. Susanna Kenway had been the anchor that kept everyone grounded: the one with the band-aids whenever Ashton scraped his knee on the playground near his house, the one with the consoling embrace whenever Martin returned home from a rough day at work, and the source of warmth to anyone she cared for.

And, as many people on the small island of Cape Breton argued (because news traveled fast, and if you didn’t know someone personally, you knew their brother, their aunt, or their third cousin twice removed) the Kenway family lost not only their anchor, but their lifeline to happiness when pancreatic cancer took Susanna from them in a matter of months. Ashton had only been ten years old; just a few days after his mother’s funeral, he began to notice the presence of beer bottles in his home—on the kitchen floor, in the living room, even in the hallways—for the very first time.

That was the beginning of the family’s downfall, but the crux of the Kenway diminuendo wasn’t when Susanna died, or even when Martin lost his job by the time Ash was thirteen. It wasn’t even when money began to grow sparse, because Ash had worked as a dish washer under the table for a family friend who ran a restaurant since he was thirteen, and was able to cover the occasional unpaid bill. It was around the age of sixteen, when his father—and, he, by virtue—had acquired a reputation that spread around their small town faster and more insidiously than the plague that Ashton knew, as soon as he graduated high school, he needed to get out. Out of his house, his town… hell, he needed out of Nova Scotia entirely, to put some semblance of distance between himself and the drunk that his father had become.

He wasn’t Martin Kenway, he’d never be like his father, and although Martin had never laid a hand on him and still spoke to him fondly at times and in soft tones on those rare occasions when he was sober, he didn’t want to be associated with him. For all intents and purposes, Ash’s childhood had ended the day his mother had died. It was time to move on, and that meant leaving his father, and the life he had paved for himself, behind.

A crucial, irreparable part of Martin had died along with Susanna, all those years ago, and Ashton couldn’t help him. It had taken some time to come to that realization, and had taken even longer to endorse the harsh reality, but it was what it was. And if he didn’t get out soon, he’d be lost.

Somehow, in spite of family turmoil and rumours and reputations that spread like wildfire, Ash was what his guidance counsellor had called ‘resilient’: strong in the face of adversity. His marks were in the top ten percent, enough to earn him scholarships and bursaries when he finally applied to universities. In fact, considering all of the money he earned at his after school job went towards smoothing over the holes his father left in bill payments, were it not for those scholarships, his aspirations to find a way out of Cape Breton might have become nothing more than some far-off dream. UNB in Fredericton, however, was quick to offer him a full renewable entrance scholarship, so long as he kept his marks up.

It was his key out of his hometown. But, as it turned out it wasn’t his key to escape his family’s dark plummet into hopelessness.

<

>

<
“Lacie, can you explain to me again why you need this text book back right now? Like, weeks into June, and months after exams?”

The weight of his father’s incarceration, and the debt for which he would have to take responsibility if he ever wanted to see his old man out of jail, still pressed intrusively on Ash’s shoulders when he rode his bike from his apartment complex located in downtown Fredericton that very afternoon. To add insult to injury, not only had he not slept since he hung up on his father, but as soon as the sun crested the horizon, his best friend was harassing him via text messages, frantically requesting he return a textbook she’d lent him months ago, and of which she hadn’t had any need since she’d handed it away. Not a moment of reprieve… And yet, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse, ask her to give him a break.

Then again, Lacie Matthews wasn’t privy to the life and the father he’d strived to leave behind in Cape Breton—not because she was untrustworthy, by any stretch of the truth, but because he spoke of it to no one. Up there with curses and fabled such as Bloody Mary and Candyman, he had it in his head that the less he spoke of it (and, in this case, he hadn’t spoken of it at all), the less real it would all be. That phone call from earlier that morning, however, was evidence enough that it was a tactic as childish as hiding from monsters under blankets. When it boiled down to the core, it was arguably less a matter of not wanting to bother others with his family turmoil, and more a matter of protecting his pride.

“C’mon, get with it, Ash. I already texted you the reason—and what’s taking so long, anyway?” Lacie’s voice sighed a static blat from the single earbud, manipulating the sound waves of her usually quiet voice around his sensitive eardrum. “My cousin’s doing a summer course, I said I’d lend her the book since you’re done with it and it would save her a couple hundred dollars. She’s already here and needs to pick it up ASAP because she’s catching a ride with her friend to head home to Truro later.”

“Right. Okay, just give me… I’ll be there.”

“Like, soon? Ash, I really don’t mean to be a nag, but she’s got less than a half hour… What held you up? I texted you hours ago…”

Truth be told, there was no reason why he couldn’t confide in Lacie, save for his own prideful obstinacy. She’d been a good friend from the very start; he couldn’t find his way around campus on his first day of his undergraduate, she’d skipped her first commitment of the day to give him an impromptu tour. He needed to copy some notes, she didn’t hesitate to lend a hand. Heck, she’d even spotted him a few times for lunch when cash was tight (which it always was, to some extent), without any expectation for recompense. But it was because of that very kind, genuine nature that he avoided talking about his family all together, for fear that he’d earn her pity, and knowing she would be impelled to help.

If he couldn’t tell her that he’d been occupied for most the morning, engaged in an exhausting, dead-end conversation with the lawyer that had been appointed to his father, then the least he could do was try and come through on a promise without a fuss.

“I’m sorry, Lace. Things have been… interesting. I’m on my way, fast as I can.”

With the heavy textbook weighing down the backpack on his shoulders, Ash wasn’t lying about the speed at which the worn, aged wheels of his worn, aged bike spun, down the one-way street at rush-hour traffic. He only narrowly avoided running into a couple light poles through careful maneuvering and general knowledge of the Main Street’s bike-friendly route. Lacie’s apartment complex was at the other end of town, and the realist in him knew, deep-down, that he wouldn’t make it in time. The foolish optimist thought otherwise; and the guilt-ridden friend didn’t care about what-ifs, but simply wished to make the effort so that, when he stood on her doorstep too late, he could at least tell her he tried.

He was about to hang up on the call, but the conversation, apparently, had not come to an end. “Hey… you okay, Ash?” Ashley’s voice transitioned from urgent to—as he’d feared—concerned. “You just out of breath, or are you crying? Is something up?”

Of course, she would choose now to be talkative. “Not crying. It’s all good. I should really go, though, Lace.”

“You do know that if something’s up we can talk, right?” Lacie persisted as tough she hadn’t heard him. “You’re not holding out with your feelings on me, are you, Kenway? And here I liked you for not being the macho type.”

“Lacie, I really need to go. I can’t concentrate—”

And that was when the call came to an end, and Ashton’s world plunged into chaos.

First, there was that voice, one that he might have sworn he imagined, but for all his troubles, Ashton wasn’t stuck with disembodied murmurs inside of his head: I do apologize for this. It may hurt a bit.
What? But what was…

Then he saw the car, a split second too late. His mind and body couldn’t work together quickly enough to veer out of the line of fire—and yet, his bike did it anyway. There was no other way to describe it, other than his bicycle turned on its own, taking matters into its own hands and swerving out of the road and into a light pole. Pain and stars exploded behind Ash’s eyes and in his ribs before he felt his grip on the handle bars give way, and the hot concrete of the sidewalk was hot at his back. For moments, there was nothing g but blackness and a ringing in his ears; he wondered if he was dead, or in-between being alive and dead, but then he opened his eyes. And, clear as day, his dream stood before him.

Not so much his dream, perhaps, as it was the girl in his dreams, recurring with her dark tresses, cinnamon-hued skin and enigmatic smile. He’d dreamed of her frequently over the course of the past few months, not knowing what it meant and not really caring.

Until now. Now, when he was not dreaming (because you didn’t hurt this much in dreams), and there she was, standing before him, sunlight streaking her brunette tresses with caramel wisps. Exotic and beautiful, and she was real.
That, or he was dead. Or hopelessly delusional.

“…you.” His lips formed the word that felt like molasses in his mouth, while his slight out-of-focus brown eyes fixed on her concerned face. “It’s… you. My dreams… you’re in my…”

That was where Ashton, banged up but mercifully alive, was interrupted as worried bystanders began to form a crowd around him, several cell phones dialing 911 simultaneously, and yet in his adrenaline-induced stupor, he didn’t care about the pain, the ribs that were either broken or bruised, or the gash on his forehead leaking warm lifeblood, dark against the sun-bleached concrete. He wanted to know why he was seeing her now, who she was, and why she had been invading the private haven of his dreams.

And, most importantly, he wanted to know if (and, frankly, had a hunch that) she was somehow the reason he still had a heartbeat at that moment.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed Jul 02, 2014 10:23 pm

by Simply

Margaret watched as his head slammed forcefully into the poll. She winced, bringing her hands up to her eyes like a frightened child. Peeking between her pinky and ring finger, her dark eyes scanned the scene, seeing the twisted front wheel and handlebars of the bike mangled. Well, he was certainly going to have quite a few bruises and probably a concussion. Better than dead though, she mused to herself without saying anything. Margaret had not gotten used to being silent, though. She would often find herself responding to individuals that she followed. Once, she had even had a twenty-minute conversation with Albert Einstein concerning the theory of relativity. It had been riveting.

However, this train of thought was abruptly halted as he spoke to her – directly to her. She whipped her head around, dark hair flying about to see who was standing behind her. There was no way that he could see her. He had to be delusional and seeing things. Perhaps he was seeing his mother? From her meticulous stalking, she knew that the woman had died when he was young. Perhaps his close encounter with death had brought her memory back to him. Whatever it was, he could not possible have been talking to her. He had spoken with an air of familiarity to his voice and so he must have seen whomever he was talking to before. They had certainly never met. She knew very few witches that lived longer than a century and he was clearly no witch.

The dark-haired beauty followed him to the hospital, having arrived even before the ambulance had. She strummed her fingers against the side of her skirt as she watched him being pushed in on a stretcher, unconscious from some kind of contusion on his head. They would likely pump him with IV fluids and make sure there was no hemorrhaging internally before letting him go the next day. (Margaret had been lurking around hospitals long enough to pick up a few things. With three hundred years, you became pretty knowledge about a lot of random things you would never be able to actually employ).

Standing beside his bed when they had him monitored, she looked down at his aura. It was still flecked with black, which made her curiosity peak. She took a step closer to him, leaning down as if she could touch the colors that he exuded only in the ghostly plane that she resided in. Frowning, she pulled back and wondered if it was because his death was imminent, as it was for all mortals. But that didn’t make any sense, she mused, running her hand through her hair. Then everyone would show signs of the darkness. No, there was something far more significant about his. She tossed her head as if to sort out all of the confusing thoughts.

“Well at least you are still alive. I guess you have a little more time now, not much though. Maybe a few years,” she shrugged. Unfortunately, life meant little to her now, as she had seen so much come into the world and so many people leave this world for a place that she would never go. One might say that she was a little bitter about others abilities to move on. “I do not know what it is about you though. This…” she trailed off and ran her fingers through the space around him where she could see the bright colors, “is extremely intriguing.” She knew she was talking to herself, but who else was there to talk to these days?

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Wed Jul 02, 2014 11:11 pm

by Requiem

She blinked out of his vision just as quickly as he could have sworn she had been there, and the rest was all a blur.

Ash was unconscious before the paramedics even arrived, securing him to a stretcher and rushing him to the hospital with the sirens and lights blaring from the large, white vehicle. At times, he thought he could hear voices, comments about his blood pressure or the bleeding from his forehead; at another point, he was almost certain someone had pried his eyelids open and shone a light, inciting the frustrated desire to cuff them and tell them to screw off. But beyond those details, he could only remember blackness.

Getting knocked out cold wasn't the same as sleeping, Ash was quick to realize, because there were no dreams--just an all-encompassing dark fog. And whenever Ashton slept, he dreamt; it was a given, with no exceptions. So when consciousness slowly returned to him, hours later when he was secured in a hospital bed hooked up to a heart monitor, he recognized that it all felt a little 'off'. And that wasn't just in terms of the pain.
There was that voice, again... voices in the absence of nonsensical images, which meant it couldn't be a dream.

"Well at least you are still alive. I guess you have a little more time now, not much though. Maybe a few years...”

Oh. Cool. So I'm dying, now? With cynical thoughts collecting themselves from their scattered crevices of his mind, Ash clawed his way out of the dark, towards that voice. It was something to reach for--even if, unbeknownst to him, it was not of the world of the living.

“I do not know what it is about you though. This… is extremely intriguing.”

"...that's a new one... for a hospital." Ash heard his voice and felt his lips move before he realized he was awake. "Dying people 'intrigue' you...?"

His eyelids felt so heavy it was as if they were glued shut, but he forced them open anyway, squinting against the white glare of the room.
And then, gradually, like ripples settling on a pond, she came into focus. All caramel skin and dark locks, standing over him like he puzzled her. The young woman from his dreams.

The young woman he'd seen at the scene of his accident.

"You don't look like any doctor or nurse..." He murmured, struggling to clear his throat, which felt like sandpaper. Gingerly reaching up to touch his head, which throbbed and stung but not to any excruciating extent (likely all thanks to whatever fluid dripped from that clear plastic ban into the IV in the top of his right hand), he felt bandages. So this is the advantage of wearing a bike helmet... "Who are you...?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 12:54 pm

by Simply

When he responded, the surprise flickered visibly across her features. He was responding to her exact words. Swallowing, she flexed her fingers and took a few steps back from him. He could hear her. If her heart had a beat, it would have been pounding in her chest like a wrecking ball bent on destroying her ribcage. She blinked multiple times and for the first time in nearly three decades, she was alarmed and flabbergasted by this series of events. Margaret stared down at him as she made the customary motion to inhale, as though she breathed. It was hard to break habits, even if she had no use for the movements in many years.

When his eyes opened, she met them with whatever conviction she could muster. Perhaps this had something to do with his aura. The most she could do was…well, respond. “I’m neither of those things.” She murmured, her voice soft and what one might imagine a ghost to sound like – muffled. “I- I am-“ She was promptly cut off by the entrance of a nurse, that must have been alerted to the change in his condition due to the numerous amount of wires that he was currently connected to. Margaret turned at the noise of the door and the entrance of a small cart the nurse was pushing. The dead witch tried to move out of the way, though it was unnecessary. Unfortunately, she had not been quick enough and the cart pushed through her right thigh. She looked down at it, feeling only the familiar prickle of the other plane of existence moving through her non-corporeal form.

She stepped away, moving over to the other side of his bed as the nurse began to take some of his vitals down on a sheet of paper she apparently had to fill out every time she came into his room. “Glad to see you’re awake!” She exclaimed, looking over at him as she set down the folder that was full of his information. “We have placed your items over there,” she indicated with a long finger the bedside table where Margaret now stood, “Mr. Kenway. We were not sure who to call for you so we rang the last person listed in your cell phone. A Miss Lacie. She said she would be over straight away.” The nurse chatted along as she tried to make him more comfortable by providing him with another pillow. “You took quite a nasty turn into that lamppost. Did you hit a pothole?” She asked, making conversation as she took a small paper cup from the cart she had brought with her, letting her other hand grab a larger cup of water. She held them both out to him.

“These will help with your headache, dear. No doubt you’ll have a substantial one.” He voice was littered with an American accent and Margaret wondered where she was from, purposefully not making eye contact with the boy. She hoped that he wouldn’t make any mention of her – but hopefully, if he did, it could be attributed to his rather large knot that was forming on his head. “Tale them all and I’ll be back with some food in a moment. Doctor thinks you’ll be ready to go early tomorrow morning but they want to make sure you don’t have any subcranial hemorrhaging overnight. That can be a nasty bit of mess, let me tell you.” She chatted, cheerily despite the subject as she moved her little met cart towards the door.

“Is there anything I can get you in the meantime, Mr. Kenway? Anyone else you want me to call? Any questions?” Margaret stepped back, trying to hide as though everyone could see her and not just the boy whose life she saved.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 2:20 pm

by Requiem

He was delirious; damaged. Confused. He had to have been, because when he looked from the girl with caramel skin to the kindly nurse, he thought he saw... No, he knew he'd seen in. The older woman had walked right through her, as if the girl was not there at all.
This has to be a dream. It must be a dream.

But it wasn't, because the nurse was asking his questions, and every second he came to realize more and more that he was conscious the pain in his head and throbbing through his likely bruised ribcage seemed to become more and more prominent. "I... don't know. I..." Incoherent in his thoughts and his words, Ash deflated with a long sigh. Had he hit a pothole? The accident was such a blur of pain and pavement and metal poles that the details were lost on him. "Think... I think I swerved? To avoid a car..." Except he hadn't served at all: the bike at, all on its own.

And then, that girl had been there...

His hands felt heavy when he held the out to take the cup and the painkillers. The pills scratched his dry throat as he took a large swallow of water, only realizing after he'd drained the entire cup just how dehydrated he was. How long had he been out...? There were no windows in this recovery room; only steely lights that offered the impression of a perpetual, joyless, nondescript daytime. For all he knew, it could have been three in the morning again. Nothing good ever happens after midnight... But then, he reasoned a his the synapses in his brain slowly began to fire again, if Lacie was on her way, then it couldn't be that late. He couldn't have been unconscious for too long...

Slightly uplifted with the promise of a little food (although he couldn't discriminate hunger pangs from the general ache of his body), Ash followed the nurse with his eyes as she made to leave--but not without asking the question that had gone unanswered: "Who is she?" And his eyes flicked to Margaret.

Naturally, this elicited a look of concern on the nurse's kind face: from her point of view, there was no other 'she' in the room. "Just you relax, dear. Your poor head has been through a lot."

When he was alone again (or not so alone, depending on his sanity, which was still in question), Ashton turned his attention to the mystery girl, brows furrowed in confusion and curiosity. "Did she just... it looked like she just... walked through you," he struggled to articulate the words, his tongue thick and heavy with exhaustion and pain relievers. "I saw you, at the accident. You were there, but... why are you here? And why'd that nurse just ignore you...?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 2:58 pm

by Simply

Ash had almost let the nurse leave and Margaret was about to allow a large exhale of relief to escape her soft lips. Then he went and opened his mouth. Her hands rose from her sides in an exasperated motion but she quickly she set them back in their place. How could he know that she was dead? It must have been confusing for him, just as much as it was for her. She wondered just how solid she appeared to be. Clearly she appeared near enough to alive that it was causing him a great deal of distress. Should she just leave? She could easily phase out to somewhere near by and leave the boy to recover from his accident.

Her curiosity outweighed any sense, though. Curiosity would kill her. Oh wait...

The nurse left with a soft click of the door behind her and Margaret turned her eyes back to the human being that could actually see her. She let him mumble out his words, listening how his tongue was slurring against his teeth due to the medication and pain. He was far more articulate than this normally, she thought absentmindedly as she let him finish before she took a casual stroll around towards the foot of his bed. Pursing her lips, the young (or old?) woman took a inhale of nonexistent air and exhaled it in a huff.

"I am not quite positive where I should begin my explanation. Due to your current condition and obvious...confusion," Margaret was trying to be as diplomatic as possible, "it may be best just to be as forward as possible. I do not know how you can see me or hear me. In fact, it's rather alarming that this has suddenly changed but," she shrugged in her large gray sweater, her hair brushing across her shoulders. The words died on her tongue for a moment and she nodded, deciding that it would be best if she just came out with the words as bluntly as possible.

"I'm dead. More accurately I currently reside as a shade in some plane that parallels the human one." This may have been a little too descriptive for him. "I'm a ghost but humans, particularly mortals such as yourself, have never been able to see me, let alone communicate with me. I'm just as surprised as you." Margaret was quite straightforward about it and kept talking. It could have been that she had longed for some kind of intimacy through conversation due to her years of silence, just watching the lives of those around her - but she kept speaking, almost excited. "Have you ever been able to communicate with any others such as myself? No," she added the last word after a quick moments hesitation - riddling it out for herself. If he had, he clearly would not be so alarmed at her ghostly presence. "I wonder what changed. "

The tanned lady came around to the side that she had been standing on originally. She took her lower lip into her teeth as she thought and a shadow passed across her face as she turned back - almost forgetting that he could hear her. It was difficult to remember something, especially when she had been talking to herself for 300 years. "I apologize. Does any of this make any sense to you?" She looked at him as bough he might have some explanation for their current predicament.

Ooc: I wrote this on my phone cause I was excited. Please forgive any ridiculous typos. I was too excited!! (:

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 3:28 pm

by Requiem

"...could've just said you're a ghost."

They might have been the most ridiculous words that Ashton had ever spoken, and the lackadaisical cadence of his tone surprised even him. But this massive information dump from the over-excited young woman all pointed to the same thing, and she simply ended up explaining her nature and existence in a myriad of unnecessary ways.
And--maybe it was just his drug-addled mind--but it kind of made sense. Who else, or what other stranger, would show up in his dreams, the scene of an accident, and then here in his hospital room...seemingly unnoticed by anything else?

It explained a lot. And yet, he was still thirsty for answers.

Ash fought through the fog of pain and painkillers and struggled to sit upright, groaning softly at the shooting pains through his ribs as he righted himself on the extra pillow the nurse had provided. If this did turn out to be some drug-induced hallucination, some manifestation of his strange dreams, then at least it was a good source of entertainment in this otherwise bleak hospital room.
"So... I can see you... but no one else can." He spoke slowly, and for his own benefit; it didn't seem to sink in until his own ears heard it in his own voice. "And you don't know why... is that why you're here?"

"Ash?"
A familiar feminine voice from the doorway captured his attention. A fair-skinned girl with straight blonde hair, and wearing a lime-green Aerpostale hoodie paused and stared at the sorry sight in the hospital bed, before rushing to his side--and passing right through Margaret on the way. "Oh my god... What did you do to yourself, Kenway? I came as soon as the hospital called..."

"Hey, Lace... mind coming over to the other side?" He gestured to the side of the bed where Margaret wasn't standing--perhaps out of politeness, or maybe, despite that she was dead, Ashton still recognized the apparition of this caramel-skinned woman as a presence. Ghosts are people too?

Lacie looked puzzled, but after taking a good look at the band-aid on his forehead, decided it was best to just humour him and moved across from Margaret. She lay a hand on Ash's bicep; he winced. "Shit... look at you. The nurse said major concussion, potential for, like... brain-bleeding, or something, and a fractured rib? All because you ran into a pole... cripes, why aren't you dead?"

Ashton laughed, and instantly regretted it for the misery it caused his evidently fractured ribcage. "...thanks, Lace. Your cousin's textbook is in..." His eyes trailed to the chair where the nurse had put his belongings; the one in front of which his ghostly companion stood. "...the doctors have some of my stuff. I'll get it to you sooner than later, promise."

"Whatever, Kenway." The blonde shook her head, with an expression that was equally as disappointed as it was concerned for his condition.

Damn. When a girl wants her textbook, she's not messing around.

|O.o.C: On your phone??? You are so dedicated hahahaha|

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 3:48 pm

by Simply

Margaret tossed her head back and forth in a negative response to his question. It was what was perplexing most and what her mind was racing to find answers to. How could he suddenly see her? He hadn't been able to for the last few weeks so he was certainly no medium. He had never exhibited any extraordinary magical characteristics other than his alluring aura that shimmered around him. She chewed on the inside of her lip and was about to propose a myriad of tantalizing theories when she heard his name accompanied by the soft click and creak of the hospital door opening. She frowned, clearly annoyed with the interruption to her first human contact in centuries. Swallowing the words, she watched as a young woman strolled into the room, expressing extensive amounts of concern.

Someone about the girl immediately grated on Margaret – though she had seen the girl a couple of times before. She attributed it to the interruption but then studied Lacie. Her aura was hazy, not in the same way some people’s were. No, it was hazy the way fog made the world seem cloudy. It was as though it was hiding its true self from her and she couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the girl. A sensation entered the pit of her stomach and made her shift her imaginary weight around. Pointedly, she directed her focus towards the injured boy in the bed. As she did, the girl passed through her.

If she had blood, it would have turned to ice in her veins. Gasping in alarm, the dead witch staggered backwards, barely hearing Ash ask his companion to move to the other side of the bed. She clutched at her chest momentarily, as if a heart still beat inside and had suddenly jumped out of rhythm. It happened sometimes, when people with striking auras or strong wills passed through her. She just hadn't been prepared for a silly little girl with a hoodie to cause it to happen. Shaking her head, she brushed her hands on her black, short skirt. "How rude." She murmured, renewing her glare at the person who stood across from her now, the bed separating them.

Margaret crossed her arms. She was impatient. While Margaret had followed him around for a few weeks, she had only casually seen the girl before and never much bothered to pay her any mind. She had been interested in Ashton's appealing aura. However, Lacie had quite a good deal of the girl's attention now. "She has positively the worst timing in the history of my existence, which, let me assure you, is substantial." Crossing her arms, the ghost flicked her eyes to and from the injured boy and his newly arrived friend. “But don’t tell her about me.” She hastily said to him, coming closer to the bed. “She’ll either think your insane, hallucinating…or worse.” Something made her uneasy as his companion’s presence. It was best to be cautious for now. Too many peculiar things were beginning to happen all at once.

And Margaret did not believe in coincidences.

Ooc: yep!! Haha I'm in the car on a 2 hour trip and I saw it and was like yess!!!

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 8:40 pm

by Requiem

He thought she might leave, then--Lacie, that is. You didn't typically stick around a person who was in dire need of rest and recuperation, and now that she knew he wasn't dead, what reason would she have to keep him awake with her chatter?
Apparently 'reasons' didn't much matter to Lacie, at least, not of late. Not now, not when he had almost met his doom at the hood of a speeding car in rush hour traffic...

The blonde took a seat in the chair next to his bed and folded her hands in her lap.
"I'm sorry," she sighed, staring down at her shaped fingernails, like she suddenly couldn't look at him. "I feel like this is my fault. Hauling you out of the house to cross town at that hour of the day, all because someone else needed that stupid textbook..."

"Hey, don't do that." Ash would have shaken his head if he was capable. "None of that... hindsight stuff. My head is pounding; I can't really tolerate it right now. I'm still alive, that's all that matters."

"I know. I know. But, um..." Lacie paused, contemplating something that was clearly leaving her feeling undecided. Ash wondered (hoped) she might leave it at that, but the hoodie-clad girl ultimately decided it needed to be said. "Ash, why did they contact me? I mean, you're in the hospital after an accident? What about your parents?"

Which one? The dead one or the incarcerated one? Ash did not want to broach this subject. Not to Lacie, not yet, and especially not right now, when he could hardly piece his thoughts together. Brown eyes drifted to the IV stuck into the top vein of his right hand, secured with medical tape. "You were the last active contact when they found my phone."

"Yeah, but that still doesn't make sense. Do your parents even know where you are, Ash? All banged up, overnight in the hospital..."

And then, the other woman--the ghost--was talking into his other ear. Had he the energy and mobility, Ashton might've just lost it, right then and there. Couldn't the dark-haired spectre wait her turn? He might've had two ears, but only one brain to process one conversation at a time. "Will you shut up for a second?" He snapped, without thinking about it. The talking ceased so abruptly, even an echo wasn't left behind.

Lacie, for one, was not impressed. "Excuse me?" Her fair face pinched and grimaced in distaste. "Ashton Kenway, since when do you--"

"Not you, h-..." Not you, Lacie; I'm yelling at the ghost. The one over here, that you can't see. As if. "...hey, Lace, I'm really not fit for a conversation right now," he sighed, heavy lids falling over his eyes. "Rain check?"

He wasn't exactly forgiven, but his friend could take a hint... when it was presented to her in such a way that didn't allow room for argument, at least. Was she just uptight out of some weird guilt over what had happened? He'd never known Lacie Matthews to be so... testy. Uptight with him. Then again, he wasn't exactly fit to overanalyze...
"Sorry." Lacie stood, shaking her head. "You're right. You need to sleep. Let me know when they discharge you, okay?"

A moment later, Ashton was alone again. Except for the ephemeral presence next to him, wearing as stern an expression as his friend had, prior to her departure. Cracking his eyes open, he flashed a tired look of remorse. "Sorry. Look, I'm just a little overwhelmed right now... I don't even understand why I'm not freaking out, to be honest." Those must've been some awesome drugs the nurse had given him. "Do you have a name, or...?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 9:48 pm

by Simply

Margaret heard him snap and her and she all but jumped out of her ghostly skin. She turned her face to him, mildly shocked that he would speak to her in such a manner. Dark eyes narrowed harshly at him but she didn’t speak anymore. Swallowing hard, she crossed her arms with a slight harrumph and shook her head. This was preposterous, but she kept her silence, moving her glare from him to her. Her gaze followed the girl’s exit as she fled the room with a slightly irritated air about her.

“Likely because you’re drugged and concussed.” She said, shrugging when he apologized. She considered not speaking to him anymore, but he was the only human being that had talked to her in years. Sighing, she moved over to his bed and hoisted herself up onto the bed. Granted, the motion was superfluous. She could have just willed herself into a sitting position with a moment’s thought, but something about making human movements kept her grounded in reality. Turning her body partly towards him, she looked him over carefully.

“Of course I have a name!” The alarm was evident in her voice. She shook her head though. “Margaret.” She smiled slightly. As she sat near him, she reached out again and brushed her fingers against it aura. It tingled against her fingers, dancing between his plane and her own. Auras were exceptionally intriguing. Their presence had been known in her time and some witches were able to see them particularly well. Margaret had not possessed that gift, but now that she was dead she could feel their connection to whatever place she still existed.

“And you’re Ashton Kenway. I’ve been following you for the past few weeks.” Perhaps some of her time in that ghostly realm had weakened some of her social skills. “Sorry about that,” her hand flickered upwards towards his head, “but you were going to die. I did not think it prudent to let you die so young. Especially with an aura like yours, I haven’t seen anything like it in decades. It tingles when I touch it, which is surprising but not altogether unheard of.” She kept talking as though she was the only one in the conversation – bad habit she had picked up.

“You should be more careful,” the witch suddenly lectured. “You weren’t even paying much attention and that car was coming straight towards where you were going to cross. I mean, come on. And rushing to give a stupid book to that trollop?” She snorted, waving at the door. Man…her social skills really needed some work, pronto. Then she finally realized that she had been rambling, with him unable to get a word in edgewise. Sheepishly, almost, her brown eyes flickered up towards him and she cocked her head.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Thu Jul 03, 2014 10:54 pm

by Requiem

"Margaret." He tried the name on his heavy tongue. An old one, not so old that it had fallen out of favour, but not one that you would expect to encompass the identity of someone who didn't look much older than he was. "Sounds kinda ancient... hey, how old are you, anyway? Ever go by 'Maggie', or anything?" A stupid question, he realized too late; she likely didn't go by anything, if he was the only person to interact with her in eons. Well, maybe he would call her Maggie.

Wait... what am I thinking? It wasn't like she was going to become some permanent presence in his life, right?
Apparently, that had already been decided, and entirely without his input.

"Whoa... wait. Wait. You've been..." Ashton narrowed his eyes until her very real form grew fuzzy in his vision. "Like... what? You've been stalking me, or something? That's creepy. Like, not even ghost or dead-person creepy, just plain... weird. You don't do that to people, living or dead. Ever hear of privacy?"

It only then occurred to him then that it might be to his benefit to keep his voice down, as he glanced at the door, apprehensively wondering who would walk through there next, and when. "Are you saying..." Pausing to exhale and steady himself, steady his thoughts and digest everything she was telling him, Ash met her eyes wearing a small frown. "So, you're the reason I've got a concussion and fractured ribs... but you're also the reason I'm alive?" Now it was all beginning to make sense... That voice, the way his bike had suddenly swerved, remembering her face before he lost consciousness. This was because of her.

He had Margaret to blame, just as much as he had her to thank.

"Auras? What?" Having no knowledge of the topic, himself, (and not being in a state of mind to learn anything new), Ash chose not to dwell on that strange comment, and instead moved on to the next. "Well, excuse me for being a little distracted... I had a rough night. Then again, if you've been stalking me, you should already know that." He didn't bother to candy-coat his decidedly acerbic tone, paired with the glare he shot in Margaret's direction for her choice of words describing Lacie. "Hey, that 'trollop' is my best friend, thanks. She's done a lot for me... the least I could do return her damn text book when she asked." Lacie's ill-disguised disappointment still weighed on his mind, but he didn't bother to dwell on it. Girls had their moods; he'd wait until she cycled out of hers before getting in touch again.

"Listen, Maggie," he sighed, gingerly adjusting his position on the pillows again. Without meaning to, his hand accidentally passed through her knee, causing him to freeze in awe. A drop in temperature, a cold patch... that was all she was. He'd known she was a ghost, but only now did it really seem to register. Clearing his dry throat, he went on: "Other than... aura... stuff... is there a reason you're haunting me?"
As if he didn't have enough personal demons, and skeletons in his closet.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 7:01 pm

by Simply

Grimacing slightly when his knee phase through where she was, she realized that she probably could have phrased things a little bit better and taken things a little more slowly. Hindsight was 20/20. Sighing, she let him finished before beginning to address everything in a more logical and thorough manner. He really couldn’t have any idea what was going on. Should she start with the fact that magic existed? No, that would be too complicated. She didn’t need to share her story or the presence of witches in the world.

“All right. We’ll start at the beginning, I suppose. Though let’s get one thing straight. I am not haunting you.” She made a dismissive gesture as if she was slightly irritated with the fact that this was going to take longer than she desired. “Each person has an aura – a magical manifestation of them that hovers around them.” She reached out to the external sparkings of his own soul, running her fingers through it. They tingled, delighted by all of the physical sensation of colors. She drew them back to her and set it in her lap. “A representation of their soul, it has been said , but I’m not really certain of what it is.”

Her slight Scottish accent had dwindled over time as she had mastered dozens of languages and worked on masking it – there wasn’t much else to do in this afterlife she was subjected to. “I saw yours weeks ago, when I happened to be wandering the city. Your aura is unique.” She said, focusing on the swirling hues, for a long moment. “As you can imagine, there is nothing for me to do where I am so finding interesting things to occupy my time with is normal.” She shrugged. “And it’s not stalking. I do not follow you into places where you need privacy. Did I attend some of your classes? Yes. Did I hover around while you made dinner and watch television? Yes. “ Another shrug raised her shoulders and she turned her gaze upward to his eyes.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him slightly. “Your gratitude is not abundant.” The words fell from her mouth as she looked at his bandages. “But you’re welcome for saving your life. “ Margaret added sarcastically but then she realized that he had called her Maggie. She wrinkled her nose. “My name’s Margaret.” She said, but without much conviction. She was very “old-school” as some people might say. “Look, I don’t know what you expect me to say about why you cans see me though. I’m baffled, as much as you are. Perhaps it was because you came so close to death that part of you is lingering in between for a while. If anything, it will likely cease n a few days.”

“Your aura looks safe now…no impending death within the next few days, at least.” She realized that didn’t sound very comforting. “I mean, no more than a lot of people have.” She shook her head again. “I don’t know exactly what I should say but I think you’ll be fine now.”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 7:52 pm

by Requiem

The corner of Ash's mouth turned upward in a tight, undecided smile. He tried to recall if, over the past few weeks as the Spring semester had come to a close, he had noticed anything strange. The air was cooler when Margaret was nearby; had there been any cold patches? Had anything seemed aray, back at home? Who are you kidding, Ashton Kenway? Since when has anything back at home felt normal?
Not since his mom had passed away.

The clock across the room read ten after 7; he'd left for Lacie's at 3:30 in the afternoon, and had hit rush hour by four. Amazing, where three hours could go, when you were unconscious... "Private or not, stalking is stalking," he commented. She didn't seem the type to hang around when he was in the shower, although the prospect that she'd been there several times in the aftermath, with his hair still damp and clad in boxers and a T-shirt... It might have been slightly unsettling. "But... I'm not being insincere, okay? If I'm alive because of you, how can I not have some gratitude?"

He had no idea what she was touching when her fingers passed through this supposed 'aura'; Ash hardly felt a tingle, and his eyes depicted nothing but air. If it weren't some long-dead ghost of a girl explaining it all, he might have called bullshit. But that wasn't the case, and at the moment, concussed and drugged-up, anything seemed possible.

"So you're telling me I've got a weird... aura thing," he repeated aloud for his own benefit. "And that's why you gravitated to me? Because it interested you?" Not that he blamed her: what else would a ghost do, if they weren't wreaking havoc as a poltergeist or haunting some grave yard?
But that only piqued more questions, and he narrowed his eyes inquisitively as he took in the soft contours of her perpetually sunkissed face.

What kept her walking in the world of the living? Was it even polite to ask?

That was a moot point; he was going to do it anyway.
"Maggie... sorry, Margaret," ash articulated, though the slip up was intentional. "Why are you here? I don't mean here, as in standing next to my bed, or even as in my life for the past few weeks... Why are you here at all? Why haven't you moved on or whatever happens when people die?"

If the question came across as unkind, that certainly hadn't been his intention. But it must have been something big holding this girl back... After all, it's not like anyone would choose to be stuck among the living as a whisper of the person they had once been. Was it revenge? Did she have some weird unfinished business? And, if so, wouldn't she be busy accomplishing that instead of hanging around loser undergrad students like him?

What was keeping her tethered?

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 10:01 pm

by Simply

“Then I suppose I was stalking you, if terms matter to you so greatly.” Margaret was growing impatient with his insistence that she was doing something inappropriate. She had just saved his life, hadn’t she!? And it was not the same as a living being stalking another living being. He had not even known she was present and she hadn’t relayed any information to anyone about any of his behaviors. It irked her, in a word, to have him be so adamant on this matter. She waved her hand at it again, brushing it away.

Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes slightly. Her social skills had declined exponentially over the years. “Everyone had an aura, not just you. Yours just happens to be remarkable compared to millions of others that I have seen over the years.” A shrug of her shoulders. He wasn’t the only one that she had ever found truly interesting, but the first in a long time. Closing her eyes for a moment, she leaned back slightly, careful to not brush through his aura and against his body. It was a discouraging feeling. She turned her gaze upon him, opening her eyes slightly.

Brown eyes narrowed when he called her Maggie, but she didn’t say anything. His words surprised her and she looked down at her fingers, twisting them around each other. After a silent moment with the air growing thick between them, Margaret licked her lips and spoke. “I do not know.” She answered honestly, look over towards the tiny window of his tiny hospital room. She stood up off of the bed and walked towards it, staring out at parking lot that circled the ashen building. Chewing on the inside of her lip, the familiar feeling of anxiety entered the pit of her stomach. Would she ever move on? Why was she held here? These were the same questions that she had sought answers to. The only conclusion hat she had ever come to was that her death had been too violent but unfinished. She was meant to be sacrificed but died too slowly to pass on but too quickly to serve the evil witches purpose.

“It was a long time ago and nothing has changed. I don’t believe that I shall pass on. There might be others like me but we do not cross paths frequently…or ever really.” Turning back to him, a question arose in her mind though she had thought that the idea was completely preposterous. The words exploded from her lips with a great force, tumbling into the air between them.

“Any chance you have witch blood?”

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Fri Jul 04, 2014 11:13 pm

by Requiem

"...what?"
Okay, so there was the implausible: ghosts were implausible. Unlikely. But not beyond reason, and as Margaret demonstrated with her very presence in his hospital room, they were no impossible. But witches... The first thing that came to mind were the green-skinned hags with the pointy hats. Even if ghosts and auras were a thing, did she really expect him to believe in the existence of witches?

Or, furthermore... was she actually considering he was one? Or partially one...

"Wait... what are you suggesting? Witch as in, like, Pagan?" Ash asked, craning his neck to watch as his ghostly company moved to a window just out of his range of vision "Because both of my parents were Christian Baptist, so..." . Before Margaret had a chance to respond, the kindly nurse from before pushed through the door, wearing a smile and a small tray of food.

"Good; you seemed a little more fit to eat, hm? No pressure, dear, but it's all here in case you're hungry." Setting the tray aside, she checked numbers on the monitors above and surrounding his beck, scribbling them down on a sheet. "How're you feeling? Any more pain? Nausea? How's your vision, dear?"

Too many questions, too much talking... Right now, his biggest concern wasn't his fractured ribs or severe concussion. It was the girl standing at the other end of the room who nobody else could see. "All good... I'm fine, thank you."

The nurse appeared satisfied and, given that he was not only awake, but not coherent and rambling about people who were not there, left him alone again. Ash held his breath and waited thirty seconds after the door softly clicked shut (just in case his voice carried beyond it) to speak up again. When he turned his head to find Margaret, she was still standing by the window.

"Wow... I don't really know what to say," he admitted softly. How the heck could he empathize with that? The closest he'd come was losing consciousness for three hours following the accident. "It must be really frustrating for you, being stuck here, and all... Have you met any others? Like you, I mean. Surely... well, obviously you're not the only soul stuck in this limbo. Have you met anyone else struggling to find a way to pass on? There's gotta be some solution. Some whole balance of the universe thing, right...?"

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sat Jul 05, 2014 6:22 pm

by Simply

Margaret, again, rolled her eyes at the irritation that she felt due to the unnecessary interruption. Though, as the nurse came in with a small tray of edible items, the witch’s mind wandered a bit. She had seen some delectable looking foods since she had died. One of the things that she most wanted to taste was pizza. It seemed so simple but she had watched how it had changed over the years. The crust was infused with garlic and herbs. The sauce appeared to be a robust mixture of roasted tomato and spices and the cheese…Cheese was something that she had loved when she was lived. And now all of the different kinds…She closed her eyes at the thought, not listening to the conversation that was taking place in the room around her.

When the woman left, Margaret turned her attention to Ash. “Not Pagan.” She sighed, frustrated with his lack of comprehension. “Have you never read a fantasy novel?” She hadn’t, but she had read the backs of quite a few when she had strolled through bookstores absentmindedly. “Witches. Magic. Not the wand kind though, but spells and magic. I don’t really know how else to explain it to you. There are witches in the world and I was curious if you had any witch blood but clearly not. You’d know.” She waved a hand dismissively as though the whole idea had been preposterous in the first place and a waste of their breaths.

Then he addressed her again, asking about how she could hover in this in between place for so long. “It was difficult for the first fifty years but after that,” a shrug raised her shoulders. That was her characteristic motion. She had made it frequently when she had been alive, but only outside the gaze of her mistress. “I’ve met a few, more recently deceased souls, but most manage to travel on. I do no know why I am not privileged enough to be permitted passage. It is no matter.” She did not wish to discuss her death with him. It was none of his concern.

“I would be careful if I was you, riding your bike around in such a hurry without watching for individuals racing about in their vehicles. It would be wise to be more cautious. “ As interesting as this was, and as comforting as it was to talk to another person, Margaret thought it best that he resume his normal life. There was nothing left for them to discuss. He had no idea why they could communicate and she didn’t think it was likely this ability would persist.

“You should probably sleep.” She added, shoving her hands into the hidden pockets of her black skirt. Unless he had any more questions about witches, which was likely, but his medication would also likely be kicking in. He needed to rest or those injuries would take even longer to heal than normal.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sat Jul 05, 2014 9:06 pm

by Requiem

Ashton shook his head slowly, regretting the motion as soon as the muscles in his neck strained to comply. "Not really. I'm more into science-fiction... You know, like, futuristic stuff? Have you ever read Ender's Game? The author's apparently a real dick, but..." Stop while you're ahead, Ash that inner voice of reason suggested. Does she look like someone who reads Orson Scott Card? He could only assume that, despite her ephemeral nature (and whatever the hell ghosts were made of), if she could push a bike out of traffic, she could pick up a paperback.

"Anyway, I was just trying to clarify... I mean, I know about witches in general. I'm pretty sure they're a... race, or a class or something on World of Warcraft. Ever hear of that?" Her blank and impatient expression was answer enough. "Yeah, okay, I don't play it either... But I didn't think the whole 'magic' thing actually existed."
Of course, up until a few hours ago, he hadn't really considered the existence of ghosts, either. But how, exactly, would he be inherently 'aware' of it? He meant to ask, but the subject had already changed.

Since her death was a topic she didn't seem comfortably discussing, he didn't pry any further, but his curiosity was far from sated. She couldn't just show up in his life like this and expect him to take it in stride, could she? "No offense, but I don't really need a lecture on bike safety..." This was the second time she'd berated him, and he already felt like an idiot, and Lacie already felt bad. If she wanted to get technical, it was the distracting conversation on his cell phone that had kept him from properly seeing what was ahead of him. Needless to say, it would be the last time he kept his cell phone on while pedaling around the city (if he managed to find a replacement bike, assuming his other one was beyond repair).

The witch was right about the drugs in his bloodstream. Whatever the nurse had given him for the pain, it had worked; the pounding in his head had lulled to a dull throb, and his ribs didn't ache quite so badly. Sleep sounded like a pretty good idea, all things considered.
Except for one little thing, that he knew would bother him when he woke up...

"...hey, Maggie. Do me a favour?" Ashton's eyelids were already starting to close, the food on the tray next to him all but entirely forgotten. His sleepy gaze studied Margaret's face, and the only thing he could think was, how could someone who wasn't even there look so sold? The shape of her face, her form, the clothes in which she was clad... To his eyes, she was just like anyone else who might happen to walk into his hotel room. "If you're already following me around... stick around for when I wake up. I don't want to think this was all just some drug-induced trip... I've got enough things to worry about in my life. I don't want my sanity to be one of them."

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Jul 06, 2014 9:42 am

by Simply

Telling him about witches could take quite a long time. There were a number of different aspects and components of magical abilities. Some people were extremely limited in what they could do and others possessed nearly every power under the sun…well, at least the used to. “I suppose you could call them a race,” Margaret said ‘them,’ not us. She was careful that way. If she said us, then he might start asking even more question. It may lead him down the path that led to curiosities about her death. She didn’t like to speak of it, even if she would occasionally visit the site of her own grave, having watched her flesh decompose and her bones be steadily buried under dirt, trampled by unknowing passersby.

“Not at all like World of Warcraft.” She responded, licking her lips as though there was a possibility that they were dry. She had watched a young boy play it for twenty-seven hours straight once. He clearly had no concept of how short his life was. Shaking her head at the memory, she examined the irritation on his face. “And no offense, but it’s evident that you do need a lecture. The young woman stared directly into his eyes and she shimmered for a moment. Looking back towards the window, her gaze was met with a flicker of lightening and a subsequent rumble of thunder.

His words broke through her contemplation and she turned back to him. “Hmm?” She murmured, half-heartedly in their conversation. As she focused her sights on him, she observed the closing of his eyes, the heaviness of sleep lurking behind his unsteady gaze. It was adorable, the way he was trying to fight the sedative effects of the drug. Her lip curled upward in an amused smile and she nodded. “Sure, but don’t be surprised if you can’t see me anymore. It may just be pressure from any swelling against your brain. Once the anti-inflammatories take their desired effects, whatever part of your brain is allowed you access to my plane…well, it might be gone.”

A shrug lifted her shoulders and Margaret continues, “You can just shrug me off as a hallucination and move on with your life. Though, I promise, I’m far too complex to be fabricated by some twenty-year old boy with an inability to ride a bike.” She smirked slightly and settled into one of the chairs at the side of the bed. She drew her knees up and although the cushion gave no signs that she was present, she felt comforted by the fact that she would have been quite cozy if she had been alive.

Brown eyes watched as he drifted off into unconsciousness, carried by the weight of the medications in his system. Margaret sat there in quite contemplation for the first two hours, wondering how he could see her. It was possible, as she had said, that it was some pressure against a portion of his brain that was capable of accessing the plane she resided on – though that was unlikely. She knew powerful mediums that couldn’t readily see every ghost that had hovered in this world – particularly herself Something about being present in this realm for so long made her more resistant to magical contact.

She waited another four hours and grew bored watching his breath rise and fall. She strolled out into the hallway, passing through different rooms and watched as the auras of people flickered in and out of life.

Re: I feel myself the shadow of a dream.

Posted: Sun Jul 06, 2014 3:27 pm

by Requiem

"You've played World of Warcraft?" It was one of the first questions that came to mind, when the feminine spirit exhibited familiarity with the MMO RPG. The very thought struck him as funny, and a small smile played on his lips. Ghosts who play video games... Or maybe she'd just seen others play. Either way, it was a novel concept, and if he weren't so tired, and if he didn't hurt so much, he might have chuckled a little. Whether or not she intended it, Maggie was amusing.

Not that Ashton was too out of it to be offended, however, and he wrinkled his nose at her comment about his ability (or inability) to ride a bike--and his age. "Hey... I'm twenty-one," he murmured slowly, heavy lids closing as sleep approached fast. "I can ride a damn bike... can't help the damn traffic..."
And that was the last he spoke, before he slipped into a heavy, drug-induced unconsciousness.

When he woke up, several hours later, he had no idea where he was.

First off, it took Ash a few minutes to even realize he was awake. The bustle of morning hospital staff outside the door was what encouraged him to open his eyes, and momentarily, his heart spiked at the unfamiliar surroundings. This was not his bed, not his home, and these were definitely not the comfy T-shirt and pajama pants that he wore to bed. His overactive imagination was almost ready to conclude he'd been abducted by aliens, until his fuzzy vision cleared, and the events of the previous day came back to him.

It was all thanks to the throb in his head and the ache in his ribs that tipped him off, when he struggled to remember how the hell he'd ended up in the hospital. Something to do with his bike, a borrowed textbook, rush hour traffic and...
That girl. Right, there was a girl, only she was... Dead? A ghost? And then his next thought: had she been real at all, or some drug-induced hallucination.

Well, he sure as hell didn't see her now. The room was empty.
"...hey, Maggie?" He spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper, recalling the nickname he'd given her. But that was as far as he'd push: she'd either respond, or she wouldn't. He wasn't about to take his concusses head and broken ribs all around Fredericton looking for someone who might not even exist...