тнє Ⓓєsєят --- p r i v a t e

[hair band J U N K I E]

This is a private roleplay between N o b o d y s D A M S E L and x Too Much To Handle x.
If anyone else posts here besides us, I will send Sasquach after you.
I've got connections.

[hair band J U N K I E]

asdfghjkl.
profiles! 8D

[center][size=16][color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Heya! My name is;[/b][/color] first and last name.[/size]
[size=14][color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]But you can call me;[/b][/color] any nicknames?
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Look at all those candles! I am;[/b][/color] blank years old.
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]This is what I look like;[/b][/color][/size][/center][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][list][size=10]
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Hair;[/b][/color] hair color/style.
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Eyes;[/b][/color] eye color.
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Skintone;[/b][/color] skin color.
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Height;[/b][/color] how tall are you, eh?
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Figure;[/b][/color] if ya want my bodehh, if ya think i'm sexy~
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Tattoos?;[/b][/color] ink me up, bby.
[color=CHARRIECOLORGOESHERE][b]Peircings?;[/b][/color] more holes? xD
[/size]

[hair band J U N K I E]

Heya! My name is; Marie Douglas.
But you can call me; Uhh...whatever you want? 8D
Look at all those candles! I am; Twenty-six years old.
This is what I look like;

Hair; Long, wavy, layered locks of hair that fall to her mid-back and curl into ringlets, along with bangs that are sideswept. Hair color is black with auburn highlights.
Eyes; Highly-pigmented hazel eyes, often golden looking.
Skintone; A light bronze-ish tan just from the mix of her all-american father and cuban immigrant mother.
Height; 5'5 flatfooted. 5'8-5'9 when in heels.
Figure; She has a curvacious hourglass figure that she tends to flaunt constantly.
Tattoos?; Heh, they're everywhere. Two full sleeves, a full backpiece, something that takes up her lower stomach area, and a small red scarlet rose on the left boobie. xD
Peircings?; The usual spots for the earrings, and the left side of her nose is pierced, usually having a small stud or hoop of some sort occupying it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Heya! My name is; Russell 'O' Bryan.
But you can call me; Russ, or 'O' Bryan, doesn't matter to me.
Look at all those candles! I am; I was twenty-eight when I passed, and I reckon it's stayin' that way.
This is what I look like;

Hair; His hair is an interesting color, naturally a sandy brown, but has multitones of blonde from being in the sun so much. It falls in shaggy waves down to the back of his neck.
Eyes; His eyes are an abormally deep shade of forest freen with hints of blue in them, making them a nice teal color. Even though they appeared dark, they were always sparkling with mischieviousness.
Skintone; A rough tan, or as tan as a white-boy like him could get. xD
Height; 6"1.
Figure; This man is just one hunk of lean, chistled muscle. It began when he'd constantly be doing ranchwork when he was a teenage boy, then the rest came from the outlaw lifestyle he lead.
Tattoos?; Only a Cherokee symbol for the Guardian of Strength on his right bicep.
Peircings?; Heheh, nawww, those are unacceptable. I've seen a couple of natives up in the Canadas with 'em, though.

[Lady March Hare]

Heya! My name is;
Olivia Henderson.
But you can call me;
Oli! ^_^
Look at all those candles! I am;
21; legal as hell, baby!
This is what I look like;

Hair; a fading strawberry blonde color that is only showing the original auburn color at the roots, it's generally worn down and hangs to her mid-back in gentle waves as the result of a fading perm. Her bangs are cut to her brow and show that her hair is originally stick straight.
Eyes; a true heterochromia case, one eye is a medium brown color and the other is a slate blue. She used to wear contacts to mask them, but has been going au natural to help with the hype.
Skintone; fair skinned, easily burned, difficult to keep tanned
Height; 5'6"
Figure; slender and lean despite having developed a bit early as a girl.
Tattoos?; not a one; needles are a no-no
Piercings?; Three holes in each ear, two on the lobe and one on the top on each ear (and yes, each time did require unconsciousness!)

[Lady March Hare]

Heya! My name is;
Michael Carter.
But you can call me;
Carter -- only the old man called me Michael.
Look at all those candles! I am;
not getting older or younger, so who cares?
I was twenty-something when I died, and it's been decades since then.
This is what I look like;

Hair; a dark, dark brown that appears black to all not aided by a microscope, the type of hair that holds a natural curl. Cut a bit short for the time, it's long enough to brush against his shoulders in the back and fall in his eyes in the front, a source of constant irritation when he was alive.
Eyes; a bright, crisp blue, piercing and extremely difficult to read.
Skintone; evenly tanned and ruddy from a relatively short but active life of travel and tough living.
Height; 6'2"
Figure; strongly built not from hours spent at a gym, but from living the rough-and-tumble lifestyle of a gang -- he has no blatantly physical weaknesses to be seen
Tattoos?; almost more then can be counted, covering almost the entirety of his arms and back and depicting what seem to be completely random images.
Peircings?; no way, no how -- they're too easily ripped out in a fight.

[hair band J U N K I E]

It was around two in the afternoon, and around this month, the calm deserts of New Mexico were the prettiest place to be. Just how everything growing was green and bright, and not all dry as it was during the rest of the year. The skies were bright blue, the mountains off in the distance were peeking snow...gah, it was just such a breathtaking sight, something that she could never get tired of. She'd be admiring the scenery every time she'd be out here on the highway, which is a place that she occupied quite often.

As for the moment, Ms. Douglas here was roaring down the highway at 75mph. That's right, this little lady had her own custom Harley Davidson 900 V-twin. It was just so great to be away from everything in that wallowing pit wasteland called Los Angeles. It was just some place that she didn't want to go back to unless she'd be doing some serious shopping, that's the only thing that the place was good for. Being out here with Gramps again...gah, it was the greatest. Someone had to keep him company, especially since her parents moved from Arizona back to the Cuban suburbs to retire. And that's when she slowed down the motor, coming to the turn-off. Slowing and making a right onto the dirt road, she continued on down the path about almost a half-mile, and that old dump was visible clearly to the naked eye from the highway itself. The old bar formerly known as The Steel Coyote stood there all desolate by its' lonesome, the size of it being about the size of a few minimarts put together. The place hasn't been touched in decades. All her grandpa, Vince Douglas, did do was just show her where it was. All he told her was that it holds a painful reminder of the past, and...that he'd only be willing to step into it once the place was at least fixed up so it didn't look completely the same.

Sure enough, the motor of her Harley purred to the front, coming to a gentle stop when she turned off the ignition. She kicked up the stand, slowly getting off of it and making sure it was steady. She fiddled with her ignition keys, singling out the key to unlock the place(Vince had given it to her, hadn't changed the lock). And with a couple of clicks, she turned the knob and shoved the door open, the rays of sunlight peering in. The wood seemed to creak and make some noises a bit, as if the whole building was taking one big breath of fresh air from being clothed up from so long.

Making her way in, Marie reached up, pushing up her sunglasses to rest on the top of her head, which the top half was currently covered in a crimson red bandana, the rest of her hair being pulled back into a high ponytail. Her face was make-up free, since she wasn't planning on looking good for anything in particular. All she was planning to do was to take a look around the place on what she'd need to clean up, then off to the store she'd go to get cleaning supplies and would come right back. So sure enough, she was dressed to clean. She had on a pair of knee-high converse, and a pair of faded denim shorts that were low-rise and frayed at the ends. She had on a baggy Motley Crue tee-shirt that didn't stick to her at all, but in the back, she had used scissors to give it all kinds of ribbed slits, which revealed the curves of her back, along with the back of the golden bikini top she wore instead of a bra.(ooc; kat von d inspired on that one xD) Her tattoo back there was visible as well, which was a large ying yang sign with a bengal tiger and a dragon fighting around it, which tribal markings whisping out along her lower hips and her shoulder blades. Then of course, both of her sleeves were shown. One sleeve was filled with all kinds of guns, and there was a message on her shoulderblade, but that was currently covered. The other sleeve was full of portraits of her family, her grandfather, parents, grandmother too.

"Damn, this place is a mess..." Her voice is smooth, an alto tone, if you will. She put a hand on the curve of her hip, shaking her head a bit as she looked around the place. She at least wanted to get the windows open, so at that, she had gone back out to her chopper and took out the hammer from the cargo compartment and went back in. And then she began to reach up to pry the long, old nails of the planks covering the windows to get some air flowing in here. Ugh, fuuun, right?

[Lady March Hare]

It was beautiful, she had to admit. Something about the desert landscape and the dignified isolation made a place that had seemed to be so foreign and alien not that long ago was growing on her. Maybe. Well, that was a definite possibility, a logical one. Of course, it was a bit difficult for the artificially blonde girl to believe; after all, this desert land was not her ideal location of choice. When she had cavalierly accepted her place in a university for an education she didn’t particularly care about, she hadn’t given much thought to the location in which she would be living. It was hot. It was dry. It had been a complete opposite to the frequent rain and wet she had left behind. And when her last chance’s last chance had run it’s course and the university powers that be had expelled her from their institution, it had taken several long hours for her to realize that of all the places to be stranded without a dime to spare was, this patch of desert was her definite worse.

It was hot. It was dry. It was, to her irritated sensibilities, hostile. She didn’t like it one bit.

But the powers that be (aligned with the previously mentioned institution or not is still up for debate) didn’t care about her displeasure; the girl with the mismatched eyes had stupidly, stupidly failed out of college. Failing out of college meant no regularly received aid; failing out of college meant she was doomed to be stuck in a place she hated simply because she didn’t have the money to leave. Of course, such a low could not be maintained for long. An accidental job fell in her lap, which she took as her personal middle finger to whatever thought it could mess with her! Of course, it was a strange sort of job… accidental, to be more specific. A superstitious matron who thought she saw ghosts and Olivia, bored and annoyed, acted impulsively, as was her nature. It was only a few words, something she didn’t think a thing of until she dragged herself back in the next day and found a crowd. These people thought she had exorcised some restless spirit which, of course, she hadn’t…

…but, ever mindful of her stomach, was something she was completely willing to take credit for.

After that it was easy; a flashy entrance, a dose of unnecessary confidence, some yelling and ritualistic mumbo-jumbo – just enough to trick whatever gullible sap that had hired her – and the next thing she would be doing is settling down into an expensive bed or chowing down on a tasty meal. There was absolutely no way she was anything but a con artist, but Olivia was too busy enjoying her unexpected success to bother with something like a conscience. After two or three grateful partings from homes she had ‘cleansed’ she had the amount necessary to return to her home, but the thought only crossed her mind when she started from her sleep in the middle of the night, her thoughts idle and restless.

Olivia Henderson knew a good thing when she saw it. College hadn’t been her thing; book smarts she had not. But street smarts, or that sliver of dumb luck that lets one give off the illusion of street smarts? That Oli had plenty of. So the area grew on her, even if it was just because it was full of gullible people. The girl was a stubborn on; now that she had found a ‘career’ that let her get by without unnecessary stress on her part she was generally happy. She was successful (kind of)! Who would have guessed?

And that was why when the little old man approached her with his dapper suit and bifocals that magnified his eyes several times their original smile she welcomed him with open arms, thinking not about the warning he held in combination with his offer, but about whether she would need a thicker coat for winter lurking right around the corner or could she splurge on food? Of course, her attention turned to him when he went into the details: he had a haunted house he wanted cleansed.

“I can play you half now, and half when it’s… done.” the man had said, and for the first time Oli noticed that he didn’t seem the same as her past clients. It took her a second to understand what it was, and when she did she was mildly surprised: he was not afraid. Tired, maybe; sad, maybe. But not afraid. “I’m going to stay with my sister, Miss. Henderson. I’ll retrieve the keys from you when I return… when the spirit is at rest. Just promise me you’ll send him to the afterlife… peacefully.”

“Peacefully?” she almost didn’t hear him, so delighted she was at the prospect of what she saw as indefinite free board. “Sir, that is what I do! I can promise you that I’ll gently lead this spirit to his peaceful afterlife!”

That, of course, was another lie; Oli didn’t see any point in pretending to be gentle with a nonexistent figment of an old man’s imagination. So she didn’t give it any thought from the moment the keys and the first half of the payment was pressed into her hand; she packed her single suitcase and in no time was pulling up before the house. Able to tell it was old with a simple look, the girl climbed out of the car and allowed the car door to slam shut heavily. It was a rental, and she sighed through a smile at the thought that she might be able to buy a car after the successful completion of this particular job. Backs of her jeans dragging in the caking dirt, the little con made her way up to the door and inhaled deeply as the key scraped in the lock and the door swung inward. This was an immediate mistake; she was coughing from the dust even as she stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind her.

It was so quiet. As her coughs stilled she straightened and peered through the dim, an odd little smile on her lips. To think people took silence as haunted… the girl shook her head, shoving the thought aside as she moved down the hall.

[hair band J U N K I E]

It was indeed an old house that the girl had stepped into. Sure, it's had a few renovations here and there, but the foundations were still the same that dated back hundreds of years. If anyone found out the history of this place, it's actually former known as the Tustlin' Tumbleweed Inn, a place that many travelers, cowboys, ranchers, and famous politics used to room at when passing through. And up the stairs there were about four rooms on both the left and right of the large two-story. And the door that was the farthest right door down the hall, that belonged to probably one of the most famous outlaws known in that area...or rather it still belongs to him. None other than Russell 'O' Bryan himself was known to occupy this room whenever he'd come into town, and of course, the owners and clerks would be too scared to deny him otherwise.

As for the moment, Russell was currently sitting on the large beam of the large window-sill that protruded outward a bit, one leg on it with his knee bent up toward him, his elbow resting on top of it, as the other leg hung off in a casual position. He was naturally clothed in what he wore when he'd be comfortable. That was a pair of rusty-colored work boots encrusted with dirt on the surface, a pair of dark beige trousers that were baggy on him and held up by a pair of brown leather suspenders, and a white cotton longsleeve underneath that had a few whiskey stains on it, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Those eyes of his just stared blankly out the window, letting out a deep sigh as a large hand came up and raked through his toussles of hair. Day by day, night by night....he looms this place. It all started from when he was singled out against ten men. He had thought he had killed them all, and he felt lucky since he had ran out of shots. But that's when some sneaky b*****d came up behind him and fired right into his head when he was least expecting it. He didn't know what son of a b***h killed him, which is what kept him from passing on.

At first he didn't believe he was dead, he kept trying to talk to people. When it got to a point where he'd be yelling in their ear and they wouldn't say anything, or he'd try to touch them and his hand would go through them, that's when he finally got the point. Time really was an eternity...every day, he'd watch as the world changed, how things around him changed...needless to say it just made him a very bitter poltergeist, if you will. He'd be a jackass to the many families and people that would come and go from this place, simply because things were just better off when he was by himself in this place. He'd throw s**t around, mess with the electricity, constantly leave cuts with the tip of the dagger he carried...although he'd never harm any women or children. He wasn't some noble piece of work, but that was the one thing momma taught him that stuck with him.

He figured that today was going to be like any other day. It was obvious that Mr. Peters had packed up for a little trip, it didn't surprise him. He did admit, he was going to miss him though... The man didn't get scared as easily as others, or rather he hasn't gotten scared of him yet. And hence it made it more of a challenge for him, which he liked. Soon though, Russell blinked himself out of thought as he saw a car that he didn't recognize pull up to the front of the inn/house. He rose a brow, his hand coming up and rubbing the stubbled surface of his square jaw as he watched a young woman get out. Ohhh-ho-ho...whadda we have here? His lips soon curled slightly into a snicker. It's been a long time since he's seen a woman that actually appealed to him, since most just seemed to blend in with the rest. Yes, believe it or not, he was very picky...hence why in his lifetime he never had a wife. It's possible he has great grandchildren of his running around today, but if he does, he couldn't tell you the mothers. xD

Russell soon moved away from the window, his footsteps not being heard at the moment since he didn't want her to know that he was here, exactly. Within a split second, he was leaning against the wall of the hallway that the young woman was walking down, a crooked smile playing on his face as he had his arms folded across his chest. His eyes instinctively drank up the sight of her...and my my, what a lovely a** she had. And those hips, whooey! Usually he'd purposely not produce any activity whenever Mr. Peters brought someone here just to piss him off, but this girl....oh she'd know he was here alright, that was gauranteed. As she took herself around the place, he quietly followed behind her. But even if she were to look back, she wouldn't see anything. Even though he could see her clear as day, all she'd see is the other end of the hall.

[Lady March Hare]

Still. Everything was still.

It was just how Michael Carter liked it. Such a huge space, a place once snarled over as territory, as a seat and position of power; all was still, now. It would be ironic, he supposed (if he was the sort to make a habit of regularly being ironic, which he wasn’t), that a place that had once been such a hub of movement and fierce energy would now be so still. It was calming, and that calm made him restless. Not all the time; there were moments when he was as still as his surroundings, seeming almost to sink into the old biker’s haunt and become one with the tranquility. If he was a different sort of man he might have done just that; then again, if he was a different sort of man he might not still be traipsing the floors of The Steel Coyote. Or maybe he would; maybe this institution was the only place he had seemed to fit and, as either a gift or a curse from whomever decided such things, he was allowed to stay and prove it. It would have been the sort of thing to bring a sardonic sort of smile to his lips were Carter the sort to smile at such a thing (which he wasn’t), and in the moments when his frustration became overwhelming it was an idle thought that eased the tempest within him.

It was hard for the man to think of himself as anything but a squatter, which was the standard definition he had given to what it was he was doing. After all, he lurked in a long abandoned bar, his existence unknown or unconfirmed by the owner, and though he had always been under the opinion that he was welcome in the institution he had by no means asked permission to be there.

Michael was not in denial. He clearly remembered the unfamiliar faces. He clearly remembered the weapons. He clearly remembered moving, and the pain that had slammed in him had made itself impossible to forget. Michael Carter knew he was dead, a restless spirit. The former biker was under no disenchantment; he knew he was dead and had been dead for quite a while.

He was, after all, a haunt haunting a haunt. That, despite everything, made the corners of his lips quirk up into the craggy echo of a smile.

The day started just like any other day; with Carter not paying any particular attention to the passing of the time and still being mildly irritated when he found the morning had passed without asking any sort of permission. He had been pacing back and forth, restless as always, kicking dust up to swirl artfully behind him as he passed back and forth, back and forth… and then a familiar sound made him pause. The ghost was still, but the stillness didn’t cease; the rumblings of a motorcycle engine could cut through even the heaviness of the dead and abandoned. Boots clumping against the floorboards with far less gusto then any mortal man’s; Carter shifted to stare at the door, his brow furrowing. It was amazing; even though he was dead something within him still thrilled at that sound, at the possibility that it could be a foe, a rival about to burst through those doors. He was ‘simply’ a ghost donning a heavy leather jacket emblazoned with a once notorious symbol and jeans, and yet it was alarming how even now he was a loyal member. A loyal member of a motorcycle gang member who had suddenly become aware that someone was in their territory.

He dissolved, a definite plus to being a ghost, the ability to dissolve away until he wasn’t able to be seen anymore. It was as instinctive as breathing had been to him in life, and the ghost man instantly bristled as the door swung open. Someone was blatantly trespassing! The figure moved forward, and to the specter’s mild surprise it was a woman, not the hulking one eyed fiends he’d been expecting. Why he was fixated on the one eyed fiend he had no idea, and he threw such irritated thoughts to the back of his mind in favor of other irritated thoughts: just what was this woman doing here? No one had strayed past that door for ages! No one!

Restraining his urge to lash out, he studied the woman for a long moment. Was she some floozy looking for a private place to turn tricks? He would drive her crying away if that be the case. But no… she held herself with too much pride, too much self assurance to be a common prostitute. Every prostitute he’d known had been world weary and strung out on one thing or another; this woman seemed too independent for something like that. She was a biker, colorful declarations of thought and expression sprawled across her skin as it did on his own. She was the sort of woman who would have drawn him in during his life, the type of woman he would have watched and wanted. That restlessness twisted in him, sending dust fluttering away from him; what was a woman like her doing here?! Something about her presence infuriated him, made something within him twist in pent up fury…

Carter didn’t know he was a poltergeist. He didn’t know he was so restless because he was angry, which people generally attributed to a tormented spirit. Most of the time he didn’t care; there was no reason to care. The woman turned away, and for a second something within him calmed, thinking she would leave… but she came back, and with a hammer! What in the world was she doing?! She was breaking things, undoing things Vince had done!

And she was calling it a mess?!

So what if this woman was his kind, was someone he could have admired in a past life? She was intruding on his space, on his haunt; he would show her the fear and loathing worthy of a place of such past glory. He had been intimidating in life; in death he was determined to be a horror.

[hair band J U N K I E]

Pff. It's not like she was ripping the windows off, it's just that the place had been boarded up for so long. First off, Marie knew she was going to have to get measurements for the windows to get some new ones here. The glass had bullet holes in them, some were just shattered completely. Damnit, just what went on around here? She knew about Los Diablos, the spanish name for The Devils, the old biker gang that Vince did have. Hell, friends that were her grandpa's age watched her grow up when she was little and still lived out here. Now that there was light in here, she got a chance to get a better look at the place. The large, mahogany bar counter was covered in dust, along with the cabinets in the back where the alcohol was kept filled with empty or broken tequila, whiskey, and beer bottles. Then over off down a ways were various tables that were dusty, broken, or had chairs knocked over. Along with a circular stage with a runway with a large silver pole in all its' glory. At the sight of that though, she ended up laughing and shaking her head. Wow, that's...that's great. xD Who knows how many diseases were embedded into it from how many strippers that have rubbed up against it in the past.

Before she could do anything else though, that's when Marie's phone went off. She pulled it out of her pocket, grinning upon seeing that the called ID read Gramps. She answered, putting him on speaker.

"Eyy, Gramps. What's up?"

"Eh, I just wanted to uhh...well how does it look?" Vince's infamously raspy, deep, worn voice echoed throughout the area.

"Well everything's dusty and broken. The stripper pole is probably infested with germs galore, but you know.."

That made the old man let out a hearty laugh. "HAHAH! Yeahhh, yeah, you might want to get that wiped down before you touch it with your bare hand if ya know what's good for ya."

"Heh, oh I know, I know. You should've come with me." Marie had insisted.

"Eh, nahh....I'll...I'll come on your opening night, how's that sound?"

Marie let out a small whine, "But who knows when that'll be..."

That made Vince laugh again. "Alright well...don't be gone too late, I'm barbeque-in' tonight."

"Okay, okay...bye Grandpa, love you."

"Love you too, squirt. See ya later."

And at that, Marie flipped her phone shut, shoving it back into her pocket. She began to wander around the perimeter of the place, seeing if there were any back doors and what not, hopefully some place she could turn into an alcohol cellar, perhaps?

[Lady March Hare]

“Ah… this isn’t bad. Not bad at all.” Oli spoke aloud, enjoying how her words seemed to seep into the wood of the home.

It was dusty, sure; it was strange to think that Mr. Peters had been living here, but apparently had made only a few renovations. Was it an inn? A family home? What did it matter, it was her’s for the moment. A goofy sort of grin spread across her lips, and the girl with the mismatched eyes actually giggled. Allowing her suitcase to thump to the floor without any apparent care of where it landed, she moved lazily through the hall of the bottom floor, poking her head into the rooms curiously. Whatever was she going to do with all of this space? Sure, she might have to trash some of the older stuff (in the name of cleansing, of course…), rearrange things to her liking (again, for the peace of the ‘spirit’), and other minor modifications. Of course. Of course. Moving back out into the hall she flicked her hair over her shoulders, looking all too smug with herself and her situation in general.

“Well thank you so much for your hospitality.” She spoke to the house as she continued, in search of a kitchen. “I’ll just light a bit of sage, throw out some ‘cursed’ furniture, and then spend a few months in deep, cleansing meditation.” Her whole face lit up as she pushed a door open into an efficient looking kitchen. The sight of the lines of cupboards once necessary for supplying an inn brought the laughter out again, and the young woman practically skipped inside to look around. “Oh yes, there will be nothing but peace in here with all this food!”

She flung the cupboard open, and froze with a twitch. Almost as if it was mocking her, a gentle film of dust coated the shelves. Only a small corner seemed to have been used regularly, and whatever had been stacked there had been systematically removed.

“Ah… what the hell?” she breathed, moodily slamming the door shut. “So that’s why I got paid upfront; I’ll have to buy my own food while I’m here!” Her irritation was tangible; if she was having to buy her own food not only was her stay going to be limited, but there would be no way she was going to get a car out of this particular venture. “Stingy old man. He must have left a number around here somewhere. Maybe there’s someone I could call and bum a meal off of.”

Ignoring the irony of someone like her calling another human being either a bum or stingy, the fake exorcist rested her palms on the wooden counter with a heavy sigh. Sure she had ‘work’ to do… but that would have to wait until after she got some food. From… somewhere. Oli shook that off; what was she getting irritated about? She had a house to be exploring! With no idea how hopeless she would appear to a real paranormal investigator, the girl tried to put the bounce back in her step as she moved to the staircase. A second floor! Grinning once again, the girl hopped the steps two at a time, trying to reestablish the glee that a lack of available foods had taken away.

[Lady March Hare]

If there was one thing that could cut through Michael’s innermost rage issues, it was curiosity. Not just any curiosity since he usually wasn’t the sort to get distracted very easily; it had to be genuine, 100% authentic ‘what the hell?!’ kind of curiosity. Of course, 100% authentic ‘what the hell?!’ curiosity tended to change depending on the age, something a restless shut in forgot with apparent ease. And in this particular case, the curiosity stemmed from surprise, and surprise stemmed from the phone.

Carter had seen a cell phone once… back in the eighties. It had been about the size of his head and had an antenna tall enough to endanger low flying birds or squirrels. If he recalled properly it was a brick phone or something like it back then, and it certainly wasn’t so small. Or so clearly able to make sound and project voices. Or so apparently no longer capable of causing instantaneous brain tumors, or whatever it was they’d give people. He was filled with the almost insatiable urge to send something rocketing through the air to kill the ringing thing so he could poke through its remains to see exactly what it was that made it tick… but that was ridiculous. He could worry about the freakish phone later; the voice was the one that was of interest now.

How could he not recognize the voice of his old boss, the closest thing Carter would acknowledge as a father? He’d taken a bullet for Vince; why wouldn’t he stop to listen to what he had to say?

Well, maybe because he was saying very confusing things. That was the gravely growl of their leader… but had that girl just called him ‘Gramps’?! Had Vince been married? Sweet on anyone? Why was he having a hard time remembering? The uneasiness filled him again but he pushed it back; it wasn’t the best time to start breaking things now, was it? The girl hung up her phone and his stern stare was back on her again, this time appraising in a different manner. This girl was related to Vince somehow? His granddaughter? He lifted his hand to his chin in thought, watching the girl attentively. Time had passed, sure; he knew that. But had that much time really passed?

“Of course it did.” He muttered, more irritated with himself this time. And that other thing they’d said – the bar was being opened again? That brought the frown back. Stalking slowly after the woman, Carter stared the woman down as he stalked after her, trying to depict some sort of meaning in her movements, in her cheerfulness. He was good; the dust only lifted slowly as he moved, settling with ease since his attention was otherwise occupied.

[hair band J U N K I E]

Heheh, oh...see Russell wasn't stupid, it didn't take him long to figure out that the woman here thought she was on some kind of facaded investigation. Well news to her, she'd be in for a rude awakening. Although he had do vouch that he wouldn't do anything too traumatizing to her, just for the sole fact that she was indeed a female and that he actually was quite attracted to her. He's gotten used to the way that women look nowadays, he knows that it's not the thing for them to run around in bonnets and layered dresses anymore. It's about damn time though, that women aren't required to wear so much clothing. ;]

He was completely enthralled by this new woman, or more so he was just thinking of how much fun he was going to have messing with her. As for the moment, he was leaning against the doorframe between the dining room and the kitchen, watching her eat as he had his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. Oh, how oblivious she was. And naturally, since he was a chronological poltergeist here, he'd begin with the simple things. He knew she'd probably be a skeptic, but that's what made things all the more fun.

He then turned on his heel, not allowing himself to be heard as he made his way over into the kitchen. Russell leaned against the marble counter that was beside the chrome kitchen sink. He watched her with a mischievious, broad, boyish smirk that seemed signature on him. Keeping his eyes on her, he slid one of his hands out of his pockets, bringing it over and gently flicking on the tab to turn on the cold water, the sound of it plummeting down the drain beginning to echo off of the kitchen walls.

Alrighty, well.. let the games begin.

[hair band J U N K I E]

Hours and hours of nonstop cleaning....talk about torture. But she knew it had to be done unfortunately. She had found a storage closet that could be turned into a cellar, along with just an extra room in the back. Maybe she'd turn that into a little bedroom just in case she was too tired to head back once the bar was actually up and running? Yeah, yeah that sounded good. She had been gone for about an hour and a half, before she soon returned, but using Vince's old chevy pick-up that he hardly used to bring all of the cleaning supplies over. Nonstop cleaning, taking the broken things and putting them into the bed of her truck, sweeping, mopping, wiping down the counters and getting rid of the broken glass and dusting...yes, she even wiped down that pole, gah, that was so ******** disgusting.

And while she was sweeping, she...did find a rather gruesome blood stain on the floor. She wasn't sure if she'd want to bring that up to Gramps or not. And despite the fact that she was working nonstop, she'd stop to look over her shoulder. She kept getting this feeling like she was being watched, and every time she looked, nope, nothing. A couple of times she got paranoid and walked around the building to see if anyone was there, but nope...Figuring she was just being paranoid, she ignored the feeling and continued on. It had gotten too quiet, so she had set up a battery-powered stereo, blasting a Motley Crue CD, Wild Side currently being the one playing. She was currently in the process of cleaning up the cabinets behind the bar counter, and glanced out the window. Seeing that the sun was beginning to set, she thought maybe she should call it a night.

So at that, Marie let out a deep sigh, setting the cleaning products down and letting her top half flop onto the counter, stretching her arms out and letting the side of her face lay on the mahogany wood surface, closing her eyes for a moment. Goddamn she was freaking tired...

Fallen Angels...
So fast to kill...
Thy kingdom come on the wild side...
Our father...
Who ain't in heaven...
Plead thy name on on the wild side Holy Mary...
Mother may I...
Pray for us on the wild side...
Wild side...
Wild side...

[Lady March Hare]

The upstairs was just as interesting (and empty of food) as Oli could have expected, and by the time she had returned to the lower level her mind had turned back to food. Silently resolving to shove a foot through Mr. Peters' face the next time she saw him, she had returned to the kitchen to forage, perhaps uselessly. But to her infinite surprise a thorough search of the cabinets turned up a complete box of Ritz crackers, which the young woman hugged to her chest with a cackle. Ritz crackers she could deal with; the con had survived on less! Feeling somehow that she had smote back Mr. Peters (who had twisted from an worn down old man into a ferocious demon in her mind) with the discovery of his food; and promptly swearing off buying food unless absolutely necessary the young woman lazed int he kitchen, triumphant in her little victory.

That was until the sound of running water caught her attention.

A cracker of salty, buttery goodness caught between her teeth, the girl went still, her mismatched eyes flicking towards the sound. It took a shift to confirm what she already knew: the sink was running. A frown creeping across her lips, the girl shifted from her guard of the crackers to move to the sink. It was not a drip but a steady flow; had she turned it on? No, of course not; even in her greatest food craze she didn't have problems hearing.

“Stupid pipes..!” she muttered, flicking the handle and cutting the water off. Shooting the sink a warning look she turned away, almost instantly immersed in the deliciousness that was liberated food once again.

A paranormal investigator, she was not.