Path of the Vampire forum

Hazel eyes stared hard at the apparition that had taken over her new couch. The female spirit had been sobbing and screaming at someone who wasn’t there for over an hour and as a result, a fine line of annoyance etched its way across Solene’s brow. She glanced down at her open book, resigned to the fact that she’d not be finishing that chapter any time soon.

Solene was absolutely certain this woman was dead- not only because of her repeatedly sudden appearance in her apartment, but because she also vanished as suddenly… and as she wasn’t useful in being a meal, Sol wasn’t encouraged to take kindly to the loud and ongoing outbursts.

After snapping her book shut and setting it aside, the spirit looked at her, the shrieks and water works halting long enough for the floating enigma to register that another being was sitting across the room. She looked stunned, confused both about the location and the woman. Studying Solene, she sniffled, her bottom lip quivering as she prepared to start wailing again. She reached out dramatically to slap the side table in her distress only to watch her hand travel directly through the material.

Predictably, due to the shock, of course, she had a meltdown.

Solene began to suspect that the woman didn’t realise she was dead, though by the look of her dress, it had been at least 200 years… so perhaps the mourning period hadn’t met expectations. She’d attempted to talk to spirit plenty of times, mostly to shut her up, but this dead being didn’t seem to be able to hear her. It was that, or she was such a prima-donna that she couldn’t be bothered acknowledging that she could, in fact, hear the necromancer. Instead of beating that dead horse, Solene wandered to her bookshelf to see if there was a loophole to this curse; a way of silencing the intruders or sending them on their merry way. As she scanned the titles, her kitten played at her feet, practicing the elusive perfect sneak attack. Most of the tomes had less than promising information, but the few that might have information about curses, banishments, and putting the dead to rest were stacked in her arms and taken back to her sitting area.

By the time she returned, the spirit had quieted to a soft whimper and was floating over the couch, reclined with her hand pressed to her forehead. Solene rolled her eyes at the dramatics and scanned through her books quietly. She wondered if she might have to find a witch capable of trapping the spirits if she couldn’t be rid of them. The madness would come on fast otherwise, especially if this particular pest continued to drop in for a good cry and a mope.

She was dusting the last of the shelves on what would be the main display when she heard the crash. It sounded the way one would expect when ancient artifacts hit hard surfaces… like hundreds of dollars gone. Groaning, she rested her head against the metal handle of the ladder she was standing on, waiting for the dead pest to peek around the corner.

This one was, much to her chagrin, an old man that reminded her a bit of her father. Even in his ghostly state, he shuffled about, plagued with arthritis, half blind, and somehow able to break things when he forgot he was dead. He’d also materialised ghost tea for himself, which she found quite prudent and a small wonder. The other ghosts could rarely move things, let alone create things that behaved as they did in life. After a moment, he made his way around the corner and, adjusting his bifocals, gave Solene a sad look.
‘I’m sorry, dear, I’ve done it again. I’m a clumsy old fool.'
She really couldn’t be mad at him. She’d tried- several times, in fact, and had been unsuccessful. He was the veritable black hole in her pocket, but she’d told him to stop trying to help once and it had crushed what was left of him. It was her dad’s fault, really. She remembered when he started losing his sight and made silly clumsy mistakes; it was hard on him and being sat out of the way and later forced into retirement hadn’t done anything but destroy him.
Despite the growing pit of anxiety that had planted itself in her stomach at the thought of hemorrhaging money every day, she gave the man a soft smile.
“It’s alright old bean… I’m clumsy too,” She stepped down off of the ladder and shoved her hands into the pockets of her cardigan, watching Crumpet chase a shard of the bowl the ghost had broken around the shop. “What do you say to a cup of tea, Harold?”

His old and wrinkled face lit up and with a bounce in his ghostly step, he wandered off to the staff kitchen, telling her the same story he’d told every time they sat down to tea as she meandered behind him. It was about his wife- a firecracker who seemed to have been his reason for living. Solene was convinced that the retelling of this story would eventually help this old man to either a liberated and youthful form to better haunt people with, or would take him beyond this plane. She never interrupted, asked for another story, or complained. Instead, she thought of her childhood when her parents showed each other a similar sort of love and let herself dwell in a simple happiness that seemed otherworldly now that she was immortal.

Wall Zombies | Supplies

Harold had become frustrated with himself. It wasn’t so much the damage being caused, but the lack of consistency in when he could lift things and when he just knocked them over. He’d managed to express all of this indelicately enough that it made even Solene cringe. Since then, he’d taken up witling in the store’s front corner, leaving the stock completely untouched. Much to the blonde’s delight, he’d also started talking to the ghost she affectionately referred to as ‘the wailer’ which had caused the crying dramatist to take up laughing instead.
All of this made leaving the shop less of a risk- she was closer to being able to hire someone and open the doors, but there was still a lot of work and ghost wrangling to do. She also had her Necromancer ‘duties’ to attend to, not to mention the continued research in trapping spirits, so in the interest of making progress, just before her next shift at The Kit Kat, Sol locked the doors and made her way to the catacombs. Thankfully, she didn’t have to venture far in for what she was after.
—
She almost felt sorry for them; stuck in the walls, reaching out in vain to grab whatever they could sense in front of them. The ‘almost’ typically looked like a sadistic ‘not’ though- and how else could it be viewed as she gratuitously ground the boney arm into a mason jar? She didn’t even put a stop to Crumpet swatting at the weaky wiggling fingers that jutted from the useless limb. Yes, it was a mockery, but she only needed the bone dust and who was she to deny a kitten entertainment?
Once the jar was full and fastened shut, Solene tapped the withering sap on the brow to aggravate it, then made her way back through the mausoleum and to her apartment. Crumpet would have to stay home- a gentleman’s club was no place for a feline, and she needed to change. There was a ‘suggested’ ensemble preference for bartenders at The Kit Kat and she didn’t anticipate her comfortable clothing would fit the bill.