Turn the Page: Water Tower Plaza-Michigan Street: North

The doors open with a fait tinkle of wind-chimes, letting you into a cozy shop of wood floors, comfortable chairs, and well placed lighting with an obvious focus on books. No matter which way you turn, there are shelves and more shelves, crammed with books of all sizes and genres, the wood dark against the soft cream of the walls. Though right beside the door to the right is a bit of a reprieve, the main counter breaking up the endless shelves. It’s a curve of warm cherry wood, around chest height. A deep blue pot is tucked to the side, trails of ivy spilling over the edge of both the pot and the counter. Throughout these vines are a few blue flowers of another plant, adding in a splash of color. Behind the counter, on the wall, is a shelf offering things other than books, like a few teas and candles, as well as a random small plushy that usually changes every week. Spaced along the walls are not pictures of readeres or catchy phrases and discounts. Instead are cleverly framed postcards from seemingly every city in Europe and a few elsewhere.

Spaced comfortably, the deep wooden shelves form a few straight lines while at other positions, form little nooks that are lighted by floor lamps and sport one or two comfortable arm chairs and offer a bit of privacy for reading. Rows upon rows of books might seem a bit daunting, but here, it feels almost like a dream with the scent of paper and a hint of dust. On each shelf in a small plaque telling what the section holds, echoed with a larger one on the side of the row. Not all of what is offered here is for adults. Tucked in the corner across from the counter and by a window is a smallish carpeted area, sporting a small table and chairs as well as a few beanbag chairs and well loved stuffed animals in a whicker basket. Everyone is welcome to waste away time here.

It’s Sunday, September thirtieth 2007. 03:07 pm

The sun is up. The new moon is up. <10.0% full and fading>

The tide is low and rising.

Fair weather clouds glow white in the blue sky. A cool wind blows from the east.

It’s mid-afternoon on one of those autumn days that one imagines is the last perfect day before things turn really cold – light, high clouds, a cool gentle breeze, and a warm, friendly sun – though hopefully since it’s still September the year still has a couple more of those in it. Regardless of the number of perfect days remaining it’s a good day to be out. Samuel is one of the many out enjoying the weather, doing a little shopping, and at the moment Turn The Page is tugging at his wallet. He’s back in the stacks, in the literary fiction section, scanning titles, with a gloved hand poised to pull a book out if something about its spine piques his interest enough.

Patrick has never really been one to pass up a bookstore. While it wasn’t a favorite pasttime when he was younger, since he went to college and entered the Seminary, he found reading to be an excellent diversion so that he could keep out of trouble. Now is no different. In fact, lately, he’s found himself reading more often than not on his downtime. Since it was such a pleasant day, he’s gone out for a walk just to explroe the city some more. It’s been around a year, but there haven’t been too many days where he hasn’t had an itinerary. Today just happens to be one of them. Dressed in his blacks and a light blazer, he makes his way into the bookstore to just browse among the racks. His first stop isn’t the religion section, however, but literature. Noting the gloved man and his fairly innocuous scents, he looks at the book that is being taken down before offering in a promininent Irish lilt, “That one’s not bad. A little slow in the beginning, but it picks up after about the first hundred pages.”

Samuel is of a similar stripe: but then one does not study Philosophy and History without enjoying reading, a lot, so it’s no great leap for someone to guess this about him if they know him a bit. He’s dressed in seasonably suitable attire: jeans and a long-sleeved button down shirt which is untucked. The gloves are a bit of an odd addition perhaps. He looks up from the crouch he dropped into while perusing book spines as the someone enters the section with him. At first he sees only black clothing and wonders if the man is some sort of well-dressed goth, but then he sees the collar and hears accented words. “Oh?” He asks as he locates the indicated book and pulls a copy off the shelf as he stands. “Mmm, I’ve not read the author, but it’s always good to add a new one to my list.” He opens the book to scan the dust jacket text curiously. “Sounds interesting. Thanks.” He grins and adds, “I suppose I owe you a recommendation in return, no?” His voice is unaccented, apparently this Asian-looking man was born here in the States.

Patrick chuckles and gives a wave of his hand, “Only if you wish. My book-advice….in fact all of my advice is free for the asking. I’m sorry if I interrupted your thoughts by offering it.” The gloves are noted but nothing is said regarding them. “Just don’t let the slow pace put you off. If you get past it, it’s really quite good.”

Samuel grins. “Oh, I do. I enjoy sharing a good book with someone almost as much as reading it in the first place.” He nods at the warning. “I should be fine. It can’t be as ponderous as some of the Philosophy texts I read back in grad school after all.” He looks at the shelves again and hmms. “And for the padre, what to recommend. “Ah, yes.” He pulls a mid-sized book from the shelf. “‘The Flanders Panel’ by Perez-Reverte.” He gives the Spanish last name a fairly accurate pronunciation for those who know the language to judge. “A mystery recommended by Samuel Kwon,” he adds by way of introduction.

“I am with you regarding the Philosophy texts,” Seems he read more than a few himself back in the day. The offered book is taken and looked through briefly, “Thank you. I haven’t read this one yet…or anything by this author. I am looking forward to it.” At the introduction he smiles and gives a nod, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kwon. Father Sullivan…” the other didn’t hold out a hand, so he doesn’t either. But he’s prepared to do so.

After handing the mystery to Sullivan, Samuel has a hand free to offer as a shake, he does so though it’s obviously out of sync with the introduction. “I image you get a few slow theology books too, eh?” he asks mostly rhetorically. “He’s a good author, writes a nicely layered mystery. Sort of an Umberto Eco light – which is good, since Eco is most definitely not for everyone.” He bobs his head. “And a pleasure to meet you as well, Father Sullivan. Though call me Samuel, please.”

Patrick takes the offered hand, “Most theology books are slow. It helps to have books that move quickly to break up the monotony.” He nods though as the book is described, “I think I understand. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it then. Thank you for the recommendation, Samuel.”

Samuel grins and nods. “Indeed. I ventured into the territory a little in some courses. This isn’t super fast, but it’s not slow either.” He sets the book Patrick recommended in the basket next to him. “You’re very welcome. If you want something lighter and faster paced, I’d recommend anything by Christopher Moore. He’s a bit irreverant, but it’s always seemed to me that Catholics tend to get less bent out of shape about that sort of then by far than most other Christian denominations.”

Patrick certainly does wear his religion on his sleeve…or rather, about his neck. “As long as I am not being forced to change my belifs, I am more than happy to read irreverent authors. If I didn’t, I’m afraid that I would be severly limited.” When he mentions the Catholics not getting bent out of shape, that gets a one-shouldered shrug, “I suppose we are fairly firm in our beliefs and the only one who can make us question it is ourselves. Although I am sure there are exceptions everywhere.”

Samuel shakes his head. “Nah. Moore is just a bit zaney, and that comes through in his take on religion. He’s not preachy at all.” He chuckles. “Indeed. Sometimes I have to wonder what some of these people who take exception with the minutae of some random book read.” He hmms as the man’s half-shrug explantion. “That for sure, and I think there is a lot of focus on scholarship in Catholicism. You’re taught to study and learn, not to knee-jerk at the first besmirchment of God or case for agnosticism that comes along.” He chuckles and says good naturedly, “Undoubtedly. Somewhere out there is a Southern Baptist with a PhD in Biology or Physics, I just know it.”

“I suppose it depends on how deeply you immerse yourself. Catholocism is one of the oldest incarnations of Christianity and as such, has an incredibly rich history, I’ve found. Most don’t go very deep into it unless you choose to make it a large part of your life.” As he has. The young priest gives a smile when the Southern Baptist is mentioned, “I’m sure there is. But I would think that he or she is not one of the ones crying ‘foul’ whenever something controversial comes across in their reading.”

Samuel slides a little further along the shelves, but is clearly listening to his impromptu companion’s response at least as much as looking at books. He nods. “Indeed it does. I was raised a Buddhist, and my studies were focused on the Far East, so I’m hardly an expert on any Western religion, but I think any scholar will eventually touch on some facet of the Church in their studies. I certainly did.” He grins and inclines his head. “Oh, absolutely. At least I should hope not! Such a person would almost necessarily have to be willing to consider intellectual challenges to their faith at the very least.” He seems to be enjoying the conversation a great deal. “How long have you been ordained? If that’s not too personal a question.”

“Buddhism is a lovely religion,” Patrick offers. “I remember studying it in Divinity school. And I’ve been ordained for two and a half years now…not very long I know. But my Church is the large Cathedral on Ashland…’Our Lady of Lourdes’.” It seems that he’s going to sort of skip over the ‘dissing’ of the Southern Baptist type. “I don’t mind you asking. It’s not like you’re asking something terribly personal.”

“I really appreciate it,” Samuel says. “Even if I don’t follow some of its tenant very closely these days, I think it gave me a very good grounding for living a good and decent life, which I suppose is one of the main purposes of religion at least anthropologically.” He hurms, then asks, “Or would that be Socialogicaly?” A shrug and he’s back to listening. “Ahh, yes. I know it. I go to the Secret Garden Cafe up there sometimes.” He grins and nods. “Fair enough. For my part, I’ve been a professional investigator for a little over a year now. What brought you to Chicago? Did the Church assign you here or was the move here your idea?”

“I’ve read that it’s as much about being a lifestyle as it is a religion,” Patrick offers in response. “Perhaps it’s a little bit of both? After all, people need something to believe in so that they can go about their life, no? Whether it’s God or Buddha or Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster.” The priest gives another smile before he nods at the mention of the cafe, “I know it well. I haven’t been there in a while, but in the warmer weather I often go there for lunch or tea. There are quite a few private investigators in Chicago…or perhaps I’ve just met them. You aren’t investigating -me-, are you?” It’s said with a smile but there is also a little bit of seriousness to that question. “I was assigned to the parish here. I am from Boston…by way of Ireland, of course.” If he couldn’t tell.

Samuel nods in obvious agreement. “Indeed, some phrase that as it being more a philosophy than a religion, but six of one, half dozen of the other really. Though there are variants up and down the spectrum from purely philosophical to fairly dogmatic.” He grins. “It’s pretty malleable. And yes, I obviously different people find what appeals to them at different points in that spectrum.” He laughs warmly at the Flying Spaghetti Monster reference. “Indeed. Didn’t even the Pope recently say that intelligent design was not science? Smart man – he knows not to conflate science with religion.” He winks at the question about him investigating Sullivan. “Nope. I am not.” And certainly nothing in his pulse or scent indicates he’s lying. He chuckles at the last part of the answer. “Indeed. Well, Boston should have prepared you for the Chicago winters if nothing else.”

“It’s easier that way, I’m sure.” Patrick glances around quickly, “Between you and I, I happen to think Darwin was correct.” It just makes too much sense, no matter how deep-seated you are in religion. “Of course, I’m not saying that God didn’t have a hand in evolution.” But, on to easier subjects to discuss. “Well, I am glad that you aren’t investigating me as there isn’t too much to investigate. You would probably be bored fairly quickly.” And the winters? “The colder weather doesn’t bother me so much. But the winters here are rather different than in Boston. Wetter.”

Samuel can’t help but smile as Sullivan glances around before making his confession. “I’ve heard that’s not an uncommon point of view even amongst the Catholic clergy – and your secret is safe with me.” He mmms as moves a bit further down the row of shelves. “Indeed – unless you are Biblical literalist the two are not incompatible. God designed physics and kicked off the universe, something like that.” He chuckles at the other man. “People like to tell me that, but there’s always /something/ interesting about them, even if they don’t realize it.” He nods at the mystery he handed the father. “But that’s about as close as I come to taking my job home, as the saying goes. I tend to go back to what I studied in school for my diversions.” He chuckles and smiles. “I suppose it wouldn’t.” He nods. “I’ve never lived in Boston, just here and DC for a little while when I was in middle school. But I’ve friends from there and they have plenty of winter weather stories.”

“I suppose ‘interesting’ is in the eye of the beholder,” Patrick offers. “We moved to Boston when I was about to finish High School and I went to college and did my graduate studies there. Last winter here in Chicago wasn’t all that bad, but I heard that Washington DC can be mild. I think it was cold more than it snowed here…in Boston we tended to get much more snow.”

Samuel chuckles. “True enough – they were interesting to hear, but there weren’t many I would have cared to experience first hand, at least not for very long.” He nods as he pulls a book and looks over the back cover. “Yeah, DC has some kind of MPD about it’s status as a ‘northern’ city. Half the people seem to think it should have weather like Atlanta and the other half are convince they are perpectually getting under-snowed. Truthfully I hardly remember our time there, beyond some gross details like that.” He grins and asks, “Anyhow. Which of Boston’s eight gazillion institutions of higher education did you attend?”

“I’ve never been there…I suppose I should, just for history’s sake. After all, I am a citizen now…” or something like that. He got his green card while in college. But, to answer the other’s question, “Harvard and then Harvard Divinity. I wanted to stay close to home for a bit longer.”

“If you like museums,” Samuel responds, “and I suspect you do, then you’ll love DC. You can spend days in them there.” He nods and grins. “I can appreciate that – I went to college and grad school both here in Chicago. At Roosevelt University. Then I taught for a while at U of C.” He looks over to the register and at the several books he’s collected. “I should get going. I’ve a couple more errands to run and then I need to get ready for dinner with my girlfriend.” He fishes in a couple pockets and eventually produces a business card which he then offers to Sullivan. “But! I have to say I very much enjoy talking with you. If you ever care to talk some more over tea or coffe at the Secret Garden, don’t hesitate to give me a call.” He leans close and stage whispers, “Or if you need someone investigated.” He straightens and grins at the Irishman.

Patrick nods, “I do like museums and thank you for the recommendation. I’ll remember them should I ever get down that way.” When the card is offered, Patrick takes it and looks at it for a moment before tucking it into a pocket, “Thank you for this. I would offer equal services in return, but…that’s a little trickier. I’m more than happy to meet and talk some over tea at the Secret Garden. As for investigations…I’ll let you know. Have a good afternoon, Samuel.”

Power Thai – Ravenswood: Ravenswood Park

Simplicity at its best can be found here within the restaurant. Walls are a tinted stucco, floors a rich red tile. Along one wall is hung a mirror, its base fitted with a wooden shelf in which candles are spaced along its length, lit to provide an intimate atmosphere in the evening hours. Decorations are at a minimum here, the few statues, plants or wall hangings elegantly displayed. Tables are set with linen cloths and napkins with wooden chairs pulled up to the edge.

Enjoying a Thai meal usually consists of beautifully decorated and delicious cuisine. All of these shared with family and friends. The employees here at Power Thai believe that all those who walk into their establishment are considered “family”. Their Chefs take pride in preparing each dish with the finest premium ingredients. Their promise is an oasis of flavor as they invite each patron to come and experience the delicious tastes of authentic Thai cuisine. Lemongrass, curries, and basil are some of the fresh ingredients to be found in their wide variety of dishes, their aroma to hang in the air here.

Contents:
Gronk
Rowen
Samuel
Elle

Rowen has a laptop sitting on the table that she’s currently cursing at in what can only be described as geek talk but she might be winning. It’s hard to tell. She’s in another of her strange outfits, this time it’s a thin dark red tank top with spaghetti straps and low cut, tightly fitted leather pants. Her hair is pulled up and out of her face and she’s frowning so much that the waitress has had to be apologized to at least twice.

Elle is wandering into the Thai, looking like she is ready to have some lunch. Once she finds a table and sits down with a menu, her attention is completely captured on the idea of food.

Gronk walks into the restaraunt with a duck under his arm, why he has a duck…..

Samuel more or less runs into the restaurant which, under less rainy circumstances is a nice walk from his house. Unfortunately he was caught in the deluge sans umbrella and is now quite drenched. Once inside he wipes the water from his face and hair as best he can. “Holy hell, what a downpour!”

At the sound of a familiar voice Rowen looks up and smiles.”I’ve got a coat if you want it but I think it’s a bit late to be using it.” Said coat is a duster which is hung over the back of her chair. When Rowen bothers to look around the rest of the place a few people will get some curious looks before she offers.”Come have a seat Samuel. Dry off, eat some food.”

Gronk comes in from the rain and shakes himself at the door, literaly and the water goes everywhere. He does indeed have a duck under his arm, and it doens’t look to pleased to be there, he has a clamp over it’s beak and is looking around a bit in fear. Gronk goes up to the hostess and asks: “You Heather?” He points to himself and says: “Gronk” Gronk call, if you Heather, you said you could make my duck orange, need orange duck for art, you help? Duck here.” He points to the duck under his arm.

Elle must have just missed the deluge, yeah right, she was driven right up to the door. When the wet Samuel comes in and practically shouts, she looks over in that direction. A smile goes to him, but that is paused when Gronk comes in with a..duck? She can only stare now. An orange duck?” There are sometimes when you just want to hide down and pull the menu up. Nothing to see here, move along.

Samuel laughs and nods at Rowen’s offer. “Yeah, unless you are offering it as a towel.” He starts to head deeper into the restaurant, spotting Elle, but then Gronk enters. With a duck. What little wiping off of water is more than undone by the ogre’s dog-like shaking off. “Ah! Stop that!” Samuel implores. He frowns at the ogre’s bizarre conversation with the hostess, then suddenly gets it and laughs. Absurdity is wonderful at times.

The coat was being lifted and offered as a possible towel.”Well you can…”Then she’s throwing it over the laptop.”Holy Christ!” Now she’s all wet but at least the laptop was saved! Score for the techogeek.”What the..” She turns, her Scottish accented voice is kind of loud then she hears what the very large man is saying and bursts into laughter.”Um..have ye tried food coloring man. It washes off real easy.” Rowen has a really nasty streak doesn’t she?

The woman, Heather just looks at the man for a second, ok, not man Ogre. “UHm sir? THe Orange Duck is a food…I mean it’s an entree, it isn’t something we do to ducks, well, ok, yes we do an orange…” Ok, having a 7′ Ogre holding a duck, during a rainstorm? Not something you see everyday, night and or afternoon. “Gronk just need orange duck, it is something to go on my work, you said you have orange duck, Gronk needs orange duck, you can’t help Gronk?” Gronk then blinks his eyes at the hostess, he must be learning, however it comes across more like something in a bad horror movie…or at least a sitcom.

Elle isn’t saying anything this time around. She finally lays the menu aside and smiles to the waitress as she comes around. The order is given and instead of continuing to watch the goings on of the Ogre and Duck duo, she instead looks out the window to the stormy weather.

As Samuel wipes off again he also heads over to general vicinity of Rowen and Elle. “Well, never a dull moment here in the Windy City, eh?” He looks at the lump of coat over laptop. “Good thinking. I’m going to run to the men’s room to try to dry my face off. In the meanwhile, Elle, Rowen. Rowen, Elle.” He grins and goes to try to dry off.

Gronk stops, looks outside and grins, hands the duck over to Heather. “Gronk be right back, Gronk need shower.” Gronk quickly heads out the door and begins stripping off his clothes, pulls an oversided bar of ‘Irish Spring’ out and begins to ‘shower’.

Rowen puts her stuff away while the large man is talking then looks up in time to see the duck passed of.”OhHolyJesus.” She blinks.”Please tell me he’s not going to take his clothing off.” When introduced she nods to Elle.”Heya.” Turning back she looks towards the door again.”Roll the Duck in like paprika or something..maybe that way it will be orange enough when he gets back.”

Elle is looking out the window at the storm and then the next thing she notices is a …naked ogre showering in the storm? She stares. How can you not stare. I mean..really. The waitress comes up and her food hits the floor as she sees what his happening. A screech and the poor woman is running for the phone. Elle is shocked out of her staring at the Ogre as her food hits the floor. “Aw..dammit..” she sighs.

Samuel misses the stripping, but, well, when he comes out of the men’s room it’s hard to miss Gronk outside lathering up. His jaw hangs open a moment before he can manage speech again. “Dear god. I should have just made my own lunch. Really. I so did not need to see that.” He blinks when he hears the screech and the clatter of flatware hitting the floor. “Oh, well, that sucks, Elle,” he sympathizes. Samuel remains standing for the moment, possibly unsure if it’s safe to stay or if he even has an appetite any longer.

Rowen is trying hard not to laugh but she finds this so amusing.”You know..” She says turning her head then she frowns.”Fuck..I just had a thought that I know means I am not eating right now. I wonder if the cops are going to show.” She shakes her head a bit then turns to Samuel.”I kind of feel violated. Suck.” She sighs at her coat.”And I think I am going to need to dry clean this.”

Elle makes a small smile, which is only managed because it is Samuel. Rising up, she pulls her cell as a call comes in “I need to talk to you at some point, Samuel,” though she looks out the door and then back to him, “At some other time when it is more convienent.” Answering the cell, she starts heading for the door and the lathery Ogre, which she hopes she can skirt around and get into the car first.

Gronk is outside, and he is now stripped naked, even down to his little feet, ok, not so little feet and he is scrubbing up a storm with the soap and singing/yelling at the top of his lungs a country and western song of all things: “Gronk loves a rainy night…rainy night, Gronk loves a rainy night!”

Elle leaves the restaurant.

Samuel manages a nod at Elle. “Sure. And yeah. Nothing about this day is convenient anymore.” He laughs and gives her a wave, then turns to Rowen. “Right, so… Oh god.” He’s turning quickly back from the window. “He bent over. I saw it. I’m never going to be able to eat here again.” He wonders if the singing will make his ears bleed to top it all off. He takes a seat at Rowen’s table facing very much AWAY from the window. “I hope Elle makes it to her car alright.” He nods at Rowen’s choice of the word ‘violated’. “Yeah, violated. That’s exactly it.”

Rowen sits down and lays her head against the table.”I saw crack!” She saw more then that but you know she doesn’t really want to say it, it might make the memory sear further into her mind.”I’d take a double murder right now. Just you know a huge flash of good ol’ human nastiness. That’s better right? Right?” She peeks up at Samuel then realises she can still see out of the window.”Shit.” Her head goes down.”I think the cops are here.” There is the sound of sirens and someone calmly trying to tell the Ogre outside that public nudity is not acceptable.

Samuel shudders as she reveals just how much she saw. “Oh. I am so sorry.” He glances at her coat. “Maybe we should put out coats over our heads. OR tack them up over the windows.” He laughs and bobs his head. “Yes, this is worse than almost all of the visions I’ve had.” His eyes widen at the mention of the cops. “Uh oh. But.. shit. How are they going to arrest him?” He peeks over his shoulder to watch the scene outside unfolding. “Good luck,” he says to the poor officers.

Rowen shrugs while not looking up.”I think they are going to need bigger handcuffs, and ones to fit his wrists too.”Oh but she’s traumatized, seriously. Someone paying for her therapy. She considers the ideas then says.”If I sit up I can seee him.” She sounds like she’s whining.”I think I will just stare at my knees. I like my knees.”

Samuel nods, looking over his shoulder again. “Much bigger – and I bet he could break them easily anyhow.” He pats the seat next to him. “Move to this side, who cares if it unbalances the table. This day is so off-kilter it hardly mat-” He stiffens and defocuses. After a second he mutters, “Oh. Oh. You /are/ traumatized.” And he feels it too, lovely being empathic /and/ clairvoyant now, isn’t it? He comes the rest of the way back. “Jeezus, now I’m thinking about mine naked too! And I don’t even like the guy!” He may be turning green.

Rowen starts to move to the other side, her head down and she’s scooting from one chair to the other. When Samuel starts to mutter she falls out of the chair and hits the floor laughing.”I’m sorry! I can’t help it that my dad is eight foot and has horns!” She snickers, does a little gag reflex thing before laughing again as she tries to crawl into a chair next to Samuel.”Please..please do not share a naked image of your dad. Mine was so not on purpose..Revenge is not that worth it is it?” A war between psychics this could get nasty.

Samuel bursts out laughing as his companion hits the floor. “I know!” he says between laughs and gasps for breath. Could this whole thing get any more absurd? He leans over to offer her a hand (gloved still, let’s not tempt fate here), “Here, let me help. I promise I am doing my best to vanish that image! It helps that I haven’t seen then man in years at least.” He huffs out another laugh and then pulls Rowen into the chair next to him.

Rowen is helped into the chair and she nods, shuddering some.”I can’t take anymore retina damage it might be permanent. Oh God..” She rubs her forehead as she laughs then grins at Samuel.”My third eye is going blind!” She snorts.”Wait..maybe that would be a good thing.” She says.”I want to know if the cops arrested him but I am afraid to look out the window.”

Samuel laughs at her in-joke. “I could do with that and real blindness right now.” He takes a breath and checks outside again. “Well, I think they have him loaded into the paddy wagon. Duck and all.” He looks over at Rowen. “I think we should make a run for it before he breaks out of it and comes back with a steer and asking to have it taught Mongolian.” He stands. “Plus, I want some dry clothes.” And with that he heads out, hopefully with Rowen safely in tow.

The Basement: Club – Grand Street: East

Immediately to the right of the black metal stairwell, several couches of many rich colors and leathers are arranged in a secluded manner, the circle of these sharing their organic pattern with the curvy bar that lies further to the right. With built-in containers that resemble huge lava lamps and matching wall decorations, the bar snakes about the far wall. A few tables are spaced around this area along with the couches and separated from the large dance floor by a waist-high black railing; bartenders serve these two sections with almost any drink imaginable. A raised stage takes up the opposite corner, hosting wet t-shirt contests, amateur performers, live bands or DJ in their absence, and many other shows of entertainment.

Bouncers patrol with an immensely tolerable eye, and the attitude of its patrons matches the plush crimson walls, dark polished furniture, stone tiled floors, and mixture of flashing and black lights.

<< ‘places’ available – +help places for help >>

Obvious exits:
<UP> Upstairs

Tonight The Basement club is hopping, there are a lot of people here tonight. The music is loud and blaring, the black lights and strobe lights are a flashing. The crowd on the dance floor writhes almost in time, dancing and grooving and having as much fun as humanly possible it seems. Some people are wandering about the club as if looking for something in particular. One woman is sitting on the stares, staring wide eyed at the bottom of them. She has goose bumps fled all over her flesh, and even though she can be heard over the music she seems to be talking to someone.

Samuel blinks as he enters the club. He is not here for the writhing or the music. Writhing, of course, presents certain problems for him, and there are better venues for music. No, for those who know much about the Asian man at all, he’s almost certainly here on a case. He moves to skirt the woman occupying the lower stair or two, and then pauses as he starts to get a sense of her emotional state. He focuses on her for a moment, head tilted curiously.

Hunting. That’s most likely what Mirage is here for. Food. As such, she’s heading down the stairs, not to far behind Samuel, and gets caught up in the small traffic jam, frowning just a bit, “Something wrong?” comes the quiet question from the Russian.

Jeremy has come to the club for a bit of a night out. His favorite vamps are busy and he was bored out of his mind. As he comes down the steps he makes a face and calls forward to the people holding up the line. “Hey Sam, stop flirtin’ with all the ladies and let people in.”

Mary Jane does seem to follow the line of people, actually having a night off to clear her mind of the ER and the events of the past few days. Heavy on her mind that she doesn’t really even see the line of people trying to get in and oofs softly against Jeremy. She blinks and ohs softly. Yeah the doctor is tired but this is a break she needs. “Ah … what’s going on?”

Samuel seems to be, coupled with the distraught woman, causing a traffic jam. He looks over his shoulder at Mirage and then Jeremy. “Sorry,” he says and then finishes descending the stairs, but turns to look at the woman. “Heh, looks like we’re backing up traffic, plus I can’t imagine that stair is even remotely clean.” He smiles offers her a gloved hand – a hand up with no real touching. “Want to come over here so you don’t get stepped on or something?”

The girl at the bottom of the stares shivers a bit more, she wraps her arms around herself and nods softly. She sucks in a breath and closes her eyes quickly. For those close enough the area around her grows even colder. Her breath coming out in puffs of air. Her eyes open and they are a darker color now. The girl has long black hair, pale skin, and freckles across her nose. She appears average height. She seems to have a strange power. It prickles around her like a pins and needles sensation. Leaking out and trying to find… something. Her voice is odd, far away and almost echo, “I… Who are you?”

Emerald eyes flash faintly in the dark stairwell, “Samuel?” Mirage asks, moving down the stairs, stepping far around the girl. Cold doesn’t truly affect someone like her, but the prickling of power is something she feels.

Jeremy gets down the stairs and looks at Samuel and the person. “Ummmm…What’s up?” If he was at any other time, fur would be standing on edge. Making sure he’s out of the way for the most part, he glances at Sam. “Need some help?”

Naturally to this doctor the cold is quickly felt, hey she has a hot body temp wise that is. Mary Jane does move her head a bit to see what’s going on and sees Sam and Mirage. She nods her head politely to both of them as she slowly starts to move down as others are filtering in. She looks to Jeremy and adds in as well. “Everything okay?” Though her hands slide up to her arms to start rubbing them to warm herself up.

Samuel looks up at Mirage, but has no real answers yet, so gives her a small shrug and says, “Not sure yet.” He inhales sharply as he reaches for the girl. He pauses in his motion, and instead lowers himself into a crouch, putting his eyes on level with hers. “My name’s Samuel.” He smiles wanly and says, “Not to sound cliche, but did you, ah, see a ghost?” His smile takes an ironic twist. He glances up at Jeremy and Mary Jane. “Just trying to get her off the stairs first.”

“Be careful,” Mirage murmurs, moving slightly to settle in at Samuel’s side. Apparently, the vampire’s going to play guard dog, to make sure that the little Asian’s alright.

“Do you…” That strange, almost watery, voice asks. “Do you know my Nelson?” The woman on the stairs rocks back and forth, and then suddenly stands and takes a few steps down the stairs. Tears start to roll down her eyes as if she has remembered something painful.

Jeremy frowns a bit. “Ummmm I guess that someone might have lost someone else. Not really my personal bit of expertise and stuff.” He smiles at Sam and then Mary Jane. “Nice ta meet ya here.”

Mary Jane’s head nods gently to Sam’s words as she slowly moves to drop her backpack just a bit past the stairs. Of course she goes into doctor mode, standing by the stairs close to the situation to make sure she can assist quickly if she needs to. Her backpack close by where she has a kit ready. She looks to Jeremy. “Ah, always a pleasure to see you.”

Samuel nods at Mirage. “As careful as I ever am.” At the woman’s question he just stares for a moment, then mutters, “Oh shit.” He bites the inside of his cheek then sighs. “I know him in passing. He’s a friend of a friend you might say.” He shifts to better balance himself in his crouch. “I don’t recall your name though, could you remind me.” He waits for an answer, then looks at the people hovering nearby, and says softly, for their preter-only ears. “Don’t touch her. I’ll explain later.”

Mirage hadn’t planned on touching anyone. Nope. A brow raises very faintly though, and the Russian glances around, “Do you need the crowd gone?”

The woman tilts her head toward Samuel, considering him quietly. The woman stops at the bottom of the stairs, and stares up toward the man. “You know my Nelson?” She bites her lower lip a little and then closes her eyes once more. A soft sigh escapes her lips, and she comments gently, “My Nelson… doesn’t love me.” She frowns. “Willow.”

Mary Jane blinks a moment and thinks to herself, glad she brought her leather gloves. Of course she gets them out and puts them on, but hey doesn’t every doctor have some? Nice thick leather gloves with the fur inside, they are sooo toasty! She looks to Samuel for a moment with a brow arched as she watches the woman. Keep quiet and observe they teach you in medical school and for once she’s actually doing it.

Jeremy blinks at the advice and definitely tries to make sure his hands are close to his sides. He’s confused and that just calls lots of attention to the stranger willow. He uses all his senses to try and figure things out.

Samuel shakes his head at Mirage’s question. “Let’s not create a commotion. I’m not even sure if it would be bad to touch her.” He hesitates, then nods. “Sort of, like I said.” He frowns as she reports on the status of Nelson’s affections. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter to talk about it?” He looks around her and asks, “Do you have a purse we should make sure you don’t forget?” He looks to the others. “Can someone make a call for me?” He fumbles at his satchel, apparently going for his phone.

“I can…” Mirage responds, even though it’s clear the vampire isn’t a big fan of phones. She holds out one pale hand, careful to move slowly, not wishing to startle the girl.

Mary Jane watches softly as she moves to lean against the side of the stairs. Sensing powers watching the woman, she even keeps her hands to her side. Her eyes watch the women looking for any health problems or concerns that would jump out at the doctor right away.

Jeremy GASPS and shakes, eyes staring at Willow. His silver eyes look a bit more unnatural. He stifles an anguished note in his throat and grips a nearby chair with one hand for support. It creaks and groans with the strain put on it. “S-s-sam… can…Umm… can….you get her ta stop… please?” The last word is rather plaintive as he bores those predator eyes onto Sam.

Willow lifts a hand to brush away one of those tears. Her gaze shifts from Samuel to Mirage, then to Jeremy. She crosses her arms over her chest and sobs, “I’m sorry! I can’t live without him! I can’t.” She hugs herself title and starts to back away from the group.

Samuel hands his phone to Mirage. “Try Sophie and then Gema if you can’t get Sophie.” He scratches his head. “Unh, and if you can’t get either of them, Wyeth. They’re all in the contacts.” He looks back at Willow and blinks several times at the same time Jeremy gasps. He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He takes a breath. “Willow,” he says, voice strained, “I know it feels awful now, but we have to go upstairs. Please.” When she starts backing up the stairs he looks at Mary Jane, “Keep a path clear if you can?”

Mirage nods, turning her attention to the phone. The vampire’s brows furrow as she begins to push what seem like random buttons before she gets the first name, calling.

Mary Jane’s eyes blink a moment, okay cue words to something she protects against. She nods her head gently and goes behind the woman and clears the stairs quickly, MJ has that talent give a doctor a taste and they can do anything.

Into her phone, Mirage’s voice is quiet, heavily accented, Eastern European flavored, “Is this Sophie? I am calling on behalf of Samuel…he is needing your assistance in a delicate matter.”

Into her phone, Mirage says, “The Basement.”

Samuel hears Mirage get Sophie. “Tell her it’s about the, ah, girl we met in the basement of the Basement. She’s a bit more solid than before.”

“No!” The woman responds, shaking her head. Her voice loud and carrying a chill with it. Power much like that of an animator’s trickles through the room. Willow continues backing up, “You don’t know! You don’t know anything.”

Into her phone, Mirage says, “It is about the girl from the basement of The Basement…and she’s solid…”

Mirage relays the message, then glances over, “She said she can be here in ten minutes…..”

Into her phone, Mirage says, “Very well.”

Jeremy frowns and swallows. “Please ummm calm down Miss. Please. It’s not going to be good if ya don’t calm down.” Cause he’s not going to be able to calm down himself if she doesn’t stop. He shivers a bit and puts a hand up to try and catch her attention. “Hey look stuff is bad. Everyone has ta deal with bad stuff. But ya need ta chill…please? We’ll all be willing ta talk ta ya and hear ya out. But ya have ta calm down.”

Mirage hangs up, glancing over once more, “She’s on the way now.” She states, since the information is rather pertinent.

Mary Jane’s body stiffs up as she remembers what Sam told her one time. What a hell of a time to freeze up and try not to freak out. She takes a deep breath and tries to swallow; she looks to Sam and really wonders what she’s going to do now.

Samuel stops worrying about anyone else and works on projecting calm toward the woman. “It’s okay, Willow. I know I don’t understand. I /don’t/ know how much it hurts. I want to go somewhere were you can explain it to me.” He watches her, expression sad, sympathetic, nodding at Mirage’s words. He glances at Mary Jane, more to make sure she’s keeping the path clear than because he has any advice or assurance for her, then at Jeremy, “Help me calm her?”

Mirage hands Samuel back his phone, “Is there anything more that I can do?” She asks, it unclear if she’s offering mundane help, or her own brand of super-help.

Willow shakes her head at the man. Her voice is still pitched with sorrow, but there is something else coming through. The quality getting further away as if her control were slipping, “No. No. He doesn’t love me.”

Mary Jane keeps the stairs and the hallway clear. She does her best to make sure she doesn’t get close to Willow but she keeps an eye on her. She does her best to keep her emotions now in check and become almost non emotional.

Jeremy is taking some rather deep breaths as he tries to not to shift. Now as long as willow stops projecting or at least doesn’t get upset he’ll be fine right? He really REALLY doesn’t want to have to explain to anyone why a snow leopard was at a club.

Sophie drove like a mad woman. She has no clue HOW she didn’t get pulled over, but perhaps the fates are being kind for once. Fortunately, just giving her name at the door got her escorted down here fairly quickly, and the necromancer makes as quick a step down the stairs as her very pregnant form will allow. Stepping into the room, especially for those who don’t know her, is a woman who looks about night and day from a mistress of death as possible. She’s in a pale blue maternity top with a gathered empire waist and a pair of white capri pants that show off at least her legs still being lithe and toned. She gives a worried smile, “What’s going on?” She asks breathlessly.

Mirage’s eyes shift between Samuel and Jeremy and MJ, “Samuel…perhaps we should treat this small problem a bit more aggressively before someone gets hurt.” She murmurs, pitching her words carefully.

“Shit, I’m not sure what to do,” Samuel admits as he takes the phone back. “I’m just hoping Sophie does. Or knows someone who does.” He turns back to the anguished Willow. “I know. I know it’s not fair. It seems unbearable. It will get easier though. I promise. Try to calm down, please.” He looks to the others, then looks back at Jeremy. “Mirage, get Jeremy out of here.” He looks at Sophie with relief. Someone who knows /something/ about the dead. “I think that ghost is possessing her.” He nods at the dark-haired woman above him on the stairs.

Willow wraps her arms around herself and sinks to the crowd. – At this time now they are starting to draw a crowd. People have formed a ring around “Willow”. A few people call out to ask if she needs help, and what’s wrong. Willow Wails loudly. Power like that of an animator or a necromancer, mixed with pins and needles sensation starts to emit from the small dark haired woman sobbing hysterically on the ground.

Mary Jane looks up to Jeremy and then groans out deeply. She turns and sees Sophie come in. She smiles happily for a moment. “The lady is all yours.” She says before using that great skill at moving around problems easily. She looks to Jeremy letting her wolf come out and reach the leopard. “Easy there honey, stop back and go to the bar. Come on…” She says as she now starts to get to Jeremy. She winces herself at the pins and needles. “Damn!” She says trying to get to Jeremy. God, have to hate the cold when you’re hot.

Mirage’s eyes flicker over towards Jeremy at Samuel’s words, then the vampire moves quickly, a hand reaching out to touch Jeremy’s arm, “Come…we shall depart here, and let them handle the poor girl.” Her words are quiet, silky, but without any push of power.

Jeremy stumbles back and tries to get out of the way of people. He goes to his knees as she wails and lets lose another barrage of energy. He makes it a point to hate empaths, empathic beings, and anything that isn’t down to earth like a nice normal shifter. Though right now he’s wishing that shifting wasn’t so damn painful. And that someone is grabbing him just makes him turn his face and HISS at the vamp.

Sophie gives a double take look in Jeremy’s direction and though, well, she doesn’t know exactly what he is… her instincts and sense of power are enough that she walks past fast and attempts to escape further into the room. Her eyes widen as she looks upon Willow, frown crossing her lips. She doesn’t hesitate to go to work and immediately reaches out, trying to do her very best with her power to do… Something. But what? Well… people will see, if it works. Though, people might guess from Sophie’s words…”Get out of her now! That is NOT your body! I will free your body if you let me!” She promises…

Mary Jane moves to help Mirage with Jeremy.

Samuel grimaces at the attention they’re garnering. And Jeremy’s near to shifting. Once Mirage heads for Jeremy he moves closer to Willow. “Willow, lets get out of here. It’s no place for you to have to deal with your pain.” He stops his advance at Sophie’s words. His power unfurls and he looks from Sophie to Jeremy, Mary Jane and Mirage, and then to the crowd. For now he seems to be on hold, waiting to see what he might need to do.

Someone in the crowd lets out a scream, when they spot Jeremy shifting. Other people rush back away from the group.

Mirage sighs faintly, “May Master forgive me.” She murmurs, then grabs Jeremy’s chin, holding it tight as she looks into his eyes, eyes flashing as she finally puts power into her voice, “Stop and follow me.” God please don’t let her have to fix a room full of people’s memories. No good!

Willow shakes her head at Samuel. She steps back and away from him. Her eyes flares, she shakes her head a bit more, “No! Leave me alone. You can’t understand my pain. You don’t know what it’s like to not be loved.” She turns and tries to run away, off into the already panicking crowd.

Jeremy feels the vampire’s power and the cat hesitates a moment before roaring past the attempt at rolling him. This would be one of those situations that Jeremy’s growing power is NOT a good thing. Luckily Jeremy had been fighting his shift and has some sense. Unfortunately for him, that doesn’t matter when one wears nice clothing. The Snow leopard growls angrily as he comes to the conclusion that his clothing was too new to shred decently. And nothing is more annoying then having one’s tail bunched uncomfortably in a good pair of jeans.

When Willow makes a run for it, Samuel moves quickly after her. For those who can sense it, his power unfurls and moves over her and she slows. He moves to put his arm around her and help her out of the club. Jeremy’s shifting is ignored for the moment. Hopefully between then, Mirage and Mary Jane can get him out of the club at least. To Sophie he says, “Stay close. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He heads for the door, the power-wrapped ‘Willow’ tucked against him.

Unsuccessful in her attempts, Mirage sighs faintly, almost sadly. She flicks her fingers, causing the shadows to darken around herself and Jeremy, an attempt to keep things hidden, or mostly hidden, from the crowds, “This, comrade, is going to hurt.” She murmurs, starting to try and man-handle the shifting leopard out of the club. The vampire is doing it heedless of any possible swipes at her, perhaps wishing to avoid drastic measures of beating the snot out of him. Master wouldn’t forgive her for that.

Sophie swears, clearly completely useless…she just isn’t certain what to do. She nods to Samuel mutely and steps after as fast as she can… She’ll keep trying, forcing her power ahead of them, but who knows if she can even get through Samuel’s psychic barrier now..

Willow turns around, as if propelled, and heads up the stairs, tucked up against Samuel.

Willow leaves the main floor by means of the stairwell.

Jeremy finds himself bound in designer clothing hefted around by the vampire. this is NOT what he had in mind when he went out. Oh this is NOT his day. Jeremy is very very hungry now. But he’s shifted enough times to not be out of control. But perhaps the vampire needs to be reminded of just how hungry he is going to be now that he’s hungry. The cat starts licking Mirage wherever he can find skin available with his sandpaper tongue.

The Basement: Foyer – Grand Street: East

Stepping in from the streets highlighted by advertisements of neon, the immediate indoors of this establishment suggest an area of widely varied tastes. The ground floor is a large split level square with plenty of subtle tones and recessed lighting, mostly covered windows, floored in hard woods, and the visible bar room carries this trend onward. A wrought iron railing encloses the front left corner, open to the much more vibrant lower dance-club portion, and the bouncer here beckons you choose your preference.

* Poses in the Bar/Pub and Lobby can be mutually seen *

Out: Features: Apartments:
<O> Out <C> Club <EL> Elevator
<B> Bar
Samuel ‘checks’ Willow empathically once they’re in the foyer. He looks to Sophie and grins though the effort he’s putting forth. “You’re so glad you met me, aren’t you?” He keeps heading for the outside, then asks Sophie. “Unh, do you think if we get her far enough away the ghost will leave in order to stay close to its anchor?” He sounds hopeful, but not exactly convinced. “Oh, check her pockets once we get her outside? Maybe she has an ID on her.” He looks back to see if Mary Jane and Mirage are managing to get Jeremy out.

Mirage’s managing. It’s rather amusing. The corset wearing, pale Russian is carrying a leopard dressed in designer clothes. Amusing. But, Mirage is moving quickly, allowing herself to move with all the speed of her kind.

Jeremy trills with his weird snow leopard sounds as he’s carried off. He gives a grumble and wiggle before sighing again that he can’t get out of the clothing.

Sophie isn’t saying much, as she’s just focusing her power as strong as humanly possible upon the ghost to get it out. She does pantingly breathe out…”Ghost… can stay… as long as people pay attention…” But then she focuses again. She swears she felt it move, but she doesn’t know. She curses beneath her breath, eyes widening a bit as she continues with the metaphysical force.

For Gabe, there’s a pale woman moving off at rather quick speeds, carrying a…leopard in clothes? Odd. And, Sophie and Sam and Willow are doing stuff. But, who knows what!

Willow goes still for a moment, being propelled solely by Samuel for a moment, her feet not working. She lets out a muffled sound through her closed slips that sounds a little bit like a muffled shriek. She closes her eyes, and lets out a small whimper.

Jeremy is a snow leopard! And can’t help it if Koray got him addicted to nicer clothing with better seams.

Willow is also still emitting goose-bump inducing power.

DIG! The elevator doors open up and out comes a gangsta extreme; better known as Gabe. The black woman glances at the scene and frowns a little. “The fuck?” She stalks toward them slowly, eyeing the area. “Someone wanna clue me in on what’s going on here? Why is there a… snow leopard in clothing?” A glance is shot to Jeremy and then to Mirage. “Ms. Tarkhan?” Her tone is a little snide to the pale vampire, “Perhaps you would like to tell me what is going on?” A glance is tossed to the woman who is being propelled by… uh something. Her eyebrows raise a little more and she stalks a little closer. Only to back up as goose bump inducing power, “The fuck?”

Mirage doesn’t really stay to chat, instead, the vampire hurries off with her kitty prize. Or… something. She’ll let the uh…normal people handle things. She’s handling her end of things.

Samuel grunts and nods at Sophie. “Pocket? Let’s see whose body this is and try talking to it instead of Willow?” He pauses in his motion to the door to let Sophie check for ID. “We need to get her to stop paying attention to Willow as well, right?” He hears the elevator opening and the questions and curses behind him and then starts heading out once me.

Sophie follows after them both, reaching over and trying to find a wallet, but the sheer expenditure of power is exhausting her. She stumbles a moment, catching herself on Samuel’s arm…”…I… need to stop…fuck… She’s not budging… I’m better with dead bodies than I am just ghosts… dead bodies don’t fight back against my power…”

Gabe grunts a little at Samuel. She continues to stalk forward and says, “Hey! What are you doing?” Her gaze shifts toward Sophie and her eyebrows a little. She stalks forward real quick, and grabs her arm, to help study her. Maybe it’s because a pregnant woman. She asks in a calm even tone, “What exactly are you doing?”

Willow is quiet once still. The power flows out a bit, as if rejecting the invasion of Sophie’s power trying to push her out of the poor woman she is in. Her eyes close, and silent tears run down her face.

Samuel stumbles a bit as Sophie grabs his arm. Luckily he’s got Willow to support him, though it’s more like him supporting himself in an indirect sort of way. He considers how to answer Gabe’s question – the truth being a bit out there. His mouth opens and closes once, then opens again as he finally figures out what to say – and does so quietly. “Ah, the truth? She’s possessed and we’re getting her out of here so she,” he nods at Sophie, “can try to evict the ghost.” He smiles wanly. “Fun, eh? See if you can find an ID on her if you want to help.” He looks to Willow again finally, but speaks to the body’s owner. “It’s okay. We’re going to get her out. But you have to help us. Stop paying her any attention, it’s only making her stronger.”

Sophie is indeed quite pregnant. Especially on her short form, seven months is looking to be a rather nicely large belly. A trickle of sweat crosses her brow, this having been the most use of her power she’s gotten in ages. “I’m… doing my best to use my…command of the dead… to push this ghost out of the woman’s body. She’s possessed. See… this is why they needed to let us raise up and bury that girl in consecrate ground!” Sophie reiterates Samuel’s words, but she does try to take some of her weight off of him as she shuts her eyes and tries another wash of power in the ghost’s direction.

“Eh…” Gabe lifts a hand to scratch the back of her neck, even as she continues to try and help steady Sophie. A small shake of her head is given. She murmurs softly, “I, uh… I’ll try to help, I guess? Though does your power mix well with mine?” Gabe’s power reaches out and tries to help Sophie’s along. But it won’t be very helpful, maybe it is just too different.

Willow shakes, and shivers, the pins and needles sensation bursting over those closest to her. And then suddenly it’s almost as if her image were splitting in two. She is pushed out. The woman doesn’t actually “blur” but there is an overlay of someone else, someone taller. And then standing not far from Samuel is the ghost. She sobs softly, into her hands.

The woman, sags, but remains standing because of Samuel’s power. Her crying stops however.

Samuel gasps as Sophie’s power pushes again. His skin pimples and he shivers. “Ah!” he says, trying to stifle it. “Fucking finally,” he says with relief when he feels and sees the ghost go. That glance is all he gives it before he turns to the woman in his arms. He releases her jaw first, then shifts his power to support her, since he’s not sure he can do so on his own at the moment. “Heh, it’s okay. You’re free. Safe.” He touches a gloved hand to her chin and tilts her head up to look at her face. Is she conscious even?

Sophie lets Samuel deal with the fallen woman as Sophie turns her body and faces the ghost head on. She breathes out to Gabe, unsure if the woman’s power helped or not…”Thanks…” But her strong blue eyes do not stray from the ghost before her. “…Leave us. Go to your resting place and I will find you a final place to be at peace soon, I promise.” And with that, she turns away. No more attention paid to the ghost at all. She looks down to Samuel and the girl, “How is she?”

Gabe reaches down into the girl’s pocket, while leaning her support to Sophie still. She fishes in for a moment and pulls out a wallet, flipping it one. She comments, “I.D. says Wendi Klein. Wendi are you alright?” She paces the wallet to Sophie.

Wendi looks up at Samuel, breathing out slowly. She whispers softly, “She’s so sad…” Her fingers lift to touch her own jaw, and the lifting to wipe away some of the remaining tears. “The girl,” Wendi murmurs softly, “She killed herself for him.” A glance is given to Gabe, “I’m… I’m alright… They, they don’t usually enter me like this.”

“She’s alive,” Samuel answers Sophie without looking up from the Wendi’s face. “Ah, and awake.” He nods at Gabe when she gives the woman’s name. “I know she is. I ‘read’ her.” He sighs and then says. “Can you stand? I’m going to let go with my power.” He looks to Gabe. “I can’t keep supporting her.” So whether the woman says she can stand or Gabe offers some support, Samuel will release his hold on her with his power. “What were you trying to do when she entered you?” he asks and rubs his temples.

Sophie wavers, just a little bit. She manages to catch herself on the outside wall, but she has most definitely overtaxed herself. “I… I think I need to get going. We’ll get that body moved soon, Sam. We have to. I just… I can’t stay here.” She really doesn’t anyone to see her off her game, and she’s certainly not feeling all that well. “Hope I helped. You all be safe.” With that, she heads down for her car.

[Note: Sophie was pressed for time, so poses got a rushed and weaker near the end of the scene.]

The Basement: Club – Grand Street: East

Descend the stairway into a cacophony of multicolored lights and rhythmic music, a world of pure entertainment in its many forms. Almost anything goes as people flood the bar in search of drink, dance the night away, relax in a seat for loud conversation amongst peers and strangers alike, or perhaps even attempt to seduce a possible lover.
Immediately to the right of the black metal stairwell, several couches of many rich colors and leathers are arranged in a secluded manner, the circle of these sharing their organic pattern with the curvy bar that lies further to the right. With built-in containers that resemble huge lava lamps and matching wall decorations, the bar snakes about the far wall. A few tables are spaced around this area along with the couches and separated from the large dance floor by a waist-high black railing; bartenders serve these two sections with almost any drink imaginable. A raised stage takes up the opposite corner, hosting wet t-shirt contests, amateur performers, live bands or DJ in their absence, and many other shows of entertainment.
Bouncers patrol with an immensely tolerable eye, and the attitude of its patrons matches the plush crimson walls, dark polished furniture, stone tiled floors, and mixture of flashing and black lights.

Contents:
Sophie
Gema
Chill

Samuel met Gema in the foyer and then led her down to the club area of The Basement, which is, in fact, in the basement. Go figure. “Yeah, so I got some emotion off the cold spot and figured I’d wade into it and see what I got. Frankly, I think there’s a woman’s body set in the cement of the floor, but I’ve not got enough to go to the cops with. I’m hoping Sophie, the necromancer I mentioned can help us.”

Well, here she is. Truthfully, she was elated to get the call. Not that she’s happy some girl is dead, but her body has been itching to raise so badly that she knows if she doesn’t get it out soon there will be accidents. Better to do this than to let that happen… so, here she is. She’s in her working clothes, a big old sweater and jean shorts, a duffel bag over her shoulder. Silently, she steps into the room, her eyes a touch wary and worried.

“Sophie,” At the name Gema lights up, “I like Sophie, she’s going to have a baby you know.” She breaths in deeply and turns around as she hears the scuff of shoes on the floor. “Hey there, how are you doing.” Heading over to Sophie, Gema offers to take her bag for her. “What do you need?”

Samuel nods in response to Gema’s question. “Indeed I do.” Seems to be going around in fact, pregnancy that is. He looks at Gema curiously, but doesn’t pry, not here at least. “Heya, Sophie,” he says as she joins them.” He nods at Gema’s offer to help. “A gather the cold spot moves around, so we’ll likely need to help her locate it, no?”

Sophie smiles as she sees Gema, a hint surprised as her bag is taken but not entirely minding..”Thanks… and yes… I… Well, with ghosts… the more attention you give them the easier it is for them to be solid. Do we have a name? Do we know what she looks like?” Sophie then passes into the room, reaching out… searching for where she can feel that grave and walking towards it..

Gema slings the bag over one shoulder, “I will start over here” she comments figuring out that Samuel has the information that can help Sophie. With an eye on the other woman, she decides that cool is what she is seeking so she starts in one corner and begins to walk down the wall, then back up taking it in short steps her palms pressed down towards the floor.

Samuel shakes his head. “No name, but I can tell you what she looks like.” He goes on to describe the young woman in a fair bit of detail. “I Read the spot, so I got a good look at her even before she manifested.” He unslings his satchel and sets it on a chair. “Okay, I’ll take the other side. Sophie can walk the middle.” It’s late, after hours, but the staff was kind enough to let them stay to further investigate the chill which is creeping the dancers out.

Sophie nods quietly, though she stands over where the grave actually rests for a few more heartbeats… for others it is just dead cement, but to her… the true death beneath it lights up like a halo. She breathes in deeply… and begins a slow walk across the room, saying little else, just focusing her mind upon the girl and the ghost..

Gema has addressed the job with a military mind set walking back and forth, each movement across the floor in a long grid pattern. The bags on her back bouncing slightly, though she glances over at Sophie with a grin.

As Samuel draws near to the spot where the air takes on a goose pimple raising chill, the sensation of heart wrenching misery seeps into the very air. Then it fades only to return in a spine tingling chill that touches his hands, and then skitters away…seeking something….

Samuel’s power flows out, probing for power or emotion. He ignores Gema and Sophie or course, a small trick he can manage with his empathy. He stops as he feels the cold and his skin pimples. “Ahhh, here it is.” He takes a step back from it, rubbing his hands suddenly. “It’s, ah, shy. Or playful. No idea how to tell.” He makes a face.

Sophie’s eyes go wide as she hears those words and she turns towards the area. A faint smile flickers over her lips, half worried…half curious. She takes a few steps in that direction…”Hullo?”

It has skittered away to something, or someone that calls to it. And thin faint fingers creep out of the floor a pale image of long fingers touching at Sophie’s legs…trying to pull itself up…or her down? The misery in the air now has a sound, a faint wail of wretched melancholy that quivers….

Gema turns and heads towards Samuel when he comments on the finding the spot. She draws up as she sees the fingers slip upwards. Her eyes going worriedly to Sophie and she slings both bags into her hands.

“Your show, Sophie,” Samuel says quietly as he tracks the ghost as best he can with his metaphysical senses. “Just let me know if you need anything.” He too eyes the grabby hands warily, but other than staying nearby he’s not got much to do at the moment.

Sophie hears that sound and, though it might seem she is being pulled down, she seems to handle herself fine. She leans over and tries to ‘take’ one of the hands, encouraging the girl to slip upwards…”…Come here, with us… we can’t come down there…”

The hands slip back into the concrete never really touching Sophie other than to cast their ghostly image upon her feet. Rejection causes the wailing to echo in the room…”love me not” The three words seem to quiver in the room, each of them filled with such sorrow.

Gema looks ready to bash the hands if they had actually hurt Sophie, then she scowls. She needs better weapons for this type of battle. She is trying to track the creature in the concrete determined to help her…or bash her.

Sophie sighs, a touch in disappointment… shaking her head…”She could manifest now if she wanted… We have given her attention, given her power.. it’s now her choice..” She tells them both, a touch of disappointment in her voice.

Samuel makes a small sound of disappointment. “She was saying that before. I assume about her boyfriend, but now about everyone. Or something.” He nods at Sophie’s explanation.

The wailing continues, and then in a distant corner a figure appears, slim with hair that seems to billow about…and then it turns holding out hands, and slips down into the concrete. “Nelson”

The appearance of the figure has Gema turning around to look at her, she even takes a few steps forward to pull her up.

Samuel gives the ghostly woman his attention, helping to lend her the transcendental energy to manifest further.

Sophie steps quickly over, but the girl is already going into the concrete. Sophie sighs…”Truthfully… I work with the bodies. if we can get permission to raise her… I.. might be able to help a bit more. Get her lain in consecrated ground so she can move on, you know?”

‘Doesn’t” The word comes from one side of the room. “Love” The ghostly echo comes from the other corner…”Meeee” The last word sends a chill racing along the floor.

Samuel nods as Sophie explains once the ghost vanishes again. “Okay, fair enough. Gema and I will get to work on that. I don’t think the cops are going to be any help until we have a friggin’ body.”

Gema nods and picks up her feet in response to the cold. “I would rather there was a body as well…” A body something to hold on to…

Sophie nods quietly, looking to where the ghost was…”I can raise her. As soon as you get permission, I will…that will help.” She admits gently…

The Basement: Club – Grand Street: East

Immediately to the right of the black metal stairwell, several couches of many rich colors and leathers are arranged in a secluded manner, the circle of these sharing their organic pattern with the curvy bar that lies further to the right. With built-in containers that resemble huge lava lamps and matching wall decorations, the bar snakes about the far wall. A few tables are spaced around this area along with the couches and separated from the large dance floor by a waist-high black railing; bartenders serve these two sections with almost any drink imaginable. A raised stage takes up the opposite corner, hosting wet t-shirt contests, amateur performers, live bands or DJ in their absence, and many other shows of entertainment.
Bouncers patrol with an immensely tolerable eye, and the attitude of its patrons matches the plush crimson walls, dark polished furniture, stone tiled floors, and mixture of flashing and black lights.

Contents:
Royce
Amalia
Chill

Royce

He is a sun bronzed man in his forties, perhaps fifties. Standing at six foot two, he has the physique of a much younger man. He has a trim muscular body, far from being musclebound. Instead, he has the looks of an overall athlete, a body suited for nearly any athletic activity. For those that notice such things, he sports a very nice manicure and wears a subtle, smoky cologne.

His face is weathered and rugged, and sports a well trimmed beard and receeding hairline. His beard and sideburns are salt and pepper, but his moustache is dark, like his thick brows and most of his hair. Laugh lines crease the tan skin surrounding his dark brown eyes. The smile at the center of those laugh lines is well maintained and brilliant white. His dark hair hasn’t receeded too far yet in the middle, but it has pulled back on the temples, creating a rather dramatic Vee. Otherwise, his hair is kept long, and he has a neat pony tail of grey that stops between his shoulderblades.

He is wearing a pair of faded blue jeans with a black Harley Davidson t-shirt. The jeans are old and fit him nicely, neither tight nor loose. They have distinct fade lines running their length that gives away the fact that he irons them. The tee is a tight crewneck and hugs his body tightly. He keeps it neatly tucked into his pants. For footwear he’s got on a very nice pear of square toed biker boots, new and well polished. He is wearing an expensive pair of prescription sunglasses and sports a heavy gold chronometer on his right wrist. A diamond stud sparkles in one ear.

Chill

Usually near the dance floor there is a “cold spot” in the room. It does however occasionally move about to other parts of the club, close to the bar or the stairs. Breath doesn’t quite show in wisps, but it is noticeably colder. If you pay attention to this chill for more than a few poses in a row please page Melpomene. Or +Request your actions.

Royce agrees with a tip of the head, “Ayep. I find I like it more with each drink. The burn builds quickly. Rather like my gin without the taste of pinesol.”

“I’ve had enough.” She pushes her glass away and stands up, playing the bartender with a wad of cash. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go talk to someone about a giant spider.”

Amalia pulls out her cellphone as she stands and dials a number into it.

Samuel comes down the stairs from the foyer, a mug of something hot in one gloved hand. His other hand glides along the railing. His dark brown eyes scan the dance floor as he leave the last of the stairs. There he pauses and his coffee mug is raised to his lips and he sips.

Royce chuckles and turns his full attention to his drink as Amalia departs. He tosses down the last of the whiskey in his glass then waves over the bartender, “Another gimlet thanks.”

Amalia passes by Samuel, on her way out. Quietly talking on her phone.

Apparently whom- or what- ever Samuel is looking is not seen, as the Asian man starts deeper into the club. He offers the departing woman a smile as he walks. He notices the older man watching her depart, but his attention is suddenly diverted by something – what is not clear, but he’s focusing on the edge of the dance floor, which at this late hour is largely deserted.

Royce pays attention to his drink, or rather the lack of one. The bartender delivers another gin gimlet and Royce thanks him, “Nice for your first one. Well, that’s wrong. Was good for a pro.” And then he turns on his stool to watch the bar while he drinks. Samuel’s odd behavior catches his attention and he looks from the man to well…whatever he’s trying to look at.

Samuel sets his coffee on one of the tables at the edge of the dance floor and steps on to it. His head tilts curiously as he circles a spot near the west edge of the floor. His power reaches out in an attempt to discern something. To anyone watching him, he undoubtedly looks odd, maybe even schizophrenic. “What the hell…” he murmurs to himself.

Royce sips at his drink and continues to watch the man and his odd behavior. Heading into a nightclub with a cup of coffee is odd enough, but talking to himself makes it all the more interesting. He turns back to the bartender and says, “Cash me out please.” Then he turns back to watch the show.

As Samuel circles the bar and it’s occupants, at least one of whom is watching him, comes into the top of his peripheral vision. He winces a bit, realizing what this much look like, but he’s too curious for now to give up his investigation. He grimaces at something. He hesitates, then seems to reach some sort of decision, as he removes one of his gloves very deliberately. Taking a breath to steady himself, he steps into the cold area and starts to crouch down to touch the floor.

Royce signs his check as it’s delivered. Then he stands up and walks in Samuel’s direction. He doesn’t rush over by any means, but he does make his way over, stopping not too far off to observe.

<<It’s very dark. You’re sitting down, clutching a small book to yourself.. You can’t remember why you didn’t turn on the lights.. But it is very, very dark. And cold. Something wet and.. muddy is slowly raising over your legs. A moment later you remember it’s the cement. But it doesn’t really matter, all that matters it is soon the pain will be gone. You’ll be at peace forever. You cry the entire time, sobbing.. Occasionally calling his name. “Nelson.. Nelson..” And then the cement is high enough that it’s starting to pour over your face. It starts to pour into your mouth, you choke and struggle. Instinct kicks in and you try to stand, try to get up.. The book goes flying somewhere.. But the cement is so heavy by now.. You choke more, and your head starts to pound as it it’s depraved of oxygen. You suffocate and everything goes darker than before.. The last sensation is the pounding in your head, and the cold cement pouring over you.>>

Samuel does not make it all the way to the floor, instead he stops, half-crouched. His eyes are shut and he sways. “Jeezus,” he says under his breath. His face twists into sadness. A tear rolls from his eye, then the other, a few more follow those first ones. He inhales sharply and his gloved hand goes to his forehead. The ungloved one dangles loosely still. He coughs then and the involuntary reaction tips him backward to fall uncermoniously onto his butt. “Shit,” he says, his voice sounding detached in a way. Eyes open as he finishes the syllable and he looks around, stopping his gaze on the big man. “Ah, well. Hi.” He seems a little embarassed now that his curiosity is… sated.

Royce watches that whole sequence of events with more and more interest. As Samuel starts to cry he moves forward, setting his drink onto a table along the way. He drops down into a squat over Samuel and asks, “You okay? Something wrong?” He’s not felt the chill, so has no clue as to what caused all those interesting reactions from Samuel, though he does look towards the patch of floor the man was examining.

Samuel turns his head to each side, lifting shoulder in turn to dab at his eyes and cheeks. He smiles at the man as he squats down next to him. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.” He considers his answer to the second question more carefully though. “Ah, well, I think this place is haunted. If you move over there a few feet it might feel cold to you.” He pulls his satchel into his lap and opens it, then pulls out a business card. “I’m a PI and a psychic.” He offers the man the card. “Of course I’m not sure if you think I’m a nut job instead, crying at a patch of dance floor.” Tough call! Will he be viewed as compassionate or whacked?

Before Samuel is even finished saying the words ‘haunted’ the space behind him changes. It slowly fills up with a shadowy image of a girl. Her hair is long, though the color is impossible to ascertain. Her eyes bright. She’s very pale. And a we bit translucent too.

Royce laughs as he finds the man exchanging cards while he lays there on the floor. He digs out his wallet to put away Samuels and hand over one of his own. “Royce Harper, Pendragon Security.” Then his eyes start drifting up to take in what he’d seen but pretended not to see. But staring at the girl he can’t deny it. “Jeeesus.” He freezes in place, knees going a bit wobbly for a moment.

Samuel is not without a sense of humor most of the time, and this is no exception. He grins at the man’s apprecation of the mild absurdity of the situation. As he levers himself up a little to take the card, he sees the apparition. “Or maybe the ghost will manifest and I’ll look relatively sane,” he says, then grabs his other glove and edges away. He looks at Royce, then back at the girl. “Unh, hello?” His voice is uncertain. “I’ve no idea if she can hear me, just for the record.”
The ghost turns her eyes onto Samuel, a soft sniffle escaping. Though it sounds far away. More detail starts to fill in, not enough for her to be a “real” person, but some. It’s obvious now that she’s crying.

Royce watches the apparition with wide eyes. But at the sound of her sniffling the wobbly set to his legs disappears and he shifts gears mentally. “Well, even if she can’t, she wants to. Help her.” Concern quickly pushes all traces of fear from his weathered face and he steps closer. He reaches for his breast pocket, then realizes he’s not got a notebook, or a pen, or any other tools he’s used to carrying. He reaches for his cellphone and flips it open instead. He activates the camera and tries to get the girl’s image recorded.

Samuel looks to Royce. “Unh… how? I mean, I have no idea how.” He pulls on his other glove and chews his lips. He starts, saying “Ah! Duh! Sophie.” He flips open his satchel and digs for his mobile phone, though keeps half an eye on the ghost. The phone is flipped open and he dials someone – the person must be in his speed dial given the few button pushes it took. As the call connects he explains to Royce, “A necromancer associate of mine.” Yes, Samuel wanders in interesting circles. He watches the man trying to film her. “No idea at all if that works, but good idea.” He apparently gets Sophie’s voice mail and leaves her a quick message to call him back ASAP no matter the time. “Voicemail,” he says as he snaps the phone shut.

Royce shrugs as Samuel tries to call in the cavalry. He steps forward, looking from phone to ghost…or hologram or whatever. “H..Hello? Can you talk? Is there anything we can do to help you?” He talks to her with concern in his voice, but does manage to resit talking baby talk cute.

“..Doesn’t…love…” The voice is far away, almost empty. The ghost looks toward Royce now, and then back to Samuel. It repeats, “Doesn’t.. love..” She slowly starts to fade back away.

Samuel strains to hear the ghost’s voice, then nods. “I think she killed herself over her lover.” He sighs, sad both because of her fate and the echo of the vision and reading of her. He bites his lip, then lets out another sigh. “There’s one thing-” he starts, then cuts off as she starts to fade. “Heh! don’t go!” He steps forward, then stops. He doesn’t really want to touch her again.

Royce keeps his eyes on the fading spirit even as he listens to Samuel. He nods then steps forward as well, unlike the man who has already touched the girl, he reaches out to her. “How can we help you?”

Not too far away from the bar on the dance floor Royce and Samuel stand. Not too far away from them is a very -faint- glow. If one were to look closely at the glow, one might see what looks like a woman. It’s fading slowly. A far away voice asks, “Why..?” But to what exactly?

“Because we want to help,” Samuel says. Then he does the thing he was about to mention a moment ago: he pushes emotion at her. Hope seems the best one at the time. He focuses on his hope that they can help the ghost. Hope that Sophie will call back in time to help them. Hope that the girl’s heartache can be assuage somehow so she can move on.

Julia peered into the bar and changed her mind only to head for the main part of The Basement’s club instead. She looks around the place, the lights, the people, but one light in particular gets her attention. Moving closer, a faintly familiar scent threatens to divert her attention. Luckily, that scent, Samuel’s is near the fading light. “What’s going on?” She asks in general, although she looks like she knows what’s going on. She looks like she saw a ghost. Julia’s heartrate is up, but with the question, she reins in her fine control.

Royce nods in agreement to Samuel’s offering, “Yes. Because we want to help you. Help you however we can.” He keeps his hand out, as if offering it to the empty air. He’s got no tricks to help out, unless the spirit wants tips on a good suit shop.

“Doesn’t…love..” The ghost responds. Fading away even more. Though she does reach out a hand toward Royce, her fingertips – a freezing sensation, with pins and needles, pass through his as she fades even more.

Julia looks away from the fading light to Samuel and the older looking man. Swallowing her heart, she says, “If- if that’s real, don’t- I don’t think you’re supposed to pay attention to her. I mean, it.” Or was that something else she’s remembering? She looks confused for a moment, a little afraid, and it’s certainly what she’s feeling. So much for a night out, huh? Julia blinks and rubs her eyes before turning and giving the mournful thing her back.

Samuel frowns as it seems his active use of empathy does nothing. Then he glances back at the familiar voice of… his reflexologist. Well, he’ll probably need a session after this, though he’d rather it be at her spa and not in a club. He catches a whiff of her nervousness, but as she reins it in quickly he says nothing concerning it. “It’s real,” he confirms. “On that you can trust me.” He watches her turn around. “How will that help?” he asks, half turned so he can watch both the fading spot and Julia.

Royce looks to his hand then back to the empty air, “Who doesn’t love? Love what? Tell us so we can help you. We’ll find you love if that’s what you need.”

A soft sob echoes through the air, and then the glow and the ghost is gone. The cold lingers for a few moments.. and then that too is gone. Perhaps found some place else to haunt.

Julia just kind of shrugs. Without looking to Samuel, she says a tinge nervously, “I… don’t remember. I- My mom told me something about it.” Clearing her throat, the small half Chinese woman goes on, “Mythology I’m okay with… a bit of the occult, sure. I think we’ve talked about it some at the spa, but I’ve never actually met a spirit or ghost or poltergeist or, well, whatever that is.” With an agitated glance back, she says nothing but just gives a shake of her head. “I didn’t know there was one here.” She takes a deep breath as a shiver runs down her backbone. Shaking it off, Julia says, “I’m going to have sit down. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like, Samuel.” And then Julia’s all business with her perfect calm.

Samuel nods slowly as Julia explains as best she can. He shakes his head, “Me either, though this is my first time in the club part of The Basement.” He looks back as Royce tries to get some answers out of the ghost, but it seems she’s faded. He touches the man’s elbow with a gloved hand even as he nods at Julia’s news she needs to sit. “She’s gone for now. Come, have a seat.” He lets out a huff of breath. “I need to sit too.” And he then moves to join Julia at whatever table she’s selected, stopping only to grab his coffee.

Royce sighs as the ghost disappears completely. He waves a hand through the air where she’d been, then turns around to Samuel as the man suggests he joins the two of them. “Ah. Yes.” He looks around for his lost drink, then picks it up off the nearby table. Looking to Julia, then back to Samuel he says, “I’d not want to intrude.”

“It’s fine,” Julia says to Royce. “You’re more than welcome to join us.” She finishes in a very American if not vaguely west coast accent. Julia takes a seat and once Samuel and Royce have joined her, she gives the smallest of smiles. There’s some tension around her brows, dampening her gentle beauty. “Have you seen one of… um, those before?” She asks with some trepidation.

Samuel sets his cup down heavily and himself even more so. He let’s Julia assure Royce it’s okay if he joins them. He’s coming off his adrenaline and the headache he’s now noticing is a doozie. He shakes his head gently in answer to her question. “No. Well, if I have it was never so… powerful. Or visible.” He fishes in his satchel again as he continues, speaking to both of them though answering Julia’s question. “I’m not sure where a psychic hotspot ends and something like that begins, you know?” He pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen and fumbles at the childproof cap. “Damn gloves,” he curses, then sets the bottle down and starts to remove his right glove.

Royce takes a seat at the table chosen by Julia. He looks from Samuel and over to Julia. He offers a smile and offers her a handshake, “Royce Harper. Pendragon Security. Nice to meet you Mz.” Then he looks back to Samuel, “This happen a lot to you?” He reaches over to pick up the bottle, opening it for Samuel then setting lid and bottle down in front of the man. “Gloves to protect you from random psychic visions?”

Julia reaches across the table to shake Royce’s hand. “Julia Lau, Black Swan Studio and Spa.” She smiles with more assurance. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Harper.” She starts to reach across the table for the bottle but stops since Royce beats her to it. Her smile now is almost shy. “With time and attention, I guess they form. I also guess I’m going to be going over to the library to read up on…” She seems hesitant to say it. “Ghosts. Honestly, I never really thought about it.” Her dealings aren’t with the dead. At Royce’s question, she glances at Samuel’s gloves then up to his face.

“Oh, thank you,” Samuel says with relief as Royce opens the bottle. He shakes three pills out of it into his hand, pops then and chases them down with the now tepid coffee. He manages a grin and sort of rocks his head to indicate a kind of uncertainty. “Well, sort of. It’s almost always more detailed, usually worse, when I deliberately touch something. The gloves? Yeah, basically. From accidental touches.” He widens his grins and turns it on Julia as he finishes his answer, then says, “Do you have any openings tomorrow?”

Julia nods, “I do. Or I can make one. Although now I’m thinking I might need to make an appointment for mysef.” She gives a weak grin and will engage them in conversation- perhaps about ghosts, although Julia makes a point not to talk about the one over there in the corner. As the few people left in the club begin to leave, members of staff make their way over to the table to ask the three to leave. “It’s time for us to close.” And maybe they’ve noticed the ghost, but they aren’t saying anything about it. Some, however, might note one or two seem a little nervous as they lock the doors. And then it’s out into the night, all of them, where they go their aways.

Given what happens to Darwi and her order in the last Dune book, I think she’s agree that life’s perversity is no better seen than how it can lull you and then suddenly toss up a rogue wave of impressive proportions just when you are getting comfortable.

My life was, I thought, had reached a sort of stasis. I had accepted many things: I was not going to have any sort of real sex life, I was not going to drink again, I would likely go insane somewhere down the road, and either be killed (by myself, someone else, or circumstance) or be committed. But at the end of the day I was okay with that – I’m doing better than a lot of other psychics.

Now, and not that some of what I just talked about might not yet come to pass, through the lens of this wave’s water, things have changed. My future is no longer steady decline into dystopia.

My point is never think your future is set, your path fixed, or your situation permanent. Things will change. Of course this means things, no matter how good they might get for my dousing, will get crazy or bad or whatever again.

At least things are looking up though.

(And yes, I am deliberately not divulging the source of the wave.)

Now that my life has changed so substantially, and as a result the amount of writing I must do has decreased considerably, I have, as I put it in the previous paragraph, the gumption to keep a journal.

I’m not doing this simply because I have the time, aside from that time, I do have other motivations. I have something to write about, something which seems more substantial. More important.

What are these things, you, who has found this journal somehow, ask? What has changed in this Samuel Phillip Kwon’s life that gives him time and reason to record some part of his life? I am, as far as I can tell, the most powerful clairvoyant in Chicago. I hedge this statement because psychics are generally a secretive lot. Many vanilla humans don’t trust us or are skeptical about our admittedly flaky powers. A few hate us, some to the point of trying to kill us. Some just don’t care – the ambivalence of the typical American is a powerful thing. Then, as with the poor, MS sufferers, and the whales, a few wish to help us, or worse yet heal us (there are ‘healers’ in the hate-us group too, they just have very different motivations, and include a few more methods in their repertoire, mind you).

I do, in fact, write this with the wish that once I have moved in (in whatever way) others will read it, and if they psychics perhaps learn something from my experience. If they are not, perhaps they will understand at least one psychic better, or hate us all less. That’s the important part, the thing I hope to achieve in writing this.

Perhaps it’s hubris to aim for such a thing, but then if people like Thich Nhat Hanh are writing books espousing his brand of Buddhism, then I suppose I shouldn’t worry much about the inflation of my own ego by keeping a journal with certain aspirations.