Closed A Certain Type of Someone (Marina)

[Zeran]

The unexpected briskness of her touch jerked his stomach away from the tickling fingers, obtaining a simultaneous gasp and laugh. "Not fair! I can't move away!" He had regained a reasonable amount of strength, but still lacked speed in his movements. Tiredness was beginning to take hold. It was no longer just the dull strain in his muscles that he could blame. "Neither can you though." Zeran made his move before he finished his sentence, dropping his astral hand to Marina's blurred side to return the attack. If this journey was going to become a tickle war, neither of them were going to win it in their current states. For a brief moment, Zeran felt heavier than normal, as if he had become lead. Marina's mood had dropped. He could feel it through the contact he had with the wisps lingering around them. His request had dulled her mood somehow, and he wasn't sure in what way or why. The spirit didn't want to help his thoughts either, only tightening her grip on his astral arms in response, as his physical ones still hung at his sides. Zeran assumed the gesture meant that she wasn't planning on letting him go so soon, for whatever reason she had. "Something upset you now?" he asked, turning his head towards her, raising an eyebrow as he smiled. "Or are you simply not wanting to lose sight of your new 'playmate' so soon?" He hadn't entirely missed it. The way she went all out suggested she didn't take the time to consider if her actions had any adverse effects on her host, seeing them more as toys. Zeran was unsure how much of it was down to excitement, and how much was apathy. He didn't want to call her outright on it, but found himself wondering. "Just curious. I'm not too bothered how you think of me if I get my body back without any lasting damage." Her words made her sound like one of two things: arrogant or a stalker. "Think quite highly of yourself, don't you Miss Marina?" They didn't match up with what he had already observed. If she truly did go through a long, laborious selection process, why did she not take much care of the few she did choose? Ignoring the thought that she had lines of people waiting to be possessed by a ghost, especially when she mentioned earlier it was rare for her, Zeran saw the opportunity to get some idea of what the little girl thought. "Either way, I feel honoured you consider me 'worthy', especially in such a short space of time." He tried to give a mock bow, but found any bend in his knees was a struggle to straighten out again. "Will you tell me what your thoughts are of me to be considered worthy of the privilege?" He was pretty certain it was because he was willing, but it never hurt him to ask. I hope it doesn't. "And what's a knave?" The Zintia Rest looked no less grand with its interior as its exterior. Zeran entered unaided, relieving Marina of her burden, thinking they'd be more hospitable to someone who didn't look like he was going to repaint the floor a sickly assortment of colours. Pillars decorated the main hall, adorned with colourful, expertly-crafted archways along the tops. The stones used shone white with brilliance, almost causing the Little Miss to vanish from sight were it not down to the help of her two purple eyes standing out in contrast. Plants sat independently from one another, furthering the refreshing aura that the building had to it. Zeran had to concentrate on which colours came with his sight and which were already present for patrons. He could feel the softness of the pillows that had been set in the central seating of the hall, it all reminded him of Lady Elena's estate. No expense had remained unused. "You're joining me Miss Marina. You think me so callous as to dismiss a friend after they helped me?" A well-dressed attendant found his way towards them soon after they entered. The suit he wore was smart, but fit the colour scheme that the Rest prided itself on. Bigger items of clothing favoured shades of white, with patches of blues, purples, greens and other colours of the room. None were so bright that they hurt the eyes to concentrate on, deciding on a calm, gentler colour that mixed with the others. Nothing was harsh and prominent. It was smooth-flowing and relaxed. "Might I help you sir?" he asked, speaking as formally as he dressed. Zeran still liked that title. "A room would be great," he replied with enthusiasm that would call his proclaimed tiredness into question. Zeran fumbled through his pocket, withdrawing a golden, ornately designed key carrying Lady Elena's symbol that seemed to float in front of him. The key itself was practically useless. It let him into the estate and locked the door to the room Elena had given him. However, when the Lady had a similar key that unlocked every door in the estate, and had no reservations about unlocking your door without knocking, it served as nothing more than another fancy trinket. "Could you give us a room for the two of us?" Eyes drifted over to the fog that hovered close to him, contemplative. "I could," he eventually said, "But do you have proof of employment, my friend?" He was doing well, using genderless addresses when he could work it out himself. What was more, he didn't seem phased by the ghostly apparition that accompanied him into the building. He knew how to hold himself. "Dear Sir, she is a ghost," he spoke up quickly, feeling the need to interject. "You are a clever man, you know that Miss Marina will not be an inconvenience to you.." The faintest of smiles made its way onto his face. A compliment was likely to do that to you. The golds that swirled into his aura suggested that he was proud of himself that others would say so after a brief time in his presence. A little conditioning had the same effect. "Besides, it's not like she can carry anything around with her without it being a nuisance. Money, proof or otherwise." True. He's going to have to be responsible for her actions then. "You raise a good point sir." He paused, trying to give the impression he was thinking about the best course of action, despite it being one he had already thought of. He nodded, as if agreeing with himself. "Very well, I don't think I need to charge for the Missus as she is not going to be using anything whilst she's here. I will have to check that though, and you'll be asked to pay if I'm wrong." Seemed fair enough. "I'll also inform you sir that you'll be required to pay for any damages caused, accidental or otherwise." If the attendant could've seen it, he'd see a hand waving him off. "I'll pay for anything that is required. Just do me a favour, if it turns out Miss Marina will need to pay for her company, send your superior up before charging us, I'd like to talk to him to plead my case if needed." With the attendant satisfied, he ushered the pair to one of the available rooms, closing the door behind him as he left to find someone to check up on the rules of ghost guests. "Who charges a ghost for a bed, food and bath?" he wondered. "You don't eat, sleep or stink. What's the need?" If need be, Zeran would just need to be a little more persuasive with the higher-up than he was the attendant. It was all good fun and practice anyway. Without further hesitation, or discussions with himself, he leapt onto the bed with as much energy as he could manage, feeling himself bounce up and down as the mattress pushed back at the sudden assailant. It was as soft as the pillows outside had been, though the actual experience of such things was much better than the proxy of Auristics. Sleep was felt tugging at him with a stronger sensation than when he had been on his feet, aided by the bed underneath. Physical tiredness taking full effect, now he was on a bed, and also mental tiredness from using Auristics, Hypnotism and Projection in conjunction with one another. If overgiving wasn't creeping in fast, it was only because he was too drained to feel or care. His hands found their places again, as they popped back into their missed physical form. He pumped his fingers, just for reassurance that he hadn't crippled himself from being a bit frivolous with magic. They still worked, but he did feel a familiarly dull ache in his head again. That was probably Auristics and Hypnotism knocking. "Make yourself comfy wherever Little Miss. It's your room for the meanwhile as well." He managed a smile up at her dispersed form.

[Marina Agamand]

Feeling Zeran's astral digits brush against her side, the familiar warmth of his touch seeped into her, but the tickling movements didn't accomplish their goal - the spectre's ethereal senses were too dull. Nevertheless, Marina understood his intention, and giggled sociably while fruitlessly squirming to avoid the invisible fingers. Perhaps when he gained a more sophisticated understanding of projection, he would be able to interact with her dead senses more finely. It was definitely something she was looking forward to. While the ghost would never be able to enjoy the touch of a human being as much as a fellow human being would, if there were ways for Marina to at least partially regain what she lost when she died, she would go to lengths. Projection was a great, if somewhat unexpected, way to gain some unity with her object of interest. Why the ghost considered him 'worthy' was a difficult question, not least because she didn't really put a lot of thought into her judgement. To say that offering to possess him was just a whim would not be far from the truth. But then again, it was a compulsion she didn't often get, and more seldom yet towards a random stranger. Marina herself was unable to explain it, but for some reason, she felt the need to inform him to the best of her ability. Following a short pause, the spectre finally came up with the only possible reason of why she made him her target tonight. "Fate, sir Zeran. An invisible hand, not unlike the one I hold. The decision was not mine." As they entered the Zintia Rest, Marina looked around curiously, taking in the rich yet reserved design of the reception hall. For natural reasons, she hardly ever visited inns or similar facilities. The rare cases of exception were such as tonight, when she had breathing company. It sure was difficult and wasteful to be alive, having to spend at least one-third of the time on resting one's mind and body. When asked for proof of employment, the girl simply shrugged, looking straight at the finely dressed attendant with an innocent expression. Her gesture would make anyone feel like an idiot, and the attendant's eyebrow twitched imperceptibly. It was fully obvious that she wasn't carrying any physical objects. Charging a disembodied spirit with a lodging fee would be even more of an oxymoron, from which the servant thankfully abstained. Even on the exceptionally rare occasion when a ghost would visit such an establishment, it wouldn't actually take part of any of the services, nor consume any supplies. This whole debate was pointless. Marina did sometimes enjoy to be treated as a person rather than a lower creature, but never so that she would become the victim of bureaucratic sophistry. Zeran was doing an uncannily good job at persuading the assistant, which Marina was thankful for, not feeling the need to question why the clerk allowed himself to be convinced so easily. With the formal problems solved for the time being, the ghost followed her cloaked companion into the appointed room. She still supported him all the way to the bed, only letting go when Zeran's exhausted body finally and gratifyingly found purchase on the unsuspecting mattress. As soon as the assistant closed the door behind him, Marina rolled her eyes and tilted her head in the direction of said door demonstratively. "That there, was a knave." She was surprised that Zeran was unaware of such a useful word, which in Marina's eyes could be used to describe the vast majority of Mizahar's population. The young man lay on the bed, still fully dressed, and looked to be enjoying the soft underlay quite a bit, with his eyelids beginning to droop. The ghost caught herself thinking that while sleeping was a waste of time, it was not without some purpose. Tired humans had the ability to throw themselves into Nysel's embrace and recover in oblivion, only to wake up refreshed and go on with their lives. Ghosts had no such privilege. Whenever she lost some soulmist, Marina could do nothing but wait, always fully aware and fully experiencing the damage. There was no realm of dreams she could escape to, and she was somewhat jealous, but she understood that her pain was rather mild compared to the pain of an overexerted body. It was only fair that Zeran got his rest. "Comfy..." She found herself repeating the word. Zeran's smile was rather endearing, and despite his shaken-up appearance, he reminded her of an oversized doll just put to bed by a careless owner. It was an amusing analogy, but Marina never played with dolls much. After all, living beings made much better toys. Thinking that, the spectre reached out with her small hand, brushing away some wild strands of hair from Zeran's forehead with a gentle pulse of soulmist. During the brief contact, her touch was pleasant, like a cold compress to ease his headache. She still withdrew shortly, since she knew that prolonged exposure would quickly get uncomfortable for him. Eventually, her new friend fell asleep. Or appeared to, anyway. As much as the spectre wanted to plop onto the huge armchair next to the bed and join him in Nysel's world, that wasn't going to happen. Seemingly, the gods liked to ignore the lingering dead. Perhaps it was a sound reminder that it was more sensible to play by the rules and reincarnate, but Marina would have none of that nonsense. There were plenty of ways to pass the resting time besides littering a bed with your flesh. Already making up her mind, the ghost slipped silently out of the room, phasing right through the wall. Meanwhile, the Zintia Rest's attendant whom the duo encountered earlier was hard at work investigating whether charging an unemployed ghost with a lodging fee was the right thing to do. His first intention was to ask the head butler, an older man who had worked here for gods know how long and had received every imaginable kind of visitor. But since the butler's schedule respected the resting hours, he was currently retired to his room. The attendant had talked to one of the maids, but as expected, she was as clueless about ghost reception protocol as he. The next step would be to check the staff's written instructions. The attendant had memorised those nearly perfectly and was fairly sure there wasn't anything about ghosts there. Still, it didn't hurt to make sure. The employee lounge is where the intructions were, so he made his way there at a brisk pace. Entering the room, he saw it empty, as it normally was during the rest hours. The staff were either asleep or busy receiving visitors for the rest hours, so there was no opportunity to laze around. The instructions were neatly pinned to the wall; two large panels of skyglass etched with fine lettering. Even after carefully examining their contents, the assistant couldn't find anything related to ghosts, though there were indeed notes about certain other races. Oh well, he'd just have to wait for the head butler to wake up, and... what was that sound? A soft click echoed through the empty room, making the suit-clad servant to forget about the skyglass plates and turn around to check for its origins. Evidently, it was the door closing. He left it open when entering the lounge, so one of the other employees probably closed it for the sake of orderliness. Although, why didn't he hear any footsteps down the corridor first? How strange. As an uneasy feeling crept into him, the attendant made his way to the door, holding his breath the entire way. He tugged on the handle, but it didn't budge. "What...?" He blinked in confusion a few times, until the realisation struck him - he was trapped. As soon as he thought that, a burst of derisive, chiming laughter rolled across the lounge, causing the attendant to jump. Although he was shocked, his mind has quickly begun unraveling the mystery. He maintained enough composure not to show his anger and confusion; being in this business has taught him to keep his cool in the face of all kinds of people and situations. Logically, that ethereal voice could only have one origin. "You're that ghost, aren't you? Stop fooling around!" His tone was rather threatening, but because he didn't know where she was, he ended up turning his head back and forth like a scared animal, making him seem much less intimidating. In response, only more gleeful laughter echoed, completely oblivious to his rightful demand. Trying his best to ignore the nerve-grating ghostly noise, the assistant put his mind to work on an improvised solution. Slipping his hands into the folds of his classily-colored suit, he deftly unfastened a single key from his keychain and struck it into the lock on the door. The key didn't go all the way inside, as if something was clogging up the lock. The spectre has apparently rammed something into the keyhole from the other side to prevent him from escaping so easily. He banged on the door and shouted for help a few times, but the lounge was divided from the main hall by a long corridor, and he understood that the chances of anyone hearing him were slim. The maddening laughter suddenly stopped. Did she leave, or simply fell silent? It didn't matter to him, really. He was just glad he didn't have to listen to that disgusting laughter. The last-ditch solution to this situation would be to summon a city guard, who would be able to remove this invader in short order. However, there was the matter of losing face to consider. Calling upon the Shinya over such a minor nuisance would do little besides embarassing both himself and the establishment, lessening the chance that his reports would be taken seriously in the future. Moreover, if he allowed rumors to spread about the Zintia Rest being some sort of haunted house, his superiors would never forgive him. Even otherwise, he would actually need get out of the room first. Cracking his knuckles in frustration, the man paced nervously back and forth around the lounge, waiting for someone to come and rescue him from this ridiculous situation. He periodically sat down on a chair, tapped his foot impatiently, then stood up and resumed pacing. After gods only know how long, he finally got fed up. Leveling his shoulder against the door, he charged it with a valiant roar, slamming into it with considerable might. He'd pay for the door, no problem. His dignity was more important. Just as he thought that, the door gave way unexpectedly easily and swung wide open. The man's excessive momentum made him tumble forward to the ground, painfully hitting his knee. Ignoring the sting, he quickly got up and examined the keyhole. It was empty. The ghost must have been gone for quite a while, and the door has been standing unlocked while he thought himself stuck in the room like an idiot. But sweet revenge was near. Straightening out his ruffled suit, the attendant pumped his fists and stomped in the direction of a certain room. After storming through the establishment, he was finally in front of Zeran's room, and slammed the door open with an indignant roar. The ghost was nowhere in sight, unsurprisingly. But the meaty part of the troublesome duo lay sleepily sprawled across the bed, having just woken up from his nap. Just as the attendant was about to utter his honest opinion about Zeran and his little friend, he suddenly felt a heavy hand rest on his shoulder. Behind him was an incredibly large, middle-aged woman, wearing a maid uniform and a stern expression on her face. She was a supervisor of the maids, and was known around the place for being rather harsh on servant etiquette. "What do you think you're doing, barging into customers' rooms? Apologise!" The attendant's battle spirit was dampened immediately, and he gave a groan of resignation. Casting his most revered guest a last grance, he spat an acid-filled "Excuse me, sir", making sure to slam the door loudly behind him and leaving Zeran alone again. But if he ever saw that runty ghost again, boy was she in trouble. A quiet voice seeped into the cloaked man's ears from directly below him. "Have you rested, sir Zeran? If that is the case, we should depart." It was obvious that Marina was under the bed. Or, more correctly, inside the bed. Tiny, barely visible vapors of soulmist rose from the fabric around him. Unlike the human, the ghost would take another while to regenerate all of her damage, but since she could fool around like this, she was evidently feeling better already.

[Zeran]

His breathing slowed as relaxation came to him, heavy eyes falling closed like shutters over windows. Zeran breathed in the scents of the covers, noticing the expense even sunk as deep as the soaps used to keep things orderly and clean. A gentle breath of fresh air, reminiscent of the aromas drifting over the Sea of Grass. And the bed, it hugged his form as he settled on top, welcoming him into sleep's embrace as he began to drift in and out of conciousness. Only the ache in his head now kept him from slumber as he concentrated on the tightness behind his eyes. The touch of a mother, brushing his unkempt hair from his face, caressed his forehead, bringing with it a relief that untied the knot in his head. It was the final act that released him into the the dreamscape. Zeran's lip twitched in a smile briefly before dropping smoothly from his face, replaced by the steady ins and outs of his breathing as he drifted somewhere into subconsciousness. He was aware, somewhere between asleep and awake, a little of both and neither at the same time. Slight noises escaped his notice, falling into oblivion with his surroundings, where sharper ones might've disturb him. Zeran's thoughts began to wander in his state. Any attempt to bring one forward was met with little success as it slipped through his concentration again, returning to the floating pools of his mind. It had been an entertaining past few bells, there was no doubt about that. Marina was an obscure one, even had she not taken a misty appearance, handling words from a language Zeran knew nothing of, and using Common words that did not always match up with her actions. She flitted from maturer than himself to having childish desires and mannerisms, all seemingly coated in a bravado that she seemed to believe made her better than others. Then again, what child wouldn't believe such things, given the abilities she held. Even he had been 'blessed' with the 'privilege' of becoming the Little Miss' 'vessel'. The unspoken words were that he had been selected to become one of the ghost girl's toys. Fate indeed. I wonder how much Lhex's hand had to play in this meeting. Despite whatever situation he might be in, Zeran wouldn't have taken any of it back. There had been plenty of times it would've been easy to say 'no', and Marina had even tried to force anything either. Everything that he had gotten in to was from his own curiosity, and he was content with the answers he had received and the fun he had had. Though he didn't know what their exact relationship was, whether Marina considered them friends, or whether it was a simple case of toy and owner, it couldn't be said that Marina had pushed him to do anything he didn't want to do. Neither was he likely to let her. One eye lazily opened as the doors erupted, hitting anything within reach with a resounding bang, sending them clattering along the floor. He couldn't even be bothered jumping in surprise. How long had he been out? Two voices emerge from the ruckus, though he couldn't be bother to turn to address them. A faint wisp of the intruder's aura reach him, and it was a sour one. Zeran shuddered at the negativity it brought. Pure and unbridled in its rampage. Something had angered the man - told to him through the build of the man in his aura - and he had no desire to hide it. And as quickly as it rushed him, the sensation withdrew, leaving a dulled edge. The sour emotions were still there, but had some sort of veil thrown over them to pull them back. Zeran managed enough movement to look under his arm at the leaving attendant from earlier, following a larger woman. What's upset him? Lady Elena had never complained about sleepwalking, so Zeran didn't see how he could've done anything that would elicit such a reaction when all he had done was sleep. Unless the attendant had somehow discovered he'd been hypnotised earlier, but would that really produce such a reaction? Marina's sudden desire to depart did arouse some suspicion. Speaking from the safety of underneath his bed only furthered it. "Little Miss, tell me what you've been doing in the time I've been resting please. Why are you hiding in my bed, and why the sudden need to leave?" It stung to try open his eyes, and his voice was groggy. If anything, minus the aches and pains he had before, he felt more tired than before he had come to the Rest. Noise drifted from outside Zintia's Rest, suggesting that the resting hours had ended. How do Lhavitians deal with only one bell sleep every five bells? Is it some kind of natural ability? Zeran gave a wide, slow yawn, rubbing one eye with a lead hand. "How long was I resting? That couldn't have been anything more than a bell!" he moaned, groaning as he grabbed the hem of the blanket underneath him. Bouncing enough to release the blanket from its hold between Zeran and the bed, he spun himself when raised, wrapping it around himself and over his head before he crashed back down to the mattress. "Let the two of us continue our affair for another bell or two. Please?" Zeran curled up in a tight ball, leaving a small gap in the sheet for his nose to stick out and breathe through. It was always more difficult to breathe when something was over your head, and Zeran was compensating.

[Marina Agamand]

Judging from his sluggish tone of voice, Zeran wasn't particularly refreshed by the nap. To his question about how long he's been resting, Marina only responded with silence. The spectre was unaffected by any schedules, whether administrative or biological, so keeping track of time was something she never did. Still, it was somewhat surprising that he simply tucked himself under the bedsheets. Evidently, he wasn't planning on getting up at the moment. Perhaps he wasn't used to the odd Lhavitian schedule, or she simply overestimated his fitness. That brought her to other questions, ones she has wanted to ask for a while, but the opportunit never arose. The duo has been too busy in the evening to talk about general things, so now, under calmer circumstances, curiosity about the less urgent details emerged in Marina's mind. She wanted to ask about him; about his past, about what he did for a living, about his friends. The ghost was aware that far from everyone was comfortable with sharing that kind of information, and Marina didn't have any methods to force it out of Zeran, no matter how curious she could have been. Right then, taking advantage of his groggy state seemed like a decent plan. While she wanted a conversation, his eventual refusal would also be telling something about him. The wraith thought it unfortunate that she couldn't move while possessing inanimate objects, since these didn't have any muscles. She wasn't even sure if this could be called possession. Maybe there was some secret technique that allowed a ghost to actually inhabit a thing instead of a person? It would have been infinitely useful, and offer vast opporunities to play around. The soulmist that permeated Zeran's bed emanated a soft chill; not uncomfortable, but giving the unnatural feeling of cold fabric that would notmally warm up from human touch, but didn't. The young man was rightfully curious about what happened while he was snoozing. Since it wasn't really a secret, there was not reason not to tell him. Small wisps of soulmist danced teasingly across the soft bed, even across the large sheet mound that contained the still fully dressed nighttime adventurer. Sleeping like that must have been rather uncomfortable, and would explain why he didn't rest well. It was not abnormal to sleep in full gear while traveling the wilderness, but this hotel-like establishment had all the conditions to relax more appropriately. The only type of person who would behave like this in the middle of civilisation would be some sort of ruffian who was always on the move and had no consistent place to crash. While the ghost made the observation, she decided not to comment on it, and simply answer his earlier query. "As you should already know, sir Zeran, I could not join you in dreamscape. I had to pass the time somehow, so I headed out and graced a certain knave with my attention." She said it matter-of-factly, without carrying any hint of dishonesty or sarcasm in her voice. The seriousness of her statement was dispersed by the sudden giggle that left the bed just under Zeran's ear. "A hard worker he is. You must have so much unused time, to laze around like you do. You job must not be very demanding." The spectre's tone became taunting, but not annoyingly so, flowing smoothly into Zeran's ears. Her voice was crisp and unobstructed by the cloth that covered Zeran, making it seem like she was right next to him - as if illogically sharing the tight space between the sheet and the bed, which was completely occupied by Zeran's body. Out of caprice, Marina didn't want him to fall asleep. She was bored, and leaving the room would be unwise, considering the risk of running into a certain vengeful attendant. Taking responsibility for the mischievous ghost was probably not a good idea, since the previous episode could easily have spun out of control. However, barely anyone would believe the servant if he started telling stories about being harassed by a ghost. Moreover, it was just plain embarrassing. Any official sanctions against either the ghost or her companion should therefore not be expected. That didn't change the fact that her behavior could have resulted in a scandal; even knowing that, she wouldn't stop herself from acting irresponsibly. The ghost had rather little to lose by it, after all. Whatever hapened to the people in her surroundings was more than her childish mind wanted to take responsibility for. Manipulating her soulmist as finely as she could, the ghost began tugging at the bed cover underneath Zeran in tiny movements, back and forth, to the effect of a rhythmic massage. The barely noticeable friction cancelled out the cold of her presense, leaving behind only a slightly numbing sensation. It was not unpleasant, but it would be difficult to fall asleep with the covers moving under one ever so slightly, leaving one just on the verge of slumber. He had earlier revealed that he was a hypnotist, and apparently one that used his powers quite liberally. The silly notion of being able to turn the tables on him, using her own improvised method, amused the spectre quite a bit. While usually futile, home-brewed hypnotism was well worth attempting, if only because they'd never see it coming. The etherela, soft resonance of her voice seeped into him again, coming from an indeterminable direction. "Were you not confined to this bed by laziness, what would you wish to be doing right now, sir Zeran? If you could be anywhere on Mizahar, or even beyond, would you engage in something more meaningful? Or maybe not. Tell me."

[Zeran]

"It don't think he appreciated your attention very much." Zeran replied from underneath his blanket. It seemed more like the attendant wanted nothing than to shove the pillow Zeran was lying on over his face. He had no reason to believe that Marina wasn't being truthful, but she definitely wasn't telling him the whole truth. "Were you being fair on him? You've got a bit of an unfair advantage over the poor man, unless he's good enough in Spiritism or Projection." He pulled the blanket over his head like a hood, scanning the room for the little ghost. "If you were playing this trick on him, I doubt he had a chance either way." Zeran replaced the blanket over his head. Her giggle was surprising close to is ear, resulting in his effort to look where he had heard it come from. Zeran was marginally disappointed when he didn't see a bed with a mouth talking it him, though he wasn't sure what he should've been expecting otherwise, if anything. Sound flowed in from everywhere around him. He was unable to pin a spot where Marina spoke from, as Zeran searched around him, eyes poking out from his makeshift cloak. It was clear, as if she spoke right next to him, and he was not wrapped like a fresh cut of meat. He wasn't sure how she did it, but Zeran felt the need to ask, "Why do you sound like you're sharing this blanket with me? I'm almost certain that kind of closeness is frowned upon..." He fell quiet for a moment. "Do you take the age of a ghost as their age at the time of their death? Or do you consider how long they've been dead, as well as alive, before considering what is acceptable and not?" "As for my job, Lady Elena is very demanding," he said, realising he probably wasn't going to get much more of a chance to rest at this rate. Zeran's eyes remained closed as he spoke, resting them, if nothing else, hoping just lying down would be enough to refresh him. "More so than he'll ever have to deal with. It just so happens that the times I am needed are spread evenly with the other companions. As and when she needs me specifically, I have no say in what I do." He did, but it was useless to voice it. There were times Lady Elena must've had a shield around her, screening out all the words her companions voiced that she didn't want to hear. "Besides, it's gone midnight. It's not unlikely she's sharing somebody else's company to seal a deal." Elena Lariat did many things. Sleeping around like one of the employees of the Red Lantern was not one of them. She did, however, make sure she always got what she wanted, even if the methods used didn't always benefit the ones she needed to talk with. Incriminating information, well-kept secrets, a highly influential position. Lad Elena was one of the more well-established names in Lhavit, outside the Towers, and had gotten there through her own planning and hard work. Nobody could say she didn't deserve the position she held, and it was why Zeran did as she asked. The sheets started moving, and Zeran groaned in disapproval. It was certain he wasn't going to get a chance to rest now. The spectral child was doing a good job of making that the case as the sheets rubbed and kneaded against his prone form. "Why couldn't you have done this earlier? You know, when I was actually aching?" Zeran moaned, throwing the blanket off himself and to the floor. The coolness that radiated from Marina and the bed, combined with the massage, were the two things that stopped him from following the blanket onto the stone. I've had enough of lying on stones tonight. Her question did well to shut his mouth, stopping any further noise from it. Zeran lay on his side, watching the wall, eyes flicking from brick to fine tapestry and back. It wasn't that he needed time to think about an answer. It was the answer that got him thinking. Where would he like to be? What would he like to be doing? Marina's questions had two possible ways of being perceived. Did she mean instead of having spent his time in Lhavit? Forget everything from here and have new memories elsewhere? Or would he be there, doing what he wanted, based on what he had learned in the Diamond of Kalea? "I'd like to be talking with a friend," he said plainly, "wherever she may be. In Ravok, Avanthal, Riverfall or Wind Reach, I don't really care much for the location." Zeran played with the bone bracelet on his right wrist. A crude thing, made by the hands of a child with braided leather, holding the bone of an animal he had long forgotten. "Is that meaningful? Maybe not to some people, but it is to me. Dira can take whoever doesn't like it." Zeran rolled over, curling further in on himself. He thought back to his time in Ravok, before his slavery, to a time when he had a distaste for the idea of selling another. He had met his friend in the Kelvic Research Institute on one of his days exploring, on the wrong side of the bars. The initial swapping of words had led to full conversations and, eventually, a friendship. One that spawned the promise of a child, made before he truly understood the weight of his own words, that he would get her out of there. It hadn't been long after that promise that it became apparent it was never going to be kept. Instead of bringing her out of her world of slavery and into his world of freedom, Zeran had instead stepped out of his world and into hers. Without even so much as a 'goodbye'. I wonder if she forgives me. Or if she ever will... "Any further questions, Miss Marina? Or am I allowed to ask what you hope to be doing in your dreamless reality?" Zeran's words had lost some of there energy, and it wasn't from fatigue this time.

[Marina Agamand]

The spectre gave a snort, full of contempt. "It is the business of knaves to fail to appreciate my attention." Zeran's question was only natural, as he was probably uncomforable with another creature right next to him. Marina formally knew to respect people's personal space, but since she didn't have any actual personal space of her own, in practice she often violated the rules without noticing. It had less to do with her age, and more with her lack of substance. Wanting to prepare some sort of snarky rebuttal, the spectre suddenly found herself at a loss of words. His question turned out to have a rather difficult element, whether he intended it or not. Pausing her invisible ministrations of the bedsheets, the ghost lost herself in throught for a moment. She didn't like having to think so much about a casual question, but in her book, a thoughtless answer would be even worse. There was a fundamental technical difference in how age affected a ghost's mind. This fact was something Marina has been denying fervently in the past, believing that the existential pause of ghosthood was physical only. But the longer she observed the people around her, the more she realised that she was wrong. It has happened on several occasions that she had found an excellent playmate, but could enjoy their company only briefly. They grew up, their life values changed, and they were no longer interested in games. Compared to her surroundings, Marina was static in her beliefs and preferences. Memories of countless events accumulated in her mind, but it was as if they happened to someone else; they didn't impact her. The century of expeciences was like a finely organised stack of documents, gathering dust in a drawer within her, never to become part of her. That's why the spectre knew that no matter how much time passed, some things about her would never change. Only whatever god that invented ghosts would be able to explain this phenomenon in more detail than that. After some further hesitation, Marina finally formulated an answer. "Ghosts age differently. Simply adding their time adead to their time alive would be an inaccurate measurement. The living develop in a linear manner - they grow up, reach adulthood, and learn from their experiences, becoming a wiser being. A ghost is less affected by the world." She then remembered the original purpose of his question. "Moreover, ghosts are not people. Your modesty is unnecessary." This was also something that Marina used to deny to herself. Ultimately though, discarding the title of "person" provided many liberties that the spectre enjoyed. After all, "persons" were held to a much higher standard than "creatures" or "monsters", and had certain societal expectations placed upon them. While it wouldn't be correct, or at least not yet, to call Marina a monster in the literal sense, doing so would make much of her behavior excusable. Hearing Zeran's displeased groan, the spectre burst into a delighted giggle, like a bully who just got the desired reaction from a victim. Only when the sheet was torn out of her soulmist's grasp did she stop trying to tease him, letting out a sigh of defeat as the piece of fabric spread across the floor with a soft flapping sound. "Your employer must be powerful of character. You may build a brilliant career under her." Or be tossed aside like a disposable pawn, which was the other side of ambitious superiors. Marina's knowledge of politics was limited to what she could pick up from her parents' conversations, so she didn't presume to give him advice on that front. Moreover, the phantom didn't want to make any more baseless assumptions about this Lady Lariat, since it was someone she would eventually like to meet. Despite his casual looks, Zeran was a rather well-connected fellow, and Marina wasn't going to overlook that. The spectre was surprised by the suddenly serious tone of his voice as he told her what she asked. She was definitely not expecting such a blunt and honest statement; she didn't even really expect that this joker would be capable of one. But like a peach, every joker had a hard core undearneath the fluffy silliness. Perhaps Marina was allowed a brief glimpse of it; proof that on the bed above her was a man with a past. Her time on Mizahar was more than five times longer than his, and yet he was still older. The world has left a deeper imprint on him, and he has left a deeper imprint on the world in return. Without a doubt, her new friend was superior to her in that regard. Further proof of that was his counter-question, which didn't allow itself to be easily answered. The spectre definitely had her own desires, more ambitious than most at that. But the fire that burns inside every living being and drives them forward to success was absent in the girl; it left her together with her last breath. She couldn't reply to him with nearly as much conviction as he replied to her. And that made the phantom very uncomfortable. Without warning, the ghost wrenched itself out of the woodwork of the bed, giving it such a jerk that it moved a centimeter across the floor, even with Zeran on it. The cloud of soulmist assembled in the middle of the room, taking the familiar, vague shape of a human again. The image flickered for a good while, as if adjusting to its usual form after having spent a while inside of the furniture. Her unblinking, hollow eyes stared at the man curled up on the bed. Considering where it was heading, the spectre didn't attempt to continue the conversation, since doing so would dispel certain illusions that could absolutely not be allowed to be dispelled. Her ethereal voice has lost its playfulness and seemed almost mechanical. "I have many questions, sir Zeran, and I will pose them eventually. Now, rest. Our common entrance to the big stage is not yet." Bending one knee, the flickering image picked up the discarded bedsheet, with her half-transparent fingers phasing right through the fabric rather than holding it by the corners. In one swift motion, she threw the sheet upwards, sending a wave of cool air across Zeran as the fabric covered him completely, making his body look like a white hill rising out of the bed. When his line of sight on the room was restored, the spectre was no longer present.

[Elysium]

Zeran

XP:
Auristics +2
Rhetoric +3
Hypnotism +3
Observation +3
Projection +2

Lore:
Marina Agamand, Magesmith of Zeltiva
Race: Ghost (Basic)
Lhavit: Midsummer Festival
How to Become Possessed By a Ghost
Projection: Touching a Ghost

★

Marina Agamand

XP (before Possession):
Materialization +4
Possession +1
Soulmist Projection +2

XP (after Possession):
Running +1
Socialization +2
Observation +2

Lore:
Sir Zeran, a New Playmate
Lhavit: Cityscape at Night
Lhavit: Midsummer Festival
How to Possess a Human Body
Lhavit: Zintia Rest

Notes: This thread was highly amusing! I really appreciate the budding relationship between Marina and Zeran. Marina, you do an amazing job of playing a Ghost, which is no easy feat. I love how eloquent she is in contrast to Zeran, who will often blurt out his every passing thought. Possessing his body gave me a laugh, as did what followed. I think I liked the whole "decorating" line about massage therapy best. I laughed out loud at work, and people gave me funny looks.

and so, the journey continues...