Closed Who You Gnna Call?! [Richard Blow]

[Dmitri Saratov]

Timestamp: 27th of Winter, 514 AV 'T had been a while since Dmitri had any form of social contact with someone pleasant, which didn't end with him getting his face punched in, not too pleasant for him really. The only one he could think of that was borderline...Nope, just borderline...That damn ogre of a woman called Aliara, no clue where she scurried off to in her dance-mercenary shoes, his options were narrowed down to the lifeless. He remembered having a fun battle of wits with a threesome of ghosts at the Dustbed Cemetary not too long ago, sorta sad he didn't have anything or anyone better to hang out with than dead folks, but yeah... So, he went on his merry way to the cemetary, as suspicious as that may sound. Once he arrived there, with the grass, graves and tombstones all covered in frosty snow, he searched high and low for the ghosts, but none to be seen. As a last resort he went in one of the mausoleums to search for them and also slightly to get out of the petching cold. Cursing himself for seeming, and being, so desperate for less-than-human contact. He had grabbed one of the oil lamps hanging off a chain near the entrance and made his way down into the creepy resting place, whilst reassuring himself there was nothing to be afraid of...Because, y'know, he wasn't exactly the bravest of the bunch...And there, like a light at the end of a damp, dark tunnel...There was a ghost! Foolishly thinking all ghosts were alike and that he had hit the jackpot in finding Shiyami again, he walked up to him casually and bravely. Until he knocked over a vase of sorts. Then shyke hit the fan, hit it reallllll good. "Youuuuuuuuuu....You dare tresspass the Mausoleum of the esteemed Loars Family? And THEN you knock over one of my ancestor's URN?! "I ... wha?...Oh...Shyke, sorry!!" The ghost's vague translucent state started to solidify and its outer rims swirl in violent twists and turns, no longer serenely blue'ish but now a passionately fierce bloodred vortex of rage, Dmitri didn't even have time to turn tail and run before a tendril flew out and grazed his face, the cut left on his cheek was sudden and painful enough to make him yelp before he found the courage to move his body, drop the oil lamp and run for dear life right out of the wraith's home. Who would've known trespassing and defiling would be so disliked huh?! Dmitri ran all the way back to the center of the town until he finally stopped and shakily turned to see if the wraith was still on his tail, which was fortunately not the case. Needing to regain his composure he went to the best place to do so, the pub! As he entered, he was still as shaky as newborn veal and ordered a mug of the strongest ale present before gibberish'ing his brave tale of how he defied Death itself to anyone and everyone who would hear him out! Which weren't too many to be honest...

[Richard Blow]

In the process of whirling around and babbling about death and the defying thereof, Dmitri found himself face-to-uncomfortably-close-face to what looked like a homeless man with shoddily patched clothes and a necklace made of beads and what seemed to be his own hair. Eyes bloodshot from what was likely whiskey given the bottle in his hand and the smell on his breath scanned the lad, and he took a sharp sniff of the wound before muttering. "An exaggeration." The decidedly drunk fellow gave the cut a gentle prod (by his estimation) before continuing, "Smells like grave dust and dead people, has bits of dead people in his flesh, probably doing naughty things with dead people." He took a long swig from the whiskey bottle, his brow furrowing. "You aren't one of those, are you?" It was around this point that the barkeep located what had been missing from his shelf. "I hope you're going to pay for that, Dick." he growled threateningly. This seemed to cut through the haze, judging by the way Richard's eyes widened and his posture straightened. "You still owe me for the last three." "'Course!" Richard spat out nervously. "I'm on it! Beyond on it! Reliable Richard, that's what I am! Always pays his tabs!" "Reliable Richard hasn't had work in three weeks." This was a problem. It was either no more booze or no more house the way Richard's ledger looked. Indecision would probably kill him before either exposure or the barkeep could. However... "I'm so on it, that I'm going to pay you the day after tomorrow! I'd do it now, but I gotta help my client here." he said as he clapped a deceptively powerful arm around Dmitri's shoulders. "Now tell me again, where was it that you were attacked my dear, poor friend?" Richard's eyes now suggested something between "play along" and "puppy scared of owner's belt."

[Dmitri Saratov]

Whilst speaking his tall tale of defying the otherworldly being and blaspheming his way around its home, Dmitri suddenly smelled a pungent odor mixture of sweat, filth and 3rd rate alcohol from nearby. Quite the understatement as when he looked to his left, he was confronted by a bloodshot, baggy-eyed, gnarly-teethed face who stared at him nearly as lifeless as a ghost. Dmitri was about to clock him in the face when the drunk started to prod his courageously obtained battle scar! But the apt speech the human ale barrel made, held him back. Just by merely taking in the scent of Dmitri he was able to analyze where he had been and what had been going on quite well. His appearance didn't remind Dmitri of a Spiritist at all, neither did the peculiar necklace from beads and his own hairpluckings, as he wasn't that familiar with the whole Spiritism scene to begin with. But he had always figured them to be religious zealots of sorts, not like ... this! "Are you able to deal with ghosts, wraiths, specters, or whatever the petch that thing was?!" Before the man was able to answer, the barman interrupted their conversation and started demanding coin for the booze the man had partaken himself with, a scenario Dmitri had found himself quite often in as well, truth be told. The man introduced himself, inadvertenly, to Dmitri that he was called Richard, along with a whole slur of reassurances that he'd pay before tomorrow's dusk...Something that would never fly with the bartender for sure, it never did when Dmitri tried that speech at least. The bartender made motions to lean in and grab poor ol' Reliable Richard by the collar, undoubtedly to slap'm around a bit and toss'm out the door, Dmitri intervened; Like a knight in white, shining, armor. No surprises there, the gentleman that he was! "Look, Richard, if you can help me with that thing, tonight! I'll pay your damn tab and might even come back with you here to join in on the fun! But only if you help me pay that damn ghost back for this scar!" Dmitri pointed dramaticly at the light scar on his cheek, as if he had been dealt a grave wound to body and pride! "Lookit! Do you see it?! That petching sack'o'shyke!"

[Richard Blow]

"They prefer the term 'ghost', though one of them insisted he was an apparition." Richard corrected somewhat shakily, "But yes. I solve ghost problems." When the Spiritist got confirmation that he did in fact have a job, he did a little celebratory two-step "Aha! See! 'S on this guy's copper... Just as soon as I do a thing with the ghost that attacked him. Maybe we can get another one to punch 'em in the face. I'unno... We'll see. First though, we gotta go grocery shopping!" Richard said a touch too loudly as he motioned for Dmitri to leave the pub with him. "Gotta get some milk and eggs, or maybe some bread and cheese, and some spinach... Can't do shyke without those." It vaguely occurred to Richard that he should start carrying portable foodstuffs with him in the event of emergency, but realizing that now did not give him Soulmist in the past, and so the beginning of this particular adventure involved looking for a vendor that was open at what could only be described as an ungodly hour. "So what's your name, my man?" Richard asked with a clumsy smile.

[Dmitri Saratov]

"Oi drunky, I'm not going to pay for your drinks and your dinner for petch's sake!!" Dmitri had no idea those ingredients were necessary to produce Soulmist, not to mention he had no clue how exactly the procedure went to make it...Which was nothing short of yuck! Grumbling at the presumed drunken leech he managed to pick up, he made motions to leave the counter after downing his drink and about to follow the shaky steps of the weirdo, or at least he tried to. 'Cause apparently free drink was not on the menu tonight, according to the annoyed bartender about to break in his new club on these 2 certifide and bonafide ghostbusters! "Calm down Fido! I'll pay for the damn drinks, it just slipped my mind, now get your paws off me!" After paying the tab and leaving the finally semi-content bartender behind, he caught up with the drunkie, not all too fast though...As the bartender apparently heard Dmitri correctly when he ordered a drink of his strongest ale; His legs were a tad wobbly and his tongue almost as double-sided as the Miza he paid with. Shaking his head in a, dumb, attempt to clear his clouded mind, he responded to Reliable Richard's question. "I'm Dmitri, Delightable Dmitri if you will; You were Reliable Richard hm? Now, lets skip your damned dinner and get straight to the main course! I wants my ghost, sliced & diced...If that's even possible..." After they left the bar, Dmitri was unsure how to proceed, where to go or what to do. But there was one thing he KNEW they had to do before anything else! Something so important that he couldn't believe he had forgotten about it at all!! "Booze! We needs the juiceeeeeeee! Hold on!" After which he stumbled back into the bar and ordered a bottle, of something he couldn't even remember what by the time he had left the bar again. But as he took a sip, he knew it was whatever tasted like swill but got enough kick to it to impersonate a charging bull! "Awww yiissssss... Here have some!! Now, lets go forth, miniooooooooonnnnn..."