singillatim | but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes

but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes

JANUARY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: NASCENCE: Following the strange dream at new year, a three-day Aurora takes place. During which, Interlopers discover a possible ally in the mysterious woman heard in the static and heard in the dream — potentially earning new abilities.

PROMPT TWO — ADUST: The Interlopers find out what happened to the owners of long-destroyed Milton House in the form of hauntings.

PROMPT THREE — THE VISITOR: Interlopers find themselves with an unwelcome visitor — a shadow doppelganger here to make everything absolutely worse.

THE AURORA: NASCENCE

WHEN: January 13th - 15th.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being burned alive; some minor supernatural horror; some minor ‘ghost’ horror/hauntings; death of npcs in various ways including suicide, murder or exposure to elements.

In the middle of the month, it happens. A herald. The noise starts: faint at first, but then growing louder. An ethereal, high-pitched chorus of sounds difficult to place. There’s a kind of electrical buzzing with it all, a low, endless hum punctuated with cracks and pops. The sky is alive with sound, and with it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night: The Aurora has come.

Much of what happened previously happens again: Streetlights, illuminating the town’s roads; lights in stores and homes will come alive, buzzing and flickering at times. Previously abandoned cars will turn on, their headlights blaring. Electronics that had previously seemed broken flick on — and whilst there are no broadcasts available on televisions, and the radio waves only drone on in static, both only occasionally blaring standard emergency broadcasts. Any computers and phones will turn on, but will have no internet or reception. Instead, Interlopers may find texts and emails — many of them unsent. The everyday lives of their users stored within, now readable.

There are still some instances of the ‘ghosts’ from the previous Auroras, but they are now only faint outlines, and far fewer in number. However, whilst the Aurora would usually only last until the next morning on sporadic nights over the month — this time it will last for a full three days. The world is plunged into darkness, a seemingly endless night with only the Aurora to light the skies.

On the second night of lights and noise, a voice calls out to you: static-like, and distant — as if someone speaks over a radio. A woman’s voice. It is the same one you’ve been hearing for a few weeks now, but finally it is far stronger than the scant whispers of name and the word ‘help’. She is far clearer now.

“You.” she says. She may whisper your name, too. “I see you.” You’re unable to speak back, the communication is only one way. She sounds upset, but there’s something more… a kind of wonder, perhaps.

”It’s not just a regular aurora borealis, but then you probably worked that out already, haven’t you? It’s so much more than that. Everything is… changing.”

”I don’t know how you can go back. But— but I can help. Maybe. Maybe I can make this place easier, somehow. I need help, but I’m stuck—” There’s frustration in her voice for a moment. ”It took from you. Took you away. It doesn’t always have to take. We can take, too. Sleep. I will help you take back. You will survive this. You will not go into the Dark. This is not the end.”

You have no idea what that means, for the most part. But you might just end up taking the chance and doing as the woman asked, even if it’s difficult with the noise and light with the Aurora. Sleep, and a dream may come to you.

FREE RUNNER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are a magnificent stag, galloping through the snowy woods with ease. You seem to go on and on, never tiring, never slowing. You feel like the wind, or perhaps the very wind itself carries you. Not once do you stumble or fall, even when the snow is thick and deep, or the ground is shaky and uneven beneath you. You feel free.

When you awaken, you feel the most refreshed you’ve ever felt since you first came here. For the final day of the Aurora, you are bursting with energy and even when the lights in the sky fade — that revitalised feeling within you remains. There’s something within you that understands: you are the Free Runner. The ground will yield beneath you, your energy will not desert you, the wind will carry you.

LIGHT BRINGER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of sitting by a lonely campfire in the mouth of a cave at night, warming your hands. As you sit, a strange feeling comes over you, a desire to reach out to the flames. And so you do, reaching with both hands into the fire — gripping at the white-hot embers. It burns you, and for a moment there is blinding hot pain as the fire suddenly explodes around you, consuming you whole. But the pain soon stops. The fire doesn’t burn you. No, you have become the blaze — your body warmed. You burn bright enough that the darkness around you turns into day.

When you awaken the next morning, you feel warmed and comfortable. As if even the coldest of winters couldn’t reach your bones. The warmth remains even when the Aurora ends, and you are left with the innate understanding:you are the Light Bringer. The power of flame is at your very fingertips. You master the light, life, warmth.

AURORA CALL: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are standing in the very sky itself, at the Aurora’s height. Colour and sound twirls around you, within you — and you feel it curl into your body. Your head fills with noise, a chorus of voices calling out, snippets of conversation echoing within you. A woman’s voice calls to you, it is the same voice that spoke to you before you slept: “Don’t you understand it now? We are all connected. The Aurora connects us.”

And you do, you do understand it.

When you awaken, you feel connected to the world around you. To the very people who live amongst you. You feel less lonely, a kind of kinship with others. You have heard the Aurora’s Call and you have answered it, unlocked a connection with your fellow Interlopers. You will be heard.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

ADUST

WHEN: From mid-month to month end.
WHERE: Milton House.
CONTENT WARNINGS: fire; house fire; death of a child/children; hauntings; ghosts; mental manipulation; illusions of burning/being burned; potential injuries via falling/unstable building collapsing.

There is a reason why it is advised to avoid Milton House other than the simple fact that it’s a miracle the house is still standing. Once one of the largest buildings in the town of Milton, it is now a former shell of what was once a fine and grand house. It has lain in ruin for many years, dilapidated and host to a great deal of fire damage.

While he is in town, Methuselah will not speak of the place, but he often looks sad when it has been brought up in conversation. “A great tragedy.” he will say before falling into a pensive silence. “A blackened mark on the town’s memory.” He does not wish to say much more of what happened: sometimes there are things that are just too painful. He will continue to advise the ruin is left alone, out of respect, and the fact that the place is a danger.

Of course, advice will not stop anyone from attempting to get into the ruins and exploring the house, even if it is in fact highly dangerous.

The sounds of voices and whispers may be enough to pique anyone’s interest. You're sure you heard something, maybe you should go to check it out?

It is true in the fact that the house itself is incredibly dangerous structurally: floors and stairs may give way and you’ll find your foot (and half of you) falling right through the floorboards. Damp and rot that have long since set in, and it will be dangerous to breathe in. But you’ll find that the house itself is pretty ordinary: this was once a family home. Just about the entirety of the house and its contents aren't salvageable, but you’ll be able to find out a little about who once lived here.

There are faded, half-destroyed photos that show a family of five: a father, mother, and three young children all under the age of ten. The father with warm, beaming smiles, the mother has kind eyes, the two oldest boys with toothy grins much like their father, the younger girl looks shy, wanting to hide against her mother. They look happy. Just a typical family. In a world where so many strange things are happening, it feels so strange to look upon these family photos and around this home to realise that they simply lost their home in a house fire.

But as you hold a family picture, or some half-destroyed trinket: a toy, a shoe, a book, a vase, you’ll find the item will suddenly catch alight, bursting into flames in your very hands. The flames do not burn you, and as you discard the item, it will fall to the floor as if nothing had happened.

Then, it comes to you. Here and there. Different sensations that stop and start suddenly: the house groans and creaks around you; the smell of smoke enters your nose; the sound of fire cracking and popping with a roar fills your ears; the sensation of heat against your skin; the clawing and suffocating feeling in your lungs that makes you cough and choke; the sounds of terrified shrieks of children echoing above you. Feelings flood you: fear, panic. When you next turn around, the entire house is aflame around you, and you can’t tell if this is real or if you’re reliving some terrifying memory.

You need to leave, get out of here. For some, it will be what comes naturally. You’ll have to fight through the flames and escape the house before it burns down completely around you. You’ll have to fight your way out, find an exit not already consumed by flames — through a window, perhaps. Crashing out of the house and into the snow, you’ll look back and see Milton House just as you entered it: nothing more than a half-burned ruin.

But for others, there will be another pull. You are drawn upstairs, to the screams of children. You need to get to them, to help them, save them. You will battle through the flames, heading towards the ruins of what was a child’s bedroom, or towards the bathroom. Inside either, you will find a figure cowering, engulfed wholly in flames: one in the bathtub or one in the closet. You recognise them as the two sons from the family pictures.

Mom. They will call you. Or Dad. They weep, terrified of the flames. I’m scared, I’m scared. I want the fire to go away. Help me. Stay here.

The tragedy of Milton House is before you. More than just a fire. What is more tragic than the death of a child? What silences voices? Breaks spirits? Leaves one helpless to act in the wake of such a passing?

There is something to be done here. You are not so powerless. Calm the child. Offer gentle assurances. They will get out. They are safe. You are there for them. You will stay. Embracing them will set you alight. Too hot. Too bright. It will hurt, but you won’t burn. But don’t let go; holding them will eventually calm them down enough for the flames to grow dim, to slowly ease their spirits to rest.

Soon enough, the flames will go out and the child will disappear, leaving you alone in a decaying, dilapidated room.

In the churchyard of Milton, there is a family grave by the name of Barker. Three lie within it: Thomas it reads, and his beloved sons, Patrick and Christopher.

THE VISITOR

WHEN: The month of January.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: erything absolutely worse.
THE VISITOR — CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural beings; dream-related horror/disturbing dreams; doppelgangers; themes of depression; themes of self-harm; themes of isolation; potential themes of suicide.

It seems the dream of the New Year and the Aurora dreams are not the only odd sleep-related instances occurring this month. You first notice that something is off when a strange dream pulls you from sleep. The dream may feel like any particular dream you have, whether it be a usual nightmare or strange concoction your brain has conjured up for you this night. Maybe it’s a dream you’ve had before, maybe it’s a new dream entirely. But no matter the dream, there is one thing that is odd about it. In tiny moments within the dream, you notice that there is something different, something that feels out of place. Something is there that shouldn’t be.

A figure, tall and silent, entirely made of shadow stands lurking in the background. It looks human, but there is not much more that you can really describe further. It is a sad, unsettling presence.

When you awaken, eyes bleary from sleep, and you look about the room, to the bottom of your bed, for a half-moment you see that figure standing there silently. That unsettling sadness permeates the room, and after a few seconds of blinking and sitting up — the figure disappears. Perhaps it was just some trick of the mind, some half-awake illusion.

But the next time you sleep, it appears again. The same figure, the same emotions surrounding it. And when you awaken, it stands at the bottom of your bed once more. Only this time, it lingers, and you find yourself staring down the figure before it disappears once more.

Over the next several days, the presence continues to linger more and more. It stands silently in the corner of the room of your home; it hovers by the window, staring out into the snow; it stands in the middle of the road as you go about your business. More and more, it is there. Always standing, always watching — silent and sad.

No one else seems to notice it, only you. And over time, the shape of it seems to change — the vague, undefined shape of it slowly shifts into something you recognise. The same hair, the same height, the same way it holds itself: it is exactly like you. A perfect doppelganger, a second shadow. And with it, it exudes an oppressive sadness, a particular kind of loneliness. It is suffocating, bleeding into you.

It makes you withdraw from the world around you, from the people around you. Perhaps you stop spending time with others, retreating into solitude. You hide from others, keep to yourself. You find yourself not sleeping at all or perhaps sleeping too much. Perhaps what little you already eat becomes nothing. The shadowy doppelganger draws ever closer to you, close enough to touch you - ever hovering at your shoulder. Its presence bores down on you, making you feel small and more and more alone even with its ‘company’. No one else can seem to see it but you, mentioning it to others will earn odd looks, or even concern. It seems you and your double are alone together.

Hopefully, those around you will notice the change in you. How you stopped reaching out, how you’ve stopped taking care of yourself. Hopefully they will see something isn’t right and reach out. You are doomed to the doppelganger's company otherwise.

However, those around you can push the shadowy double away, and can break its influence and hold over you. Genuine care and concern for you will have it shrinking back. Perhaps it is a kind word, perhaps it is the gentle but insisting coaxing to eat. Perhaps it is an attentive ear to listen to your thoughts, to how the presence has made you feel. Maybe it is even the simplest of touches, an embrace or the holding of a hand, the grip of a shoulder. Continued connection with you will slowly have the visitor’s power diminish.

And hopefully it is done before it is too late, or it may be all too easy to fade into the Long Dark.

FAQs

THE AURORA: NASCENCE

1. Aurora Feats are now unlocked! Please see the following page for more information. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

2. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Event. The only time this is available is this month. After January, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

3. This Aurora will last a full three days. It will be a period of only night.

4. For more information on the ghostly loops seen during the Aurora, see this previous event, under 'The Aurora: Aftershocks' prompt.

5. For new players who would like a little extra context regarding the woman can look at December's Tales From The Northern Territories, under the 'New Happenings in December' section.

ADUST

1. Characters will not be physically burned in the fire, but only feel as if they have been. The effects of this illusion will last a short time after they're out the house before they will fade.

2. The only real injuries characters can sustain will be from fall damage, or if the floor gives way and their feet go through, etc. whilst in the house.

3. The children cannot leave the house. They will be too scared to leave. In addition, they are tethered to the house, given that this is where they died. Simply being calmed/comforted is the best way to help them and they will disappear after that.

THE VISITOR

1. An Interloper's Visitor can't be seen by anyone but the Interloper themselves.

2. The Visitor can be spoken to, but it will not speak back. It cannot be interacted with and is intangible.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Damian stands in the smoking ruin of the Milton House, the fire's illusion fades away as the pain starts to drain from his own body. It wasn't real. None of it. It was all a glimpse of something - a crack between life and death.

But Damian holds his arms out as if he's still expecting someone to be there. He'd been ready to burn, he realized. All his potential, all the people who died to get him this far, and he would die in a moldy old house with his arms wrapped around a weeping ghost who had it's life ripped away from it.

He wonders what it's like to have a life that can be ripped away from you - and he feels raw again. He wipes dust off his face, ensuring with the utmost difficulty that he won't cry. He's alone again, in the ashes of a haunted house. It's almost like he's "home" - staring ahead at Alfred's broken body while a stranger has the nerve to try comforting him.

He lets out a breath that's halfway toward a shudder, and then he mutters,] Back to work. Need to figure out what happened.

[They made their choice, have sworn their oaths.

Looking at Robin, arms outstretched to gather cold air and nothing more, like a statue of salt born from a hostile god, falling snow beginning to pepper Damian's body, Tim thinks: but he's just a kid.

And then he thinks: he's already made that mistake. It might take a few rounds, a couple of thrashings, but the lessons do eventually stick. And stick well. And with Damian and with anything involving Damian, the one way forward towards everyone's safety, and his own self-preservation, is to see him for what he is. Not what he should be. (There's a lot of pain to spare everyone if only they can learn to see the world through the lens of reality and not wishful thinking-- maybe Batman would have grunted a word or two about Hope, but the cowl was always meant to be a punishment first.)]

Come back to it tomorrow, Robin.

[Says Red Robin. (Shut up, he didn't pick the name; he'd just wanted a shield over a burned scalp and a heavier cape covering the tender and scorched skin of half of his damn back.)]

The boys and their father are buried at the churchyard. Mom and sister aren't.

[ He says, because there's nothing and no one he can spy listening in. As far as he knows, the people who may be able to lip-read don't intersect with the people who would bother over two boys gossiping over death.

Two boys.

Robin wipes at dust on his face- Tim feels the urge to tell Bruce that he's just smearing the dirt around, but he doesn't.

Tim's always been the one telling others to please stop, to please listen, to face the fact that this is all a farce of self des--

(that shuddering breath--)

it's not easy and damned be the person who believes it is--

Tim slips his hands into his pockets. And frowns. And prepares for common sense to fall on deaf ears as he points out,]

You need to get yourself under control.

[The distinctive Al Ghul green shines through his eyes even in the darkened shade of this ruined house. It fixates on Tim with a narrowed glare of barely contained anger. The kind of harsh glare the old man would fix on anyone who dared defy his will. A kind of glare that Damian and Tim both know very well.

It's easy, to have someone to channel this grief into anger towards. This is why his Father does it, after-all. Criminal, loose cannon, keep them at bay, don't get close, threat, criminal, soldier.

(I can't respect you if I don't trust you.)

If it had been Dick, he would have said something similar. Without the condescension right at the end. He'd have put a hand on Damian's shoulder. Told him to take a minute.

But it's not Dick. Or Stephanie. Or Maya. No, it's a stranger wearing his brother's face, who looks at him like he's a live explosive in a staggering display of hypocrisy considering his ultimate fate.

(Even Dick trusted me! Why can't you?)

His scowl deepens, and he looks away, staring at the floor. Alfred hovers over him, reminding him of why he's a failure - a dangerous reckless failure who was stupid enough to trust Batman. His voice is gentle in Damian's ear, yet it hurts all the same.

Master Damian... You won't get anywhere unless you both make an effort.

So he swallows the barrage of insults that were building inside of him. The snide references to a contingency plan that Tim probably doesn't even realize he knows about yet, the inevitable put-downs about Tim being a mindless robot who can only parrot Father's words and cynicism like an answering machine.]

You're not Batman, Tim.

And I don't need your damn advice.

[That's him trying. As sad as it is. But he's tired. So, so tired. He just doesn't know how to stop. It runs in the family, as Tim would know.

He takes his hood and he tugs it over his head. They have work to do. And he's not going to rest.

So he forces the conversation away from the topic of his own self destruction - or self immolation, and the underlying hypocrisy therein.]

...Let's go over what we know.

[Names, he nearly snaps.

But it was his own bright idea for Tim Drake and Robin to have lived apart from one another as both people and ideas, and Tim is left with a narrowed eye look back at the boy.

Green glowers back, like green of the Demon's Head. Like the Cerberus of their dreams, of the Anubis that strikes down their lies.

So because Tim had to... regroup. After the fire. The ghost of the fire. He's the one lacking? Of course.

Of course everything is about becoming the Bat with Damian. Tim can't find the vocabulary to stress how much he's never wanted that fucking name.

Since when does Damian call him Tim?]

The Aurora itself triggered change. You've seen what it does to electronics. For some reason it likes to hold us hostage to it rewinding and rewatching its favorite tapes: the death of the people of Milton.

[He's a no-good coward for needless confrontation.

He steps back, and turns part ways to peer through a mudroom. Always just-- frowning.]

The woman's voice has been heard before. The one from the... wolves. That night. She's asked for help before. She knows us.

[...so does she want them to know her?]

[He straightens up, turns away from Tim, his eyes returning to the spot where the children faded away into a distant tragic memory in his arms.

Maybe someone else carried on. Maybe they put the dead kids in a disposal vat, noted them down as a failed batch and began testing again. Maybe they put them on display, as a reminder of what happens when you trust, as something to contrast and compare all that came after.

He can focus on this. Put aside the hurt feelings, the mistrust, the smug condescending nasally voice of someone who thinks he's earned deference. It's a case. A large and very important case. And despite their personal feelings, they both know how to do this much.

You should listen to him, Master Damian. You really do need a rest -

His back is to Tim. So there's no chance that he'll catch the angry grimace.]

You're suggesting that she showed us this deliberately, then? As a way to... tell us something, potentially about the town, potentially about herself. [Makes sense so far. There's even two potential candidates, given the two missing bodies. But that connection is fairly frayed.]

The aurora would provide a quick and easy explanation for the house going up in flames. The aurora came, the electricity went haywire and sparked a gas leak, a fire spread through the largely wooden house. [Which would explain it's significance to the aurora. It's certainly the convenient explanation. The vast majority of house fires are caused by mundane things. The vast majority of deaths certainly aren't murders. Often they're just... careless mistakes.

What makes a ghost linger. That's the question that gnaws at the back of his mind. He didn't linger.

Alfred doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

Love or revenge.]

Nobody with the power to, likes to tell their story from the beginning. When there's a captive audience you dive right into what's important.

[And so it becomes an invisible corkboard of sorts outstretched between the two of them. They'll volley ideas back and forth and the fact that Tim can hear himself get out a full sentence without an interruption is... not his experience, with Damian.

His eyes dart to the boy and he finds that Damian isn't holding a sword brandished from a pocket dimension to the back of his neck.

Damian's not holding anything.

Tim's stomach churns with a violent, lukewarm dread. But he's got his mask on as well, and his only way forward with Damian, with Robin, with a Bat...

with cries for help,]

Too easy of an explanation. The other... projections that have been revealed to us. They don't have every house going up in flames. Gas lines and shoddy electrical wiring wouldn't be exclusive to th- the Barker's home.

[Funny how a simple stutter can send his hackles up; Tim roams away from the mudroom.

Start at the beginning.

His hand hovers over the frame of the front door.]

[He hasn't worked with any of his family in... a little while. The last time, with Dick's mind broken and on the loose, and his dad half a country away, Jason off the radar, and Stephanie and Cass still hanging back behind friendly lines, it had been just him and Tim dealing with their city under siege.

Snap. Crack. The sound of a body going limp.

At least Tim doesn't remember that much. And as frustrating as Tim is, and as reluctant as he would be to admit it to his face, Damian can admit that this is an area in which he can be counted on.

But it's a strange experience still.

He follows Tim's footsteps, taking a sparing glance at the family portrait that started the fire, rolling the words and ideas around in his head. They don't have all the pieces of the puzzle here but they have enough to begin - and their job is to finish it from there.

The stutter catches his attention, though.]

Thinking about it from an entirely mundane perspective - there are a myriad of reasons why a wooden house in the late 1990s would catch on fire in these kinds of weather conditions. Most others that I've spoken to suggested a gas leak - another easy answer that doesn't warrant much thought. But this isn't a rational case. It's being shown to us for a reason.

It should be noted that on the same month, various interlopers developed the ability to manipulate fire. As a gift from the same... voice.

[He quietens down after that, instead focusing his attention on whatever it is that Tim is doing.

Step by step. It can become clearer.]

Edited 2024-01-25 07:09 (UTC)

[How bad of an idea would it be to restart the video? That's what happens when someone living touches the artifacts in this home. The home video rewinds, replays. In all of its immersive glory.]

Interlopers have also started to communicate telepathically. Previously the Woman would talk to us through the surviving electronics, then through the Aurora itself. In our world we know that magic and technology don't like to mix, but here... it's almost the opposite. It feels like the electronics can't power up without the help of the Aurora. I've tried to restore... simple batteries, trinkets. Nothing.

[The darkened wood fans from the door, but the wall isn't as bleak and blackened and weak as some of the house's interior. There's nothing here that tells him the fire started from the outside.]

The brothers cried out for Mom and Dad, but not for Sister. Maybe she had the habit of leaving her EZ Bake oven on.

[Maybe she experimented here and there with things she shouldn't; young girls are drawn to witchcraft, for instance, because it's one of their first experiences with power and...]

Did you know there was a big, black dog around town when I first showed up? It would try to get us lost in the woods.

[There's an opaqueness to Tim's deductions, like every bit is a test to see if Damian will come to the same conclusion. It's not a bad way to test the legitimacy of those conclusions, but he's not sure that's why. His father did the same. So did Dick, when he was first being trained.

Or he's reading too much into it. Damian glances at the oven that he'd checked over earlier.

He clicks his tongue, considering.]

I've been experimenting with cars. [So far, no luck. Might be a doomed venture.] I did hear the theory that the magic might, in some sense, all be technological. I can't say I've ever seen that on such a massive scale, but... it's possible.

[Other heroes come to mind. A few villains. Bane. The Flash. Deathstroke. Nobody he wants to think about.]

...There's a piece of English folklore that associates an oversized black dog with electrical storms.

[ Ever since his first ill-starred encounter with the house, Lestat has vacillated between intrigue and repulsion. Tonight he's been taken by the later, wandering close to it on one of his leisurely strolls of the frigid streets.

The figure he glimpses through one of the broken windows is so slight that Lestat could nearly overlook them, or give them thought only as another wayward ghost. It's the way that they hold their arms that convinces him they're real more than anything, although he couldn't precisely say why.

There are no flames when he steps inside this time, only the remnants of that long-dead fire. He lets his tread on the boards be heavy and measured, announcing his presence before he stands in the doorway that frames the figure. A boy, stiff with some as-yet undefined emotion, talking to himself. ]

I could tell you part of it. [ Lestat offers, with uncommon gentleness. ] Although I'm afraid I fall short on the tangible details.

[I didn't notice him.

He's losing his edge. He remembers bragging to a simulacrum of his father that he could never sneak up on him. And yet, here is this stranger, sneaking up on him.

Would the truth help? Does it ever help? Useless question, completely mindless speculation. He owes it to imaginary dust trailing off his fingers. He owes it to the part of himself that despises the lies, the subterfuge, the manipulation.

So the truth. Or the many stories that make up the full picture. He turns his head only slightly, watching the man with the measured sharp acidic green eye of a predator sizing up what could either be prey or yet another monster.

It's almost enough to hide how fucking tired he is.]

Tell me what you know then. I'll be the judge of if it's any good.

Edited 2024-01-24 17:28 (UTC)

[ The boy's eyes catch Lestat by as much surprise as his approach caught Damian. They are shockingly green, but not an impossible colour in a human face - but their intensity, their searing edge, recall the bloodied honey ones of another fierce and infantile creature.

He blinks at them, his uncanny blue gaze startled out of the airs of confidence he carried into the room. It's a passing slip. It means nothing to him. Only a resemblance of a kind, inevitably over the long roads of immortality. ]

Do you believe in ghosts? [ He asks, no longer gentle, but nearly matter of fact. ] I don't ask to be facetious. Only to establish [ he raises a gloved hand in a elegant little gesture ] the terms of discussion.

[The slip is noticed by Damian - of course it is, he was trained to watch for any signs of weakness. In negotiation, in war, in assassination, it is imperative that you never close your eyes to the truth of your opponent.

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles."

It was Batman - his Father, who taught him that there is no difference between friend and enemy. Evaluate their weaknesses so you can destroy them when the time comes. Never get close, always stay in control.

He wishes the two of them would get the hell out of his head.

But he lets it go without blinking, continuing to stare.]

Is that a joke? [If so, it's not a very funny one.]

There was a... ghost here in front of me begging for help not two minutes ago.

[Besides... when you've watched R'as Al Ghul rise from the pools of the Lazarus pit, old and decrepit turned young again with a newfound cruelty rising from his corrupted soul, or when you've flown the places he's flown on the back of a giant dragon bat, you learn to be a bit more open minded.

His voice is quiet. Strained from exhaustion and grief, and only the slightest bit tight.]

Yes. I believe in ghosts.

Not all people are receptive to believing their own senses if they disagree with what they imagine ought to be.

[ He says it not as a lesson, but an observation shared between two people who know such an evident truth already.

Lestat would not say he is good with children. He is good with people. There's little to differentiate a child from an adult mortal in his eyes, and so he speaks to them all as he sees fit according to their apparent capabilities and personalities, as well as his whims.

The most marked difference between children and adults is the former's more exquisite sensitivity to condescension. ]

And since you understand what you saw, there's little for me to tell you. The ghost reenacts the manner of its death. [ He shrugs, cocking his head. ] This clutch is particularly strong.

Do you intend on exorcising them by solving their particular tragedy? [ Intriguing; not without merit. ] Ambitious.

[There's a twang of disappointment in Damian - he'd hoped to have some answer. Some new piece of information. But it's all the same. His soldiers sag a bit more and the tension in his shoulders and neck weakens.

Fine. Whatever. He couldn't trust it anyway. There's so many easy answers to be had, but he refuses to accept any of them. Dig, dig, and dig some more. It's the only way he's been taught to stay alive. Work.

There's something careful about this stranger's tone. Damian can't tell if he finds it annoying or not, but after the amount of people that have acted overly familiar or seen fit to make fun of him to his face, maybe it's for the better.]

...Most people are blind and ignorant fools.

We wouldn't be seeing this if it weren't important. [It's not an answer. But it is true. On a clinical sense, exorcising ghosts and sending them to their rest does nothing for them. But he doesn't want that for them. They don't deserve to be abandoned to their fate.]

[ Lestat gives a slight nod of assent to Damian's assessment of most people. It's only polite, and the boy happens to be correct. Whether or not he'll end up lumping Lestat into that category remains to be seen, but evidently, he's at least yet to be sorted.

It's for this that he dismisses the idea of asking the boy why he thinks this is important in the grand scheme of things. It's important to him, for whatever moment, in this particular moment. That, and Lestat's own easily tempted curiosity, are cause enough to follow this logic for the time being. ]

And how will you be proceeding from here... [ Lestat cants his head slightly. ] I haven't asked your name.

I am Lestat de Lioncourt, lately of New Orleans. [ He steps further into the room, extending his hand to the boy to shake. Hopefully, someone has taught him manners along with boldness. ] I hope you don't mind my taking an interest in your investigation. Ghosts are something of a fixture of my city, though I've rarely seen any quite so overt.

[ Nothing he says is a lie. He's simply omitting irrelevancies. ]

[Damian glances down at the hand. He doesn't really want to shake it, for whatever reason. Even he can't grasp why. Lestat de Lioncourt. French. There's a particular air around how he says it, like it's... important. Prestigious. Wealthy? Or something else. It's like how he would wield his own name as a shield, a badge of honor and a weapon to be used against any who would tear him from his place of safety. A lamb to the slaughter, proud to wear the tag wrapped around it's foot.

He takes the hand, and he shakes it. "Of the three Batmen - one of them would undergo an infernal contract and sell his soul, and Gotham would burn to ashes as a result." His dad's black book. It's an odd thought to be having in this situation.

There's something... off. Even now, he can recognize that.]

...Robin. Of Gotham City. [It's not his name - barely even his city - it's just a hand me down from the man who actually saved him. But Robin is more useful than Damian Al Ghul Wayne. He's not like Tim, or Dick, or Steph or even his father. He doesn't have a double life. Just an empty paper thin disguise of a normal well mannered boy, and the predatory animal they demand he hides.]

I need to find where they were buried. [He concludes, leaving aside any nagging doubts about whether this is entirely born of an academic curiosity.]

[ A bit of an affected way to refer to New York City, but Lestat has already gotten the impression this child spends more time in the company of adults than his peers. It's the sort of habit such a child would pick up, like the assured quality of his handshake.

Lestat smiles slightly and formally, only a small quirk of the lips, and lets the expression drop with his hand. Robin, then. It remains to be seen how ironic the name is. There's a small hunter's tense quickness to him, if not any lightness of song. ]

So you need to find out what name to search for in the graveyard. [ Not difficult to put together. ] Presumably by going through the debris that remains...failing that, perhaps this town has some sort of record of events, somewhere.

[ Once again, nothing groundbreaking. He says it for his own thoughts, turning slightly away from Robin to examine the wreckage of the room. ]

Perhaps another pair of eyes might make it a bit less onerous?

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but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes

ADUST - And I'll blow your house in.

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