Barrington Whelk (Derogatory) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cadereagratia) wrote2023-02-20 02:21 pm
cadereagratia) wrote2023-02-20 02:21 pm
PSL/Meme Continuation
for PSLs/Meme Continuations
for PSLs/Meme Continuations
for PSLs/Meme Continuations
for PSLs/Meme Continuations
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[Now that’s a curveball.] No…? What are you, some kind of psycho?
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Sure.
[Next, he's pulling out a cigarette. Could really use one right about now. What's it gonna do? Kill him?
[He holds out the pack, an offer. Does not give a single shit that she is sixteen. Smoking makes you cool, kids.]
Want one?
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[Congrats, Whelk, you just triggered a minor internal crisis. Because she hates shit that smells bad, is a little too familiar with this brand of it, and under normal circumstances that’s more than reason enough to smack the whole thing out of his hand. She doesn’t like the guy, at all, anyway.
[On the other hand… it’s supposed to be stress relief, right? Some cheap garbage, like candy for adults.
…Candy’s good.]
[Aubrey stares at the pack longer than strictly warranted. A compromise, for now: she turns away.] Gross. You hear things and you smoke. [Missing, for now, the implication that he hears things that keep him up at night.]
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[He lights up, takes a drag.]
I didn't smoke much when I was alive - funny thing, that. Not much else to do once you're dead though.
[Maybe that will hold her attention a bit longer.]
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[Oh, tap right into the competitiveness, why don’t you. Without facing him Aubrey swipes for the pack—but since he lit up her fist closes on nothing, and she shoves it in her pocket instead. Whatever, she’d probably just gag anyway.]
You’re dead? [Mumbling. Not taking that seriously.] Good fuckin’ riddance.
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[Another drag.]
You don't believe me, do you?
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[That supposed to be an insult? What’s with this guy and “interesting,” anyway?]
No. [Still blunt.] Ghosts aren’t real. [Which, even accounting for DWRP limbo suspension of disbelief, is still something she’d say. To be a prick. She’ll take this nonsense over what kicked the talk off, at least.]
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[At the ghost comment, he snorts. But something in his chest makes him want to argue, too. Not Czerny - he never saw that ghost. It's leftover passion from when he was seventeen, using EMF readers, maps, and dowsing rods, deep in the Virginia woods, looking for something, anything to make him and Czerny fall breathless onto the ground, laughing with wild eyes.
[The magic of those days was lost a long time ago, however.]
You're wrong about that, but I don't really feel like trying to convince you. Talk about boring.
[Although...]
What's your idea of the afterlife then, hm?
Where's the friend you drove to suicide?
[Mean for the sake of being mean. He doesn't even think twice about it. Worse still, he knows what that sort of grief feels like - but he'll deny that all day long.]
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[“Talk about boring.” Usually one of the last words people would use to describe Aubrey, but frankly, she’ll take it.]
[—Not that it lasts. Whatever calm she regained over the would-be smoke break falters again. Really, really not what she wanted to be thinking about—but, if not the self-blame spiral, it would’ve been there anyway.]
I don’t… I don’t know. What is this, philosophy class? [Her voice wavers, which saps the intended effect somewhat.] People say a lot of crap. I think…
I think they’re just gone, it doesn’t matter.
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It's a bit duller than that, but from what I can tell, you aren't on the wrong track.
The circumstances of my death were what you could call unique, though. I happen to know that some spirits linger, given the right conditions.
[Did Czerny? He's not sure. He's wonders, though.
[Mostly, he wonders...if Czerny is around, out there somewhere...would he ever come to see Whelk now that they're both, well...?]
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[That is… extremely. not something Aubrey wants to hear.]
[She goes stiff immediately.] What… do you mean, they “linger.” [Shallow-breathed, and very, very cautious.] What “conditions.” I— I shouldn’t even be talking to you, this is ridiculous—
[But she waits for an answer. Whelk’s not the only one wondering why someone never stopped to visit.]
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[He wishes it were easier to feel seventeen again. Talking about this makes it feel just a little closer...]
What do you know about ley lines?
sorry she’s a powder keg </3
L-ley lines?!
[Her voice breaks and she covers her face before she can have a complete meltdown.] That’s a bunch of— Don’t say things like that [don’t even float the possibility], do you think I’m an idiot?! [She feels like she knows the answer.]
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You wanted to know what I meant.
Ley lines are the key - at least, one of the keys. Granted, there were other circumstances contributing, but you don't seem to want to listen.
So, what? You don't believe in them?
Or you do?
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No, I don’t. [Believe? Want to listen? Yeah. But she makes some effort at calming down, and listening anyway, while Whelk sorta-elaborates. It came out of nowhere, was the thing.]
Or— I don’t know. I thought it was just—conspiracy, fantasy nonsense, I don’t—
[Deep breath.] Just… tell me why they don’t all linger, I guess. If they can talk to us, or something, I just. I don’t know.
novel wow
[He explains:]
It's two factors which seem to affect a spirit's ability to linger - one can, perhaps, be tossed out.
The largest is a ley line, and an active one - "awake", as it were.
The other is ritual sacrifice, although. [He snorts, waving his hand, dismissive.] That's all a crock of shit as far as I'm concerned. [Butthurt? Maybe a bit.]
Still. The attempt might have something to do with what tethers a spirit to a place - to a line. The combination has proven effective - at least, in my case.
[In Czerny's, maybe. It would explain why those brats all felt so impassioned by the entire thing...Still, Whelk doesn't like to think that Czerny would have the capability to manifest and not visit him, that worthless little shit.
[Now that he's done info-dumping about his special interest, his tone shifts again - as if he remembers who he's talking to, and that they don't get along. He frowns.]
Assuming your friend's body isn't buried on a ley line, you probably won't be getting a visit from them.
Although, there are other methods worth exploring, I suppose. I doubt that's something you'd be interested in, given your penchant for...[Gesturing to her.] All of that.
[As if this guy isn't absolutely ruled by emotion.]
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[Aubrey actually does listen, even lowering her hands to side-glance at Whelk as he talks.
[And talks.
[And talks.]
[It’s not like Aubrey’s unfamiliar with going on about something for a long time, though, and she’s happily to have the ball back in his court. The mention of ritual sacrifice doesn’t stick out to her much, at least relative to the rest of this potential-crock-of-shit.
[She really just wants to know if this is actually possible. And, if so, why it hasn’t happened. It’d figure that Aubrey also hates to think that the possibility is there, but the could-be spirit never bothered—though she’d be far, far less insulting.]
[So Whelk’s conclusion is… actually kind of a relief. The jab annoys Aubrey, but it’s closer to baseline than earlier.] Psh. You don’t know that.
…Methods like what.
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But, no, you have to...search for that sort of thing - really search.
Do research. Draw up maps. Hike around for hours, looking for anything that might be more than nothing.
[Holy shit does this ever feel good to talk about again.
[He's surprised by that. So surprised, in fact, that once he realizes he's feeling good, he promptly feels ten times more like shit in order to make up for it. Great job, Whelk.
[The wind effectively (and suddenly) out of his sails, he grumbles the rest of his little speech:]
You can search your whole life and find nothing worth mentioning. Jot that down too.
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[Ha, other girls at sleepovers. It’s the late 90s/early aughts where she’s from, and obviously that means there can only be one girl in a friend group. Or, well, there were two, but.]
[There is a weird little flash of… hope? excitement? in the idea that, just by hiking around and researching enough, one might be able to contact the dead. Not like Aubrey was attached to this place, anyway.]
[And yet.]
Hah. I… kinda figured that, already.
[A pause. Best not to linger on that too long.] It’s worth looking, though, isn’t it? Better than not trying at all....
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I've always thought so.
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[That gets her full attention. It’s almost startling.]
Then…[A short huff.] What the hell are you doing here? Can’t go find some ghost friends? [Which would be mockery, normally, but somehow not this time. It’s… almost curious?]
a bit of headcanon about post-canon here
[If he's here, then where is Noah Czerny?
[He mutters it, more to himself than anyone - almost as if he's forgotten Aubrey is there.]
I can't leave.
I'm trying...
[He glances back to her.]
My body's on the line. I'm stuck.
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[There is a slight temptation to prod the guy, see if he’s actually corporeal. Maybe not just yet, though; it’s been a long, long night as-is.]
[Aubrey only partially catches the mutter, but it’s enough to fill in the rest. She’s started leaning in ever so slightly; when he glances back she nearly jumps.]
So you’re… stuck on a ley line. Physically, somehow. [Oh, the temptation to poke him is bad.] You think if… ugh, [the thought is gross, but,] if your “body” moved, you’d be able to… pass on? get out of here? [Left unsaid: Visit someone else?]
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That can't happen. Unique circumstances, if you recall me saying that.
The place where I died doesn't...exist, in so many words...
[But his...body is there. It's...hard to explain, or comprehend, even for him.]
So, I'm here.
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[Aubrey frowns. Swears under her breath. Whatever, not like she was gonna dig up a grave anyway…]
[She steps back, folds her arms again. Her posture’s more slumped than stiff, now.] You must be really bored. [Not sympathetic. Kinda back to thinking he’s full of shit again.]
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