ghost light

Rohan Persaud - 34 - Witch

G H O S T  L I G H T

“I have heard myself say that a house with a death in it can never again be bought or sold by the living. It can only be borrowed from the ghosts that have stayed behind.”

Below the cut is some quick background on Rohan. His full biography goes into a little more detail, but please feel free to hit me up any time with ideas or plots!

TW: Death; Terminal Illness

.

“Some tv guy?” She wiggled her eyebrows in a curious manner. “That sounds incredibly professional.” She teased as she smirked a bit. “I would really like that though,” the wolf nodded in agreement and waited for him to place his phone between them. She took it to put her number in and sent herself a text message so she would have his as well. “There you are.” The wolf pushed the phone back towards him. She leaned back continuing to carefully sip her drink. 

“That is a good start, you’re the type of customer we love,” she smiled as a soft chuckle escaped her lips. “It sometimes is amusing the things people get upset with you about.” She shrugged her shoulders before setting her glass down. “I guess it comes with the customer service territory, the nice thing is there are a lot of reasons people, like myself, like it. I mean I wouldn’t have stuck with it so long if I didn’t.” She offered up with a nod of her head. “Stealing?” She repeated with a more wide eyed expression. “Now that sounds like risky business! Has anyone ever caught you?” She asked with a curious smile. “Mmm, so you enjoy a hunt.” Valerie nodded, knowing it was something similar for her. Only with ingredients and recipes. “That is a really lovely way to think about it. However I’m curious, do you do anything with the haunted objects you find or just keep them?” 

x

“These days, you need a TV guy. No one will come see you if you’re not Phantom or Wicked, so...the TV guy gets you a fair shot.” Rohan laughed genuinely, but in truth, he was only half-joking. Most of his plays felt too cerebral for widespread commercial appeal. All the same, perhaps his new friend would not appreciate his ability to endlessly wax poetic on the impending demise of the American theatre. He took his phone back and tucked it neatly away. “Thanks. Looking forward to it. I’ll even point out who’s important and who thinks they’re important. It’s a fun theatre game we like to play.” He gave a teasing wiggle of his eyebrows. 

He smiled. “Why do you like it, hm? I know why I liked hospitality. But now I’m curious. Is it the people? Is it the helping?” He cocked his head to one side, bashfully wrinkling up his nose. “Okay, not stealing, stealing. I don’t rob flower shops or anything! I just...you know, pick things I see growing alongside the path and take them home. Maybe I’m robbing the taxpayers. No one’s ever said anything, though. But I’m very endearing. I think they see me and think it’s rather quaint I’m gathering flowers. And I don’t pilfer personal gardens. Just unkempt things no one was looking after anyway.” He waved a hand through the air.

Rohan gave a pensive pause at that before speaking up in a way too serious to sound anything but ridiculous. “Haunted objects usually just want someone to notice them. I find that if you give them a good home and indulge them, they tend to settle down. It’s like a temper tantrum. But...hey, wouldn’t you throw one if you found yourself invisible one day?” 

Despite his ray of sunshine personality, he sometimes watched sad movies. He wouldn’t say that he was satisfied with an ending when the author decided to kill one of the main characters, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the movie, so he was sure that despite the fact that his play was depressing, he could still end up enjoying it, “That’s alright, some movies are very sad, but are still really good, so that won’t be a problem,” he watched hachiko, and he cried like a baby, but he still loved the movie. Every time someone asked for a movie suggestion that was about dogs, that was the first one that he thought, “I guess that’s a good point,” he nodded, “Who’s that special someone?” he asked, wondering if he knew them, “Nah, you look great!” 

x

Rohan sighed very deeply before offering a weak smile. He laughed. “I mean, you’re right. But have you ever noticed how sad some kids movies are, dude? I’m still traumatized by that one with the bee-sting and the Home Alone kid. Sometimes I wish I got to hang onto the innocence of youth longer. Where only pleasant things happen. I suppose adult me can take it, though. What should be on my good but sad watchlist?” He wrinkled up his nose. “Uh...Well, his name is Joseph Graves. He’s a doctor. And really rather wonderful. My mother would be thrilled. I pick up doctors in public parks apparently. I think that counts as a win.” Rohan laughed, more heartily. “How about you, hm? You strike me as a romantic type. Do you have a muse?” 

˗ˋˏ°• ✧ •°ˎˊ˗

“I’m fine, yeah of course,” Bea said in a rush, her hand tightening on the banister, “Just uh a… condition.” Which was true, if one considered being a banshee a condition. But even as Bea tried to hold her truths close, Mr. Persaud seemed to let his go in just a few quick sentences. Her breath left her in a whoosh as Bea dropped down to sit on the stairs. “Oh thank god,” she said, holding her head in her hands. “So you can see him? He’s making selling this house impossible. Do you know how many times we’ve been in escrow?” She shook her head, admonishing herself for being so selfish. “I mean, his name, I should have it on the paperwork in the attic.” Bea took a step up before turning around again and going back down, “Um, I mean, this is all a bit backwards, but I’m Beatriz. Real estate agent… and banshee.” It wasn’t every day she introduced herself so plainly, but well, he took the leap first.

x

Rohan let out a long breath, something of a sigh rolling through him, perhaps of relief, as the tension of their standoff seemed to dissipate. He ran a hand through his hair, still standing rigidly but allowing his shoulders to fall. And before he could stop himself, he was spilling everything forth. “I...uh, well, you know, sometimes. When I try to anyway.” He waved a hand vaguely around in the air, as if indicating that said rowdy ghost was somewhere now doing something. “Sometimes spirits can be possessive. Of places. Or things. Or people. I suppose that’s why they don’t always move on; earthly tethers. Do you know what I mean?” He shrugged, his gaze moving up the stairwell to the attic proper. “If I find out a little bit more about him, I can usually...you know, help out, but well...” He sniffed as he trailed off, flashing Bea a proper smile now. “I really am Rohan Persaud, public persona and playwright. I’m also a witch. But I think we’ve established that. Unfortunately, though, I don’t actually want to buy this place. But I was lured here to do strange spells in the basement. Do you know your ghost just, like, gives the lockbox code out?” 

where: the fountain who: open @darkesthourstarters​

Raul had never considered himself a believer in luck or fate. There were too many ways for plans to go awry when left to simple chance, and yet, as he stood in front of the fountain, quarter clutched in one fisted hand, he couldn’t help but think that this was just that – asking the universe for some sort of small morsel of luck. Tradition, he thought to himself as his hand came up, quarter flying over one shoulder. “So, is this supposed to be a one-size fits all ask and you receive kind of thing or does the person in charge know when someone doesn’t believe?” 

x

"Uh...there is that song about the three coins in the fountain. I think only one wish comes true in that one. I figure that means we have to find a third, huh?” He wrinkled up his nose, giving something of a smile “Do you not believe in wishes? I do. What’s magic anyway but extending your willpower out into the universe to ask for what you want?” Rohan tossed his own nickel into the water, creating a small splash. “Is there a difference between a coin and a spell? Just a metaphorical ‘I want.’ Am I making any sense?”  

​Maybe less so than a dog, considering the amount of attention they required, adopting a cat felt like kind of a big deal to Emily. And not just because it’d mean she was responsible for another being; it’d also mean outliving another creature she cared about and eventually having to deal with that specific pain. Regardless, she could get kind of lonely sometimes, so Emily was pretty sure she’d convinced herself to just go ahead and do it. She wanted to be prepared first, though, make sure her new furry friend had everything they’d need, so a trip to the pet store seemed necessary. Upon entering, however, and seeing the vast array of kitty supplies, she soon realized she was kind of out of her depth. “Awesome, okay…” She murmured distractedly to herself, eventually turning to the closest person to her. “Hey, so, I get that I could ask someone who actually works here, but I don’t wanna look, like, totally incompetent… If you were getting a cat, and it was your first ever pet so you had literally nothing for it yet, what kind of stuff would you get?”

@darkesthourstarters​

x

Bustopher was not an actual cat. Bustopher was a physical manifestation of his magic. And in theory, Rohan knew this; he was just not sure his familiar did. Temperamental and prone to boredom, Bustopher lashed out from lack of enrichment. And Rohan wondered if that really meant he himself had some personal introspection to do, said cat being an extension of his psyche and all. Browsing the shelves now, his arms already full of various toys, he looked up and offered a smile. “Oh, uh...are you getting a cat?” He gave a nod. “They like these little mice ones.” He shook one of the packages in his grasp. “Mine doesn’t fall for the laser pointer, though. He’s too smart.” Knitting up his brow, Rohan turned back to the shelf. “I guess you’d need litter. Litter box. Canned food. Kibble. Sometimes they eat the kibble too fast, but they make these neat little puzzle bowls that slow them down. Again, Bustopher is too smart for that, though. That’s my cat. He just...he just knocks things over to get what he wants.” 

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

“See I get that and all, but I feel like what I’d earnestly want to do, may not exactly fit within my means if that makes any sense?” Kai admitted with a small shrug, that is unless he used the drug money to throw something together but that didn’t exactly seem like the best way to be charitable either… “That and I feel like it’s easier to create a basket if I knew who it was going to be for, ya know? Like if I was going to make one for you, it would be something theatre related, Mr. Curly McLain,” He teased, giving Rohan a light nudge as he did. Only for a deep laugh to break from his lips as Rohan continued to apologize for the Oklahoma reference. “Nah. Don’t be. It was cute.” 

x

“Well, tell me, what are you envisioning, hm? Maybe I can try to offer suggestions. I’m very good at making a big impact on a budget. That’s all theatre is anyway. Smoke and mirrors.” Rohan smiled sympathetically, giving a small nod. He wrinkled up his nose. “My plan is to do something I’d like to do. By putting myself in the basket, I’m assuring its sincerity. That it’ll have heart. I mean my personality, of course. Not, like, literally going to pop out of the basket. It’s not that kind of party.” He wiggled his brow, breaking into a laugh. “You know, I was in Oklahoma! as a teenager. Just as, like, a background cowboy. Maybe I should see if I can find my old hat,” he replied, shaking his head. “That’s one word for it. But, hey, maybe this whole thing will do us some good, yeah? Prove that the farmer and the cowman really can be friends. Or the wolf and the witch or whatever.” 

⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅

“Whoa, hey, since when was this a boring off?” Devin let out a small laugh at the thought, giving Rohan a reassuring nudge as she noticed the overly rigid way he was standing. She knew things were weird now after the chaos of Valentine’s Day, and she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a tinge of animosity there at the witches for voting them in, but it wasn’t exactly like they had a choice either and its not like they had voted her specifically in, so as far as she was concerned it was better to just let bygones by bygones and pretend the voting never happened. That is unless it would later benefit the clan to do so, like to win a debate at a future council meeting or something along those lines… “And oh? I don’t dislike breaking things, so maybe I’ll add that one to the list and- wait, no. That’s not a silly idea. Not in the slightest and now I’ve got to ask, do you know that you have a tendency to put yourself down? Because, and not to judge or anything, but I think it’s a real shame. You have great ideas. You should have more confidence in them.”

x

“Well, I mean, probably since I got involved? I watch Antiques Roadshow. That’s my idea of a really great time.” Rohan managed a somewhat proper laugh at this admission, although the tenseness did not entirely leave him. He allowed himself to be nudged but made no effort to fall into inopportune displays of camaraderie and so did not nudge back. He shrugged, shaking his head. “To be honest, I had to be coaxed into the breaking. I’m very particular about things. I wonder about who might have loved something, and then I just feel guilty,” he replied, cocking his head to one side. He cleared his throat. “Uh, well, in my business, the arts, I mean, if you’re anything but unfailingly humble, it reeks of pretentiousness.” He laughed lightly, evidently attempting to make some kind of joke. “Honest. I don’t mean to make myself small or anything. I’m just a big fan of...not making waves. Going with the flow. Call me a Beach Boy because I’m just over here surfing, you feel?” 

⇌

Ken gave him a pointed nod that said ‘you got me there’ forever was a word lost on immortals like him, still a small chuckle followed, “Are you sure you’ll be the thorn?” Ken questioned, “You know you’re way too nice to ever truly annoy some right? Or lure people into anything.” There were people Ken was immediately curt towards and then grew to be civil, and of course flipping that there were some that Ken hated on sight, but there was a special category where Ken couldn’t be mean to no matter what, Rohan here fell into that third category. “I don’t doubt you on the brew though, even if it didn’t work out as you wanted you could tell me that was how it’s meant to be and I’d believe you. Not like I know the workings of this.” For someone that claimed to not trust witches, Ken had sure put a lot of faith into Rohan, he supposed that should be the next step in his mission on learning more about the supernatural world, tucking that thought away, Ken shrugged at Rohan’s question, “As long as my hair isn’t some bizarre colour by the end of the night, I won’t be mad.”

Rohan’s constant hesitancy around the Vampire topic was quite frankly hilarious, and Ken did not hold his laugh back, “Relax mate, it’s fine,” he said with a shake of his head, “I’m good on that red stuff, it’d be extremely strange for you to just have a pitcher of blood lying about wouldn’t it? Unless it’s something you use in brews or potions?” Though his next words caused a scowl to replace the smile as he reigned in the anger into a low disapproval grunt, “Polite or not, that shit won’t fly. You’re good don’t worry, I’ll make sure that won’t happen again.” Taking comfort in the fact that it had not gone any further, Ken couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck it was with his kind and bothering his friends, or whatever Bea was to him. “Yeah, Red’s good. I had half a thought to bring food, but I wasn’t sure what you liked and you know… I don’t need to eat so didn’t want things going to waste.”

x

“I lured you into whatever this is.” Rohan gestured around them, flashing Ken a sideways grin. “All ghosts are eventually thorns, though. Don’t tell them I said that. I love them, and they love me.” He rolled his eyes, but truly, Rohan’s relationship with the great beyond was, as a rule, one of mutual pestering. He sighed very deeply before giving a low laugh. “Oh, you’ll know. There’s explosions and colors and strange smells. It’s not my fault, though. So many witches got to practice potion brewing at home. I wasn’t even allowed to use the oven growing up.” Rohan offered up a shrug with that. But while he had accepted it, in truth, he did not yet quite feel caught up with his peers. He would not trade his human upbringing for anything in the world, but certainly, one could dream of how good of a witch he would be by now had he been able to start earlier. “Anything that’s changed can be changed back. And if not, there’s a drug store down the block. We’ll get box dye,” he teased. 

-

Leo had thought the apology would feel better than it did. If anything, Rohan’s sudden sincerity made his stomach squirm. Thinking everyone else was acting like an asshole had been a good way of distracting himself from the fact that he thought they were right, and now, suddenly, he wanted to talk Rohan out of it, convince him back into hating him, avoiding him. It was safer that way. Leo used to be someone who helped people, now there was a part of him that wanted to hurt. Rohan had been right to walk away from that. 

“I’m fine,” he said and hoped his expression stayed as casual as he was trying to make it. The more open and honest Rohan became, the less Leo wanted to reciprocate: because the truth was, he was not fine, and he was not doing well, and admitting either of those things felt a lot like admitting that everyone was right, that they were making a good choice in avoiding him, that he was a monster, and he no longer had any idea who he was or what he wanted. 

He nodded slowly. “Right.” He didn’t really know what to say to that. Everything he’d been imagining for the ending of the play now sounded a lot more fun than the real thing, and he wasn’t sure he was glad to know the truth. “Well, that’s a bummer. I mean, it sounds sad ‘cause it is sad.” He didn’t want to believe it was true or realistic; he wanted to believe that those other men at the office would be changed forever, that they’d be inspired to go out and make their lives happier, make them exactly what they wanted to be, that they’d break out of their mundane office lives. He shouldn’t still be this idealistic, he knew that; he’d been watching people die, professionally, for years. But he’d also watched people live and helped them get there, seen miracles happen, had happy relatives cry on his shoulder, and watched people declare that ‘things will be different now’ when they’d been given a new lease on life. 

But the potential of helping Rohan in his career, even a little, was a much more fun conversation–even if sounded like Rohan was making a career out of bumming people out. “Well your fans should like you, sure. But you’re not going to have all the fans you deserve if you don’t get some idiot in a suit with money to sign off on it.” At Rohan’s words, Leo bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah? You want to grovel? Okay. Go for it. Groveling, commence.” he did not need Rohan to do that, but he was curious what it would look like. 

x

Knitting his brow, Rohan offered a short nod. “Okay,” he replied, voice soft. But he supposed he had no right any longer to press. Leo had said he was fine, and so, Rohan would have to take the assurance as it were offered, even if he did not quite believe it. For only a moment, then, his mouth seemed to open, as if he were going to speak once more. But he did not, clamping it closed and retreating back into the awkward distance he was keeping. 

He shrugged. “I exclusively write plays about ghosts. People satisfied with their endings so rarely have their stories told. What unfinished business would they have to tell?” Rohan truly did not regard death itself as a tragedy, no, but he did have the sense to realize the direness of lives cut short, of lives lived to less than their best, and of other lives that must go on in their absences. He allowed phantom hands to guide his writing, and in this case, said hand was pissed, maybe rightfully. The least he could do was a provide a medium into which to scream.

He laughed, weakly, but sincerely. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just need to find one producer. They bring the investors. And then I’ll get to stand to the side as they swarm the stage at the Tony Awards. Night of the locusts.” He shook his head, but looking up, something played across his features, perhaps hope, hope that there could be genuine humor, normalcy.

He took a long breath. “Uh... My shame and guilt confounds me? Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow, Be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer, As e'er I did commit. That’s The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 5, Scene 4. How was that?”

.

Valerie smiled as she listened to his offer and couldn’t help but nod her head enthusiastically. “I would love to hear a reading. That sounds really very cool actually. Sort of getting to see art in process. I mean obviously if you have someone else you are wanting to see your work by all means invite them. But I would love a chance to be there. Like I said it sounds very cool.” She nodded as she placed her hands in her lap trying to keep from seeming to eager. Valerie could understand how the theater seemed to have a lot of moving parts that could play on how something came across. She nodded her head in understanding. The topic changed and she shrugged her shoulders an easy manner. “I don’t know, I just try to remember that there usually upset about something else, and using me as a vessel or something.” She waved her hand a bit dismissively. She listened as he brought up his parents and nodded her head. “I imagine you really have to love your business in order to deal with some people.” Valerie listened and canted her head to the side curiously. “So you are an urban forager, that is pretty cool. Find anything interesting?” Val wasn’t sure she really felt as thought she had somewhere she truly belonged. She had come to the city out of necessity, joined the pack for the same reason. While she had people she cared about here, she sometimes wondering if she truly did belong. Though she smiled and sipped her drink. “It is nice to make a new friend sometimes isn’t it?” 

x

“It’s...well, you know, neat. Behind-the-scenes-y. They want to get some TV guy for the male lead. So who knows? That might happen,” Rohan laughed. “So! We should keep in touch, and you should come. All the other people who watch my stuff lie to me and tell me what I want to hear. So fresh eyes really are a very good thing.” Patting himself down, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and placed on the surface between them. 

“Ah, well, you’re probably right about that. But I try very hard to not take my own bad stuff out on other people. Doesn’t always work, I guess, but I’ve never yelled at a waiter,” he quipped, wrinkling up his nose with sincere mirth. “They did. My parents, I mean. But well...I’d wager most people just work some place and shouldn’t have to deal with anyone else’s wrath.” Rohan hummed a little at that, though, giving a nod. “Ah, urban forager sounds more serious than it is. I usually just...you know, steal plants, flowers. Those kinds of things. But I am a thrift shop treasure hunter. I have much better luck with strange trinkets. Haunted paintings. Evil dolls. Those sorts of things.” He laughed, but this was only a half-joke. Rohan nodded brightly. “It is. And here we are. For all my cursed knickknacks, I think connection is more important. We’re here for who we know and what we do, not what we have, you know?” 

˗ˋˏ°• ✧ •°ˎˊ˗

Bea paused, lowering the lamp in her hand, this house has people running out the second they stepped foot over the threshold and yet this person stood firm. Even if he’d been caught breaking and entering, shouldn’t he have run away by now if that were the case? Her eyes widened at the description of her colleague which eerily matched the description of the ghost people had reported seeing in the home. “Wait, you… you saw him? Well, I guess it’s a bonus that he’s nice,” she mumbled under her breath. Perhaps he would be kind enough to leave.

She wavered, if there was even a slight chance of selling this house, even to some obscure playwright with… interesting taste, she couldn’t let it slip through her hands. “Okay, Mr. Persaud. I’m sorry we couldn’t get in touch before the open house last weekend,” Bea said, finally placing the lamp on the floor. “I would be happy to set up–” as Bea started making her way down the staircase, a vision flooded through her mind as she placed her hand on the bannister. There was a gentleman dressed primly, groomed neatly, very dignified seconds before he tumbled down the staircase before landing at the bottom with a hollow thud. The vision cleared as Bea blinked, trying to get her bearings. “I’m sorry, I– I was saying– well,” Bea floundered, trying to find an excuse, but she wasn’t quite sure how long she was out.

x

“Uh...thank you!” Rohan called back up, overcome with a sudden sense of uselessness, as if he really did need to make himself look presentable before being discovered. Shifting his weight uncertainly from one foot to the other, he gave a sharp, bracing nod before starting properly up the staircase, as if to meet Bea half way. And catching sight of her, even in the half-dark, he allowed something that was not quite relief rush over him; they had met before. Rohan did not know if that would make the situation better. 

But he had learned well by now that when life forced him into strange circumstances, forces beyond his self were usually at work. He opened his mouth to speak up when Bea froze, and Rohan seemed to do the same, stopping on the step. The moments ticked by in shared stupor, and he let out a hitched breath. He had seen that expression before, seen it roll over certain people’s faces when he himself drew near, the stench of death clinging to him at all times. Could it be? “Are you...are you all right?” Rohan spoke up at last. “You, uh, you sort of...glazed over there.” He sniffed. Maybe it was rude to point out. A Forget-Me-Not spell on the tip of his lips, though, he braced his shoulders, opting for boldness, taking the universe’s hint. “He died here. The man. He won’t tell me his name.” One, two, three, four...He counted the seconds in his head he would have to undo what he just revealed. 

“Alright, I get that,” he nodded, he wouldn’t say that he would have the same reaction as him, because he never cared about getting a little dirty. He always played in the garden when he was a kid, his love for flowers were there since then, but he wasn’t very vocal about it for a long time, because kids could be really mean. As an adult, he still planted, he was the one that planted all the flowers in his shop, so it was no surprise that they didn’t share that sentiment, “Not really, the only musicals I watch are Disney, other than that, I rarely do it,” it was just not his style, he preferred other things, and plays were not one of them, “But I would be willing to watch yours if you want me to,” he smiled at the other, he would be there to give him support. He was a really supportive guy, even with someone that he didn’t know that well, so if he wanted him to go, he would be the first one to arrive, “Really? Great, I’m glad I was able to convince you,” he smiled widely, “I don’t know if you will actually find anything, but if you don’t, at least you will have a good time.”

x

Rohan did not actually consider himself a neat person. He often allowed his personal surroundings to mirror his mind, overcluttered and scattered. Still, he liked to imagine all his stuff was at least not messy; he could be finicky about grime and dirt and mud. And so, no one could begrudge him, then, for the stacks of knickknacks and oddities. He laughed a bit. “Ah, well...that’s very kind of you to say. But fair warning, my stuff tends to be...less whimsical, I guess. I’ve been told I’m very depressing.” But such came the territory of exclusively writing stories of dead people. Rohan sighed a little, but taking a beat, he settled down in the grass. He supposed he could survive that if it meant avoiding the dreaded meeting; he stretched. “Sometimes the good time is the thing to be found. You never know. The person I’m seeing right now, we met by chance in a park. So parks have been good to me. Which means I should take hints.” He shrugged. “Does this crown on me say Woodstock or Coachella? Does the beard take me into scary movie cult territory? Be honest.” 

x

A theatre kid made sense for Rohan, she thought. He seemed like an amiable type. One of those folks that made friends no matter where they went because they were just genuinely good people. Genuinely people like that didn’t get wrapped up with people like her. Honestly, shouldn’t get wrapped up. Even in casual conversations where you were never going to see the other person again. The smile on her lips faltered. She hoped it just looked like sympathy.

“Oh. Yeah, wine drinker too, weirdly enough. And most people just pretend to be able to tell the difference between wines, honestly.” A good sommelier could convince people of the tastes they were about to have. What mattered was expectation and presentation. And the ability to read people. To know what they expected out of the experience. It was how she passed so many of her counterfeit bottles off as genuine. Well, before it all blew up in her face.

“It makes sense.” Corrine nodded. “You’re empathic. It’s not a bad trait to have. Just sucks that people will take advantage of it sometimes.”

She was just forgetting her trepidation again when their hands met in the shake. There was that flash again―a golden thread that snaked its way up Rohan’s arm and flared around him before fizzling out as she jerked her hand back.

“Fuck- I mean- sorry, static shock,” Corrine lied. A horrible lie. If there’d been a static shock, Rohan would have felt it too. “I, uh…” she trailed off, bit her lip, and tried again, “Moved around a lot. New York, France, lots of other places.”

She stared at Rohan. How? How was this perfectly normal guy a supernatural? Had to be a werewolf, right? That’s why she’d holed up in the Bronx in the first place, because at least if she did stumble into someone supernatural, it would be a werewolf and not a witch or something.

“What are you?” she blurted out. Great, mouth going before her brain thought now. “Sorry. Don’t answer. In public and all.” Embarrassed, she turned away and hastily set some money on the bar to pay for her mostly untouched drink. “I’m an ass. You’re fine. Just got surprised, is all. I haven’t been home in a long time.”

x

Rohan, in truth, did not find it weird to find a fellow wine drinker; he supposed most adults eventually resigned themselves to it, wine being the socially acceptable adult beverage and all. Still, he did find it delightful to find a companion in the ludicrousness of the tasting. “See, you get me. Smoke and mirrors. I have no idea what a dry flavor is. And sometimes, I drink the ones you’re supposed to decant without decanting them.” This came with conspiratorial good humor, the way a person might admit to something genuinely heinous. Rohan flashed a broad, genuine smile, but his features fell into a wide-mouthed sort of shock as she pulled back.

“Oh! I, uh...it’s these shoes. I’m sorry.” There was the empathy, of course, a willingness to take the blame for whatever had just occurred, although this lie was just as ridiculous. He rolled his shoulders, placing his hand on his lap. “Oh, yeah? France. That’s...that’s really wonderful. I wish I could travel more, but well...” Coven life generally required physical closeness; he dreaded the thought of feeling sapped. Still, he allowed the small talk to falter now, trailing off to silence and letting the awkward moment of their contact settle. 

His eyes widened, and Rohan seemed ready to speak up before she stopped him. What are you? A man. A playwright. Annoying. No, he seemed to understand. Lost, he thought first. The Lost so often picked up on the death that hung around him, to the remnants that clung to his touch. Could she be one?

He cleared his throat then, glancing to the bartender, as if to make sure they were out of earshot. “No, no, it’s...” He sniffed. “What do I do? That’s what you mean, yes? I write. But I’m an artist in lots of ways. I make things too. Crafts, I mean.” He spoke loudly then, for mortals to overhear. Fishing into his pocket, Rohan retrieved a small, hand-crafted protection charm, the sort of thing a mortal might take for a strange keychain. He let it dangle from his palm, however, biting his lip as if to probe Corrine’s awareness of magical objects.

x

How could he have fallen for some so incredibly different? Tarot and astrology, while Joseph had his feel planted so firmly on the ground. And then Rohan’s lips fell easily into a smile and it wasn’t much of a question anymore. Perhaps it was exactly what he needed. Somebody who helped lift him off the ground just a bit.

Joseph winced at the pain for the moment as Rohan’s fingers brushed against his injury, but his gaze quickly softened once more. He reached tentatively with his hand to stroke Rohan’s cheek. “I’d like to hear all about it. Life and jobs and everything.”

He’d never been called wonderful before. It was an odd feeling, and one he didn’t know how to take. He understood however, why Rohan might call him that, cause he seemed wonderful as well. Awe-inspiring even. “Healing hearts? Don’t you work with ghosts? I may just be a doctor, but I’m pretty certain that death is the ultimate disease you can’t cure.”

x

Rohan gave an apologetic simper as Joseph inched away from his touch, retreating briefly, but when he found a hand on his cheek, he seemed to melt into the contact. Allowing the moment to settle, he brought up his own to hold Joseph’s there. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve just been, you know, writing....writing, writing, writing. When I write, I can ignore my other responsibilities. Do you ever just...procrastinate? That’s life. Doing one thing when you ought to do another,” he joked lightly. “Tonight’s a welcome interruption, though. I’m glad to be doing this.”

Rohan sighed a little then before offering a teasing laugh. “Come now. We don’t lose our humanity when we lose our flesh, Joseph. You heal the body; I try very hard to heal the spirit. That’s all ghosts are, after all. All our unfinished mortal business given voice. In need of a listening ear and a helping hand.” He bit his lip. “Besides, death’s not so bad. It’s just a page turn. Natural. That’s why only Dark Magic can undo it.” 

He sniffed a little at that, allowing the more grim topic to fade in favor of inching closer into the other witch’s space. He breathed in the electric air. “I’m talking too much. Do you care about my un-life philosophies? I don’t. I’d like to...uh, I’d like to kiss you. At the risk of being too bold. It’ll stop me from talking. And scaring you off with my talking.” 

@darkesthourstarters​

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“Me? Enter a basket?” Kai blinked over at the other at the suggestion. He knew the upcoming Basket Auction was for a good cause and all and spending the afternoon with a stranger could be fun and he’d imagine to be far from the weirdest afternoon he’d ever spent or would spend with a stranger. But, the question remained whether whatever he came up with would be something anyone would even want to go for? “I don’t know. I mean, be honest, do you really think anyone would even bid on it? And what would I even auction of? A free drink at Eclipse?”

x

“I mean, I think it’s an opportunity to be creative. And besides, it doesn’t have to be the best. It just has to be there in earnest,” Rohan smiled, giving something of an easy nod. “Have you ever seen those online drawing contests? It’s, like, draw the best frog, and everyone votes on who wins. The most realistic frog never does. Usually the charming frog-esque attempt does.” He shrugged. “It can be whatever you want, though!” Rohan continued, lapsing into something of an overdone Southern accent. “Mine’s jist some ole meat pies and apple jelly. Nothin' like whut Gertie Cummins has in her basket. That’s from Oklahoma! The musical? They have...a basket auction in it. That was weird. I don’t know why I did that.”

Location: Central Park Status: Open! ( @darkesthourstarters​ )

“It’s actually quite fascinating! You see, Central Park was built on a large settlement of bedrock- So much bedrock that ,before the first landscapers could actually landscape, they needed to blow the place to smithereens with more gunpower than the amount used in the Battle of- And she’s gone.” Arthur glanced behind him to find that the elderly woman he was directing had already walked off. Now someone else was standing in her place. He winced and muttered under his breath, “Hopefully she caught the first half of all that.” Otherwise she was probably lost and asking someone else to point toward the restroom by now. “So sorry! I must be in your way.” A pathetic chuckle escaped his throat as he quickly ran a hand through his hair. “…How long have I been talking to the wind?”

x

“Oh, no. You’re fine. To be in my way, I’d have to be going somewhere. Which I’m not. I’m just kind of...standing, I guess.” Rohan offered this up with something of a shrug before putting his arms out, as if to demonstrate that he really was just taking up space. He smiled, but after a beat of silence, he seemed to feel the need to further explain himself. “I, uh,...it sounds silly, but a little while ago, this dude with a guitar gave me a flower crown, and now I’m trying very hard to experience life in the moment. Very Age of Aquarius and all that. There, now we’ve both told long stories about the park, and neither of us have to feel lonely about it.” He laughed a bit. “Don’t worry, though. People talk to themselves all the time. You really have to worry when the wind talks back.” Which it did, for Rohan, after all. “But, uh, what battle was it? The one with the gunpowder?”