Seance Live Event - 16.04.2022, 17:50 - 21:30 GMT Timestamp: Saturday, March 16th, 1889, late evening Location: Muiris Doyle’s parlour Led by: Muiris Doyle
With: @billxbarker, @sherrysfang, @spiritvalist, @retribctions, @eleanorewhittock, @profcss, @governcr
Transcript below the cut. The following has undergone minor edits for clarity and continuity’s sake.
Muiris Doyle
It has been a while since Muiris has opened his doors like this. For the last few months, he has been communicating with the spirits for his own purposes, to get to the bottom of a mystery he seemingly couldn’t solve. The dead were more active of late,and he simply didn’t know why. Thus, his doors had remained firmly shut, and he busied himself in searching for answers he hadn’t found.
But that couldn’t be the case forever. The dead may not be giving him answers, but they were loud, and demanded that the old man give them a voice. And so, he put the feelers out, and gathered the little crew that sat before him tonight. He’d gone to every length to prepare - the room cleansed, chalk circle on the floor (he would not risk breaking the circle again - he was still picking glass from the carpet). Finally, he was ready, and they were here.
Bill Barker
Bill is surprised to find himself here, in some ways. The last time he was involved in something like this, he had felt exposed and perplexed, but morbid curiosity drew him here tonight. He extinguishes his cigar, and takes a seat at the table.
Gilly de Leon
It had been some months past since he last foot in the room, though the dread never really went away. Both seances have left him in vain, having received answers that not only failed to satisfy, but also served to raise more questions.
He casts a cursory glance around the room as he takes his seat, rather pleased to find familiar faces. Even the sight of Muiris is enough to elicit a small smile out of him. Still, he makes a vague promise to himself not to act as irrationally as with seances past, and he takes his seat quietly, resting his arms on the table with a feeling almost resembling an ease.
Eleanore Whittock
Eleanore hadn't expected she would ever attend anything such as this. But with the Dame, and the rather abrupt departure of her brother from London, it had felt as if she had nothing else left to turn to. She smiles politely at Muiris, but keeps her head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anybody she knows properly.
Cheria Fang
She is perhaps amused, to find herself here. Cheria does not think of herself as a mystic by any means, but her interest had been piqued nonetheless. She ignored whatever voice there was in the back of her head telling her to search for something. Answers perhaps. She didn't know. And she didn't care much either way.
Bill Barker
it is curious to see Ellie here. He wonders what has draw her through Muiris' doors - and if that spells trouble for him in the end.
Toshiro Hill
It is half curiosity, half cynicism that calls Toshiro back before Muiris. The tarot reading seemed to have settled under skin, burrowing in his thoughts. He didn't feel exposed, but the event kept his mind occupied until his feet led him here. Toshiro dips inside, silently settling in one of the last open seats.
Jacob Posner
He feels uncomfortable as he enters the room, blames it on the fact that this is the first time he's decided to participate, not because the idea of this thing terrifies him. Once upon a time, he would've laughed thinking about a seance like this but now, with what's been plaguing him, it isn't the case anymore. Jacob immediately takes a seat right next to Gilly, because if anything was going to make him feel better about this, it's his friend.
Muiris Doyle
“Welcome to my home,” his voice is tired, older perhaps than it used to be just months before, but still warm. “And thank you for coming here tonight. I thought, perhaps, we should cover some rules before we begin?”
Muiris nods, and continues. “It is important to remember that, like people, spirits may be good or bad. They may lie. They may mislead you. They may make promises they do not intend to keep, in order to entice you into making promises of your own. Or they may genuinely wish to help you. There is no telling which may be true.” He lets the warning hang for a moment before continuing. “The chalk circle offers protection, a closed circle the spirits cannot breach. However, we must do nothing to weaken it. Do not rise from your seat. Do not let the candle extinguish.” His eyes fall on Gilly, and he lets out a weak smile. “And no assaulting the medium.”
Gilly de Leon
The quip so very obviously directed at him elicits a slight chuckle. "Not unless it's called for," he mumbles under his breath.
Cheria Fang
Cheria cannot help the laugh that escapes her, her eyes moving to give Gilly a once over. Her grin is pleased as she makes eye contact with him, "Sounds delightful if you ask me."
Muiris Doyle
Muiris claps his hands, and the lamps lighting the room extinguish. The room is plunged into darkness. The single candle, standing proud in the centre of the table, flickers into light, the flame illuminating the faces of those in the seance circle, but little else.
But then, from nowhere, footsteps sound. A tall, shadowed figure steps forward from the darkness, its face concealed. It circles the table, slowly, footsteps echoing, until at last, coming to stop behind the seat of Bill Barker.
It begins to speak, and its voice is familiar. The accent is different - plummier, wealthier, without a hint of his cockney accent - but the tone is undeniably that of Bill Barker himself.
“Are you proud of what you’ve become?”
Bill Barker
Bill is normally the unflappable sort. He cannot remember the last time he has been taken aback. He prides himself on being prepared for everything - but it is clear from his face, suddenly ashen, eyes a little wider than usual, that he has certainly been caught off guard. He tugs at his collar, suddenly feeling constricted, but after a beat, he answers, tone carefully measured and casual.
“And why would I not be?”
Cheria Fang
She rolls her eyes.
Muiris Doyle
The voice that is like Bill’s laughs, cold and cruel. “I do not think I need to give you the answer to that.”
Eleanore Whittock
It is an interesting, though she's unsure of whether it's welcome, distraction to have the focus on Bill. It's strange, perhaps, to see him here at all - to see him outside of her own home. She watches him, because the focus is on him, and she seems to be allowed to, eyes concerned.
Bill Barker
Bill knows all too well what the voice means, but he says nothing. He cannot address it here, not with so many observing the interaction. He places his hands on the table, palms flat to prevent himself clenching his fists. He keeps his eyes on his fingernails, clears his throat, and asks his question.
“Have any of our investigations into the identity of The Ripper been correct?” the politician turns his head slightly, an attempt to catch a glimpse of its face, it is for nothing - the light seems to die in its orbit.
Cheria Fang
She does not pretend that she's not outright staring at Bill during the entire interaction. Of course, she ia allowed to in that moment without being judged. Perhaps she is too curious about a man she supposedly hates but his reaction intrigues her. He seems as if he wishes to hide something. She wants to know what that something is.
Gilly de Leon
For such a simple question, Bill's gesture is so strangely measured, and it arouses the professor's curiosity in no small way. He's almost regretful that Bill's line of questioning for his ghost turns to the cases. Only appropriate given the troubles in his constituency, he supposes, though Gilly doubts the sincerity nonetheless.
Toshiro Hill
He rubs his thumb along his bottom lip as he watces the interaction between the figure and Bill. He cannot recall the last time he witnessed Bill off-kilter, uncomposed. Perhaps it's never happened at all.
Stranger still: I do not think I need to give you the answer to that.
It would do him well, he thinks, to remember that.
Muiris Doyle
The figure leans in, looming over Bill. It is an imposing sight, seemingly stretching until the politician is dwarfed by its mass. “Are the victims of these crimes the only ones who deserve justice? Can you truly think of no others?” There’s a thread of mockery to its voice, and though there are similarities, it no longer sounds quite like Bill.
Bill Barker
The hands on the table ball into fists, and Bill, for a flicker of a moment, looks almost vulnerable. The feeling is all too familiar - the towering figure leaning above him, the voice devoid of any warmth. “Dad?” he whispers, soft and uncertain. But then, the cracks in the facade that is Bill Barker close, and he draws himself up, eyes blazing, jaw set. “Ghosts lie.” He repeats, more for the benefit of the observers in the room than anything else. “And this one has nothing of value to say. Let us move on, and hope the next one is of more use.” There’s a finality in his voice that indicates he is not to be argued with.
Eleanore Whittock
She looks to him, far more focused on the man than the words of the ghost. More than anything, she wants to take his hand, touch his arm, and being sat beside him, it's difficult to stop herself. Still, she fears that any public display of affection would be overstepping a line they are yet to cross, and so keeps her hands clasped on her lap, saying nothing to Bill.
Muiris Doyle
The figure laughs, but midway through, changes, becoming wilder, more unhinged. The figure moves, positioning itself behind Cheria. From the darkness, a greenish-hued spectral hand reaches out, and presses a hand to her cheek. It is cold as ice. ”At last,” it sighs, French-accented voice cracking, as though it hasn’t been used in years.
Cheria Fang
She takes pause, perhaps enjoying herself a bit too much at the unsettling interaction between Bill and...his ghost? If those were to be real in this room, so be it. She didn't think much of it, she would rather not think much of it at least. It's only when she feels the shift in tone, and that familiar feeling of someone watching her returns. Except, it doesn't hide away from her this time. Cheria chooses not to react, though her body freezes where she sits. She does not acknowledge the entity, she does not know if it is out of fear. She gulps, "What are you?"
Muiris Doyle
“They called me a monster.” It seems delighted with such a notion. “Le diable incarné. What name do you give me, Miss Fang, in your darkest of nightmares?”
Cheria Fang
"I do not give you any name. You are but a nuisance when I wish to find comfort." Her tone is firm, though she can feel her throat closing up on it's own. As if it were a built in reaction for her, as if she knew whenever it was around, she would no longer have control over her own breath. It was a privledge for her, to breathe. And only it would be allowed to gift it to her. "Perhaps I should ask instead, what do you call yourself?" She wonders if she could envision it better then, if she could understand who it really was.
Muiris Doyle
"I call myself an artist"
Gilly de Leon
An artist who calls themselves le diable incarné. Gilly almost wants to scoff.
Cheria Fang
She laughs, she can't help it. Perhaps it's the absurdity of the answer. But it also leaves her with even more questions in the end. "Oh, cheers then. Your work must be well known, perhaps I've seen it before?" She tilts her head, "Or is this all some terribly elaborate metaphor that I'm just supposed to interpret for myself?" She scoffs in disbelief. "What is it you intend to do with me? Because quite frankly, I am lost." She tries to ignore the feeling edging at her, but it was familiarity that graced it's tone. She did not know if it was coming from it, or from herself.
Muiris Doyle
“The same as the others,” it sighs, the recollection of memories evidently sparking joy. “You must remember what I did to them, do you not? How could anybody forget?”
Cheria Fang
Perhaps it was easier before, to remain ignorant. But there was absolutely no way she could deny herself now. Her face falters, for a moment. But it is not fear that fills her at it's words, instead it is an overwhelming sense of guilt. As if she already knew what she had done, as if she had been the one to make some grave mistake. "N-No. It can't be." She shakes her head, but she already knew. She tries to mask her emotions with a blank face, her next words, are cold. In french "And why have you chosen me? After all, I am not the only one who knew you that day."
Muiris Doyle
“I wanted you then,” the voice confesses, slipping easily into French too. The hand is placed on her neck, the fingers squeezing lightly, but without much pressure. It is toying with her, seemingly for its own amusement. “But it was not the time for us. It soon will be.”
The hand upon Cheria’s throat makes Muiris nervous. It is too direct a threat, and so, he intervenes. “That is enough.” His voice is commanding and authoritative. “Begone, spirit. Let the next come forward.”
Cheria Fang
She feels it, she knows that feeling all too well. She does not like the feeling that this encounter has confirmed something for her. Something she wishes to deny so vehemently. And yet, she has no other choice but to accept it. Relief fills her the moment it is gone, but her hands, grace her next delicately. As if she was trying to mimic it's touch, memorize it for herself. How could she ever forget?
Gilly de Leon
As Gilly watches his friend's expression become more stoic, he's almost regretful never having learned the language. If only he could understand, perhaps he could offer some show of support—the best he can offer now is shooting her with a look of grave concern, eyebrows furrowing, as if to say, We have to talk about this soon.
Eleanore Whittock
Ellie barely knows the woman, but she feels herself leaning forward as the spirit materialises, looking quickly to Muiris, letting out a brief sigh of relief when he ends it.
Muiris Doyle
The hand melts away, and the shadowy figure dissipates, and the room is filled with smoke. Thick and black, but clearly a trick of the spirits, for it does not choke them as real smoke would, does not sting their eyes, and there is no heat that accompanies it.
From the smoke emerges faces - numerous and plenty, all people whose lives have been taken by Toshiro Hill. They appear, one by one, and, directly opposite him, the final face - that of his sister.
Toshiro Hill
He straightens in his chair as smoke fills the room, his heart beginning to race. It takes too many moments to register that the acrid taste he is too familiar with doesn't coat the back of his throat. There is no flame, no suffocation.
But his heartbeat still thunders in his ears as he finds one face after another. Recognition is swift when he has studied each to know their lives --- and to end them.
And then his sister emerges. Toshiro closes his eyes for a beat, then another. When he opens them, he keeps his gaze on his younger sister, imaging the other faces, the other people in the room, melt into the shadows.
"Who set fire to the Hill residence?" He wonders if she will even know the answer.
Muiris Doyle
When the answer is given, the mouths of all of the faces move in unison, but only one voice is heard - that of his sister. “There is no one man to blame. The fire was caused by hate and ignorance, by envy and fear. The flames were fanned by rumours and half-truths. There is no one person. And so you must punish them all.”
Bill Barker
Bill’s brows furrow at the comment. Interesting.
Gilly de Leon
The smoke arrives without the sensation of heat, scent, or burning. The lack of assault on his senses is unsettling, though not in the way he expects. Without it, there is nothing to distract their circle from the myriad of faces, attached to Toshiro in ways still unknown to him.
Gilly remains quiet, though by no means unperturbed. What is it with fire that takes so much of life away?
Toshiro Hill
Toshiro releases a slow breath, trying to ease the tension from his shoulders. Maybe he was too hopeful in asking for an answer that's escaped him for years. But what was shared instead leaves him unmoored.
Punish them all. But who counted in the all?
Taking another breath, he changes gears, asking in Japanese, "What is in your best interest now, sister?"
Muiris Doyle
“Justice,” it hisses, responding in Japanese too, and the eyes of his sister alight. With passion, with hatred, with a burning hunger. “The same as you, Toshiro. How many lives will be enough? What else can you do?”
Bill Barker
he sucks some air in between his teeth. It is too direct a comment - and he does not know how many at the table will take it seriously
Toshiro Hill
Then help me he almost wails, but the words remain trapped behind teeth as he turns his face away. It is not Muiris' rules that rings in his mind, but that of his father's warning of yōkai. He must be careful with his words, he must.
And yet --- this is his sister.
"Why should I trust anything you say?" There's no energy behind the words, forced monotony masking the desperation clawing up the back of his throat. Because this isn't a question. Not really.
Muiris Doyle
Muiris gives a small nod of approval. It is gratifying to see that the words of the spirit are not being taken at face value - that the warning he issued is being heard. Ghosts lie.
The spirit seems less pleased. The brows of the faces furrow, and the words it offers in answer come in a chilling tone.
“What would you be if you didn’t?”
Toshiro Hill
Toshiro looks to his hands, running a finger over the faded scars. A breath, and then another. "There will be justice, sister," he says in Japanese, and he closes his hands to fists.
Leaning back in his seat, he looks at Muiris. "I have nothing more to ask."
Muiris Doyle
The smoke furls upwards, evaporating into the darkness and taking the faces with it. When gone, the single, shadowed figure remains. It turns, its head inclining towards Eleanore Whittock, and it begins to sing, a strange, slow lullaby.
“Oh, my friends don't you know How a long time ago There was a child Whose names I don't know?
And he sobbed, and he sighed And he bitterly cried ‘til at last he grew weary And lay down and died.”
Eleanore Whittock
Caught up in the previous conversation, most of it in a language she didn't speak a word of, her heart stills in her chest as a familiar tune begins. She leans forward, breath uneven, almost drawn in by the sound. "You sing to him." The words are quiet, an almost whisper, gaze not leaving the shadowed figure for a second. "You- your words- you're trying to scare me, but you sing to him. He isn't here." It's soft, what she's saying, said in a tone which begs for the spirit to understand. "Do you want to hurt him?"
Muiris Doyle
“No.” The dismissal comes after a short pause. “Not unless it is necessary to do so.”
Bill Barker
Bill shifts in his seat, and reaches out, placing his hand on Ellie’s and squeezing briefly before withdrawing it.
Eleanore Whittock
So focused on the words of the spirit, she barely feels Bill's hand. She certainly doesn't process it. Her chest feels tighter, and though she wants to ask about necessary, she can't bring herself to think of the circumstance for even a moment. She lets out a shallow breath and asks, instead, "And- me? Do you want to hurt me?"
Gilly de Leon
His hands ball themselves into fists, almost instinctively. When has it ever been necessary to hurt a child?
Muiris Doyle
“Sometimes.” There is no hesitation this time, and the word is spat with venom. The spirit, whoever it may be, it holds little love for Ellie.
Eleanore Whittock
It is, somehow, a relief to hear. A reason that she can make sense of. She nods, once, the tune of the lullaby still ringing in her ears. "What is it that I do?" Once more, it isn't defensive, nor accusatory. Despite everything, she's trying to keep her words steady, calm. "Why do you want to hurt me?"
Muiris Doyle
“You fail in your duty to the child.” The spirit admonishes. “You cannot keep him safe like I can. He does not belong with you.”
Eleanore Whittock
It is then, and only then, that Ellie's voice rises. There's a steel to it now, words coming from the back of her throat, eyes cold. One hand, where it rests on the table, twitches for a moment, like it wants to swipe at air. "He is my son. He belongs nowhere else but with me." A breath, sharp, but steady, "You can not have him." And then, almost mocking, she asks, "What do I need to do for you to see that, Freddie?"
Muiris Doyle
“Give the boy over to me.”
Bill Barker
“This is ridiculous,” Bill speaks sharply, locking eyes with the medium. “You cannot allow this to continue.”
Eleanore Whittock
"No." Her voice trembles on the word, the anger replaced by overwhelming fear, "He's mine. He's- he's ours." She sits back in her chair as she says it, though she moreso drops, repeating the word once more, "Ours."
Muiris Doyle
Muiris seems to agree that it is too much. Again, the words are spoken to banish the spirit from their presence. The figure is beside Gilly De Leon, now, and it reaches out to him, soft, gentle hands cupping his face. It is almost intimate - but awkward, oddly still and wrong.
Bill Barker
he can hear the tone of her voice, and he reaches out again. This time, he does not draw his hand away
Eleanore Whittock
She doesn't look away from where the spirit had sat, the melody playing once more in her mind. As Bill's hand touches hers, she looks up, looking on the verge of tears as she does so. She says nothing, but her gaze drops to their hands, almost in confusion.
Gilly de Leon
The figure's touch is a mockery of intimacy. He remembers the past seance, then, how Muiris has cautioned him of this spirit's deceit. "This isn't you, is it?" It isn't a question.
"If this isn't you, darling—" The nickname falls in his lips before Gilly can even register it. The nickname almost feels like an old scar buried under a patch of new wounds, aching to be touched again.
"Are you her husband? Her children?" It is only logical, if a little unnerving, to start with the people who have died with her. Did you know? "Is this why you've chosen to torment me?"
Bill Barker
Darling? Bill raises an eyebrow. So, the professor was sleeping with Rose Collins all along. It is the only logical conclusion, and the realisation brings a quiet chuckle from his lips. He should have known.
Muiris Doyle
“It is me.” The voice is firm in its confirmation, but tinged with something that jars with it - annoyance, perhaps? Frustration?
Eleanore Whittock
With him sat beside her, she hears Bill's chuckle, and her eyebrows furrow as she watches Gilly.
Gilly de Leon
His nostrils flare at this spirit's impudence. It's a ghost all too keen in to hide in the shadows, despite so many attempts at casting it to light. And so he veers away from probing at their identity, and focuses on their motivations instead.
"Why are you this angry at me? Help me understand," Gilly begins, his voice firm, unshakeable. He looks down at his hands for a second, evidently trying to collect his thoughts. Having pondered a little, he asks, “If I let you in, what do you expect? Revenge? Retribution?”
Muiris Doyle
“I am angry because you push me away,” the previous incongruous tone is gone, but so is the attempt at enticing Gilly in with gentle words. It’s speaking out of pure frustration now. “Do you think so little of me? Do you hate me so?"
Gilly de Leon
A sigh punctures the air. Gone is the fire in his earlier seances, his rage weathered down by frustration and real despair. Not when the Ripper has taken so much from him, and the death of the Dame is a case that remains ill-resolved.
"I'm tired," he says, simply. "What would it take for you to go away?"
Muiris Doyle
The hand is withdrawn sharply. Silence passes. “You cannot want that,” it hisses, in disbelief. “Tell me you do not want that.” It is a command, not a request.
Gilly de Leon
The ghost has lost its touch. Perhaps it has never been there all along. He has spent so long mourning that the memory has been lost. He misses, but does not remember. Whatever strength the ghost has had on him does not anymore intrigue, or surprise—one that did not haunt him in some tragic way, but only bother.
There is a long silence before he finally arrives at his question. Gilly fixes his gaze at the figure, looking at where their eyes should be. Then, a dare: "Can ghosts like you be killed?"
Muiris Doyle
Another beat of silence. “No more than you already have.”
Bill Barker
There is no doubt in Bill’s mind now. Whatever happened to the Collins ws Gilly’s doing - the man is guilty as sin. Good for him.
Gilly de Leon
Gilly's face is grim, betraying little of the frustration building up in his chest. "I'm done with you," he says, with aching finality, his voice tinged with something rather like regret.
Muiris Doyle
The hand melts away, and the attentions of the shadowed figure are turned elsewhere. It takes its place beside Magdalena Clarke, and a hand comes forward once again, but this time, it is placed reassuringly on her shoulder, and as heavy and warm as the hand of the living. It is a gesture of comfort, and the room is seemingly filled with a more calming presence.
Bill Barker
Bill twitches, almost as though he wants to bat the hand away, but his face remains impassive, almost uninterested
Magdalena Clarke
She had remained silent up to this point, both to absorb all the revelations that unfolded and to prepare herself for the inevitable moment when the focus would turn to her. Yet when it finally did, she didn't feel steady, or confident, or sure of anything around her.
Her breath hitches audibly, and there's no room for her to scorn the unbidden open reaction, shocked as she was at the sudden onslaught of sensation. The hand is cold upon her shoulder. So cold its touch seems to sear its way down to her bones. It's tangible as well, and Magdalena can barely resist the urge to reach out and touch it. She straightens her back, attempts to preserve composure as much as possible, but she's visibly shaken. She isn't sure whether she's longing or dreading for the presence to speak.
Muiris Doyle
The voice that emerges this time is filled with the wisdom of the ages, and rich with affection. "I think you must have questions."
Magdalena Clarke
There are tears brimming in her eyes. Not only because, at last, she's speaking through the veil directly, but also because of the visceral recognition and familiarity she feels towards the presence. She looks down at her shaking hands, watching them for a tense moment while she holds her tears at bay and wonders about the presence. Could it be her father? Or was it a spirit unknown to her? What was their motive for revealing themselves and asking for her questions so readily?
"I do." She answers with a tremorous voice, leaning back in her seat slightly, dipping as closely into the spirit's space as she can. Her heartbeat begins to ease, her voice stilling as she says. "I experienced a... negative response from the spirit realm recently," She glances at Bill despite herself, then forcefully wills her gaze to trail over the other people present at the seance, contemplating the way she's out to lay herself pliant and vulnerable before them. "Completely unprompted as far as I can tell. It was the first time something like that ever happened." Voice softening almost into a plea, she continues, "Why did the spirits overwhelm me that way? Are they angry with me?"
Bill Barker
Bill’s ear prick up. Was this what he had witnessed with her, when he had dragged her back to his office?
Muiris Doyle
“No, child.” it sighs softly. “They - we - are not angry with you. What you felt was not about you. Things are not as they seem. There has been a disturbance, and some of the dead do not know what to do with it.”
Toshiro Hill
Toshiro's brows furrow at the sight of Magda's eyes welling, corcern etching his features. He watches her glance at Bill, then over the rest of them, giving her a small nod as she reaches him.
Magdalena Clarke
An impulsive turn of her head nearly results in her setting eyes on the spirit, but she quells the motion at the last second. She's not sure if she'd be able to cope with laying eyes on them at last, only to be helplessly wrenched away by the boundary of silence that would inevitably wrench itself between her and the other side. Slowly, she turns back around, facing the table once again. Her shoulders sag with relief at the spirit's words, though her intrigue is quick to rear its head at the subtle inflection in the spirit's voice. Was that uncertainty? Hesitation? Doubt? She looks up and meets Toshiro's unexpected reassurance. She gives him a small smile of gratitude, then she addresses the spirit. "I'm glad that you're not angry with me." Another small smile. Somehow she knows the spirit will see it. "I've sensed that disturbance. Is it because of what's been happening in the city? Or... something that's yet to happen?" A pause then she adds. "Is there anyway I can help put you at ease?"
Muiris Doyle
“Clever girl.” The voice is proud, almost. “There is a veil between the worlds of the spiritual and the physical. And it has been torn asunder. I doubt there is anything that can be done by you alone to draw it closed once more.”
At this, Muiris leans forward across the table, clearly listening intently. The spirit confirms suspicions he has been holding. He will have to speak with Magdalena later - perhaps she is the key to the answers he seeks.
Magdalena Clarke
"But that's dangerous, isn't it?" She hurriedly asks, almost turning around again. She knows the spirit's running on borrowed time, so part of her isn't expecting an answer, yet she can't help but further the interaction with them. She's sought this moment her whole life. "I'm... " She sighs, an expression of frustration and regret alike. "I'm sorry that there isn't much that I can do. But I'll still try to help, as much as I can."
Muiris Doyle
It is on a lighter note that communication with Magdalena ends, but it does not last. An anguished scream fills the room, high pitched and painful to hear. The scream gives way to sobs. There is only one left who has not spoken to the dead - whatever entity is now with them, it is here for Jacob Posner.
Jacob Posner
He's spent the entire evening listening and with just that, his distress grew. When silence falls after Magdalena's last words, Jacob shifts uncomfortably in his chair, hands balled up in his lap. The sudden screams make him jump and if he didn't feel like there was something stuck in his throat, he would have screamed too, as loud, or even louder than that. His heartbeat picks up at the sound and in this moment he regrets coming here in the first place. But he's here...and maybe she's here too. "The way I've been lately, is that because of something I've done?"
Muiris Doyle
“Of course it is,” The spirit laughs bitterly. “You play your part well, Jacob Posner, but not well enough. Everyone will know what you have done soon. How many will stand by your side then?”
Gilly de Leon
The abrupt cries filling the room jolt him upright. Gilly's hand immediately reaches for Jacob's shoulder, hoping the touch would afford some comfort at this spirit's increasingly acerbic words, yet even he cannot deny his own intrigue. What has his oldest friend done?
Magdalena Clarke
For a dazed moment following the abrupt disappearance of the spirit she was communicating with, Magdalena wrestles with shock and disappointment. She still had another question to ask, and countless others if she had been allowed to voice them. But now they're left to wither within her like they have been her whole life. She didn't even get to say goodbye, or to know who the spirit was.
Her daze is shattered by the harrowing scream that suddenly pierces the air, and Magdalena's hands snare the edge of the table, eyes scouring the air for any tangible sign of the presence she senses. Then Jacob speaks, and recognizing his voice, she looks at him, brows slightly furrowed in confusion; an expression that only deepens at the spirit's words. She looks away, not wanting to put pressure on him, but she remains intently focused on the interaction from that point on.
Jacob Posner
The laugh sends shivers down Jacob's spine and the pain it causes him is greater than any weapon could ever give him. He's afraid of what the spirit might want to reveal next, liar or not—the threat is there. He wants to find comfort in the hand on his shoulder, he wants it to ground him but it can't. Jacob's too agitated, too paranoid to let it. "What—what have I done? Do I have blood on my hands?" He can barely get the question out, it's risky to say something like this in a room full of other people, people he has no idea if he can trust, but the need to ask is stronger than this.
Muiris Doyle
“You know that you do.Your hands are stained with red. That mark cannot be scrubbed away.”
Jacob Posner
"How do I fix this?" he asks, his voice cracking; he sounds desperate, drained of any and all energy and will to go on. He can't even look at anyone else anymore, his gaze is cast down, eye nearly closed and he's so close to tears, he can feel it. He slips into his mother tongue with ease, even though he doesn't have the chance to use it anymore; his family's gone and so is their language. But she'll understand, she'll hear him and she'll understand. "What do I do to make things right? he says in Polish and it feels like it's taken everything to do it.
Muiris Doyle
(in polish) The spirit sobs again. “You cannot. You cannot bring life back to the dead. You can only join them.”
The table begins to rattle then, violently, an unseen force causing the disruption. The flame suddenly roars, until the whole table is alight, though no heat can be felt from the flames. The figure disappears, and, without warning, Jacob’s chair begins to levitate from the ground, before sharply shooting across the room and hitting the wall, hard, the governor still seated in it.
Bill Barker
Bill swears, leaping to his feet, Muiris’ previous warning forgotten. He flings his arms out, one in front of Ellie and Magda on either side of him, shielding them from the flames.
Toshiro Hill
Toshiro's hand flies in front of his face; once again, there is no heat, and it's enough to quell the pounding in his ears. "What the fuck?" he shouts, pushing back from his chair to rush toward the governor
Jacob Posner
His head hits the wall first and for a moment, his vision goes blank—Jacob panics even more, which he didn't think possible. He can swear that for a second it felt like something pinned him to the wall, his feet hovering just a few inches above the floor, an almost transparent silhouette in front of him, and then just like that he drops to the floor, pain shooting through every single one of his limbs. Jacob grits his teeth and doesn't make a sound, blinking repeatedly to bring his vision back. "I'm fine," he mutters, though the words are barely audible. "I'm fine," he repeats, blindly gripping at the person the closest to him.
Eleanore Whittock
"What on Earth?" She watches the flames, and then Jacob, rushing over to him on instinct, "Goodness- are you alright?"
Magdalena Clarke
She gasps as she abandons her seat alongside everyone else, gaze swiveling from the flames to Jacob's body as it lay sprawled amidst splinters of wood. Her skin crawls, throat closing and head pulsing in a similar response to when she was overwhelmed in the street. She grips Bill's arm instinctively, leaning into his grip to try and gauge how Jacob is doing from where she stands. It's difficult with several people clamoring around him, though. "Is he alright? Can you see him?" She asks Bill, one second away from joining the others and checking on Jacob herself.
Muiris Doyle
“Enough,” Muiris stands to, holding his hands aloft, palms outstretched. “I banish all the spirits who have gathered here. Go, and leave us in peace.”
Slowly, the flames die. The lamps illuminate, and all is as it was. Muiris moves to where Jacob is, and offers him a hand. “Are you hurt?” he asks, softly.
Gilly de Leon
It's all too much, too soon, to process. The table engulfed in flames catches him by surprise, though no more than the chair next to him yanked away with a force so strong, enough to displace his hand from his friend's shoulder. "Jacob!" He yells, leaving his own seat with such frenzied rush that the chair falls to the floor, and immediately checks on his friend.
Bill Barker
Bill surveys the room. For a moment, he meets Magda’s eye, and his gaze lingers there for a moment. But he shakes his head, turns his back, and faces Ellie instead. “Will you let me walk you home, love?” he asks.
Magdalena Clarke
She stares at Bill, expression impassive with sour surprise that she adamantly refuses to acknowledge in the moment. She glances down and notes that her hand remains on his arm, so she lets it go with a shove, not sparing him a glance as she leaves his side and joins the others at Jacob's side. She bends down beside him, looking at Gilly and offering to help him carry Jacob out.
Toshiro Hill
The light from the flames exchanges for lights by the room's lamp, and Toshiro releases a sigh he didn't realize he was holding.
It reveals the number of people that have corraled around Jacob, and the shattered chair littering the floor. Despite the governor's insistence, slamming into a wall doesn't result in being fine. But there are worse injuries to face, and at first inspection, Jacob would recover. Physically, at least.
Toshiro takes a step back, offering space and another hand to help if needed. But as he casts his gaze around the room once more, eyes narrowing at Bill and then Muiris, he cannot help but wonder just what transpired here, and what would unravel once they all left the room.
"Let's walk home in pairs tonight, hm?"
Eleanore Whittock
Even stood next to Jacob, she's looking at Bill, and yet, her thoughts stray from nobody except her son. He's being looked after right now, rationally she knows that he's safe, but her heart won't settle until she's with him again.
Gilly de Leon
His eyes remain brimming with concern as Gilly reaches for Jacob, crouching down and grabbing his wrist and shoulder. He nods wordlessly in understanding at Magda, tilting his head and gesturing at Jacob's other side. An implicit invitation for her to mirror his actions so that they may carry him out.
His eyes remain brimming with concern as Gilly reaches for Jacob, crouching down and grabbing his wrist and shoulder. He nods wordlessly in understanding at Magda, tilting his head and gesturing at Jacob's other side. An implication invitation for her to mirror his actions so that they may carry him out.
Face still grim, he spares a glance towards Cheria and mumbles an invitation to speak later. The night is early yet, and if the seance is anything to go by, there are many more horrors still to come. He's looking for answers now more than ever.
Jacob Posner
He takes Muiris' hand but the second he's upright, he has to lean back against the wall to keep himself from collapsing again. He welcomes Gilly and Magda at his sides with great relief but he tries his best to hide the fact that he's struggling. "Get me home," he whispers as he leans closer to Gilly, his voice low and the pain exposed in it. And they'll have to be quick about it—a wave of tiredness looms over him. It's a grim thought but Jacob's relieved that for once, he won't be needing any help of the alchemist's concoctions for sleep to take him tonight.














