i've moved!! uvu

Her slender fingers gently pressed against the piano, strong enough for it to squeak a small note. She glanced back at the music in front of her, playing the next note. After a couple of measures, a burst of negative energy bounced from somewhere in her emotions, causing her to let out a scream of annoyance and grab at her blonde hair, pulling at it until it ached. Realizing what she had done, she bowed her head and took deep breaths.

Melody’s opposing hand reached for the keys, and soon enough she was repeating what she had done before. Instead of grabbing her hair, however, she simply pulled down the music and stuffed it in her pile of things to fix and replaced it with a favorite of her’s. She reread it although she knew it by heart, and played the intro. 

Without realizing it, her light blue skin became pellucid, leaving only the chill that inevitably came with being a spirit. And she had a guest. Hearing the guest speak, she jumped and let out a small squeak, bringing the once gentle music to a distasteful halt. She reappeared into sight. Her fingers grasped the black bow that hung on her torso, her soul attempting to calm down to a point to where she could reply.

"Oh! Hello miss Whirlinda," She gasped, "Why are you here of all places? Aren’t you supposed to be in the ballroom with your husband?”

The sight was a confusing one. She didn’t remember ever seeing Mr. and Mrs. Whirlinda separated— Not even a few inches! Melody’s hand withdrew from it’s spot, sliding down to meet her other hand that was atop the velvet gown. If she had known about her coming, she would’ve made herself more presentable and played something more fitting for the occasion…However, her mind went back to the original question. If she was capable of making the journey up, it wasn’t very likely it was just to chat. It could happen, however, but it just wasn’t likely considering the conditions of the situation the dancer was in.

"I heard your music from downstairs. It's lovely."

And although it was most likely not the response that Melody was looking for, it was true, nonetheless. The Whirlindas always enjoyed Melody's music; it was soothing and, not to mention, wonderful to dance to, especially when their phonograph would do nothing but screech and belch notes in an unflattering manner--which, unfortunately, would happen rather often. But the part that made this particular tone more melodious than ever--despite Melody's short-lived fits in regards to it--was the fact that it could be heard; the fact that there was now proof that another portrait ghost was currently residing in the mansion along with the ballroom dancers (and there she was--right in front of the woman). It had been far too long since any other spiritual signs had been detected (other than the king, himself) and through the baby toys and doll that Mr. Whirlinda had found, the couple had been fearing that the other ghosts had been taken captive once more. But now, at least there was another--and thank God she was tolerable.

Lime hues averted themselves as Melody gasped; they glanced to the floor and rose back to the pianist after seeing the cold husk of a former mouse scurry by. The elder ghost seemed to be contemplating her words for a moment, though there was certainly no reason as to why she needed to hide anything.

"Yes," she began, somewhat tiredly, "I should. I had been on my way to the dining area to see if any more cookies had been prepared--I had found a tray a few days ago and we found them to be delicious. When I heard the piano, I immediately thought of you and decided to visit the observatory instead . . . It was in hopes to find you; and it seems that I was successful." A small smile crossed her lips as they parted slightly. Her eyes shot downcast once more; the heart in her chest beat a bit faster as she inhaled deeply and continued after a pause. "We were worried--we haven't seen any other ghosts in months."

Another pause; "It is nice to see you again, dear."

Green skirts billowed out from a beige belt. Curly, blonde locks bounced upon the woman's shoulders as her head was held high, nose aimed in the certain direction she was floating in. Breasts protruding from her chest, her heart beat gently as it was cradled within the thorny grasp of metaphorical veins and arteries; red and blue cords that held the façade organ in place as it struggled to simply support the apparition as she made the short trip between the ballroom and the dining room. However, before she could complete this task, muffled noises from above had caught her attention instead. They were gentle and relaxing--something that did not alarm Mrs. Whirlinda, rather they had sparked her memory and reminded her of someone. It was not long before she was floating upwards instead of forward.

The conservatory was dark. A gentle blue glow entered followed by a dazzling green. Mrs. Whirlinda glanced about slowly, tiredly, before locating the source of the music: the grand piano towards the back of the room. It was silent until she moved closer, cueing a few piano keys to play on their own--or perhaps there was an invisible musician at the instrument.

Quietly, she spoke; the words escaping through thick, crimson lips via a sultry tone. "Melody?"

[ Well, first of all, hello!! I hope you enjoy your visit whilst in the fandom uwu

Secondly, I can't necessarily say that there are any specific tags that you need to track to find other people; if you were to search for a certain character, chances are you'd find fanart upon other forms of media of said character opposed to actual blogs. I don't tag anything other than my url, but if you'd like to tag the name of the character that you are writing for, then I suppose that would work as well.

As for other active blogs, I haven't seen any as of late. There is one particular Luigi that I follow whom I have the understanding that he will write for the game itself; and a few other Luigi rolepayers (the first one is actually an au--and the third is part of a group) that I've seen floating around, but there are plenty of Luigis all over the place!! As far as the actual game goes, there is an E. Gadd, three King Boos (the first one being an au--and the last one on a hiatus), and one Melody (although she hasn't updated in a while, unfortunately). Of course, I'm sure there are a few more Luigi's Mansion blogs scampering around, but those are the ones that I can think off of the top of my head at the moment @_@ (and I write for these ballroom dorks, of course).

It’s been forged into his brain, stuck inside that small chip ever since the bear was created. And even though the purpose was minimal compared to the general idea of it all, he still had the aspect of what they were packed inside his system. It was an operation, almost. A directive that had been mentally installed inside that little chip that ultimately controlled everything and all that he does. It was his directive to do this, as well as to teach the various mannerisms of such a thing to every child that stepped through those those doors. No matter if the child was perfectly proper, no matter if the child might be the most impolite spawn the bear had ever met, it was in his chip, his system to give everything to teach the children what they really meant.

                                               The rules of Freddy Fazbear’s pizza.

And with this idea of death that clouded up that chip, the original directive of the bear was gradually tainting. It would each and every second that this spirit had been concealed within him, become worse and worse, with every characteristic the bear had been known for being replaced by something completely new. A more than fatal side effect of being haunted by an angered young girl. The spirit would shift the robot back into gear. It would manipulate the bot, using it’s electromagnetic powers to easily shift it’s engine and motor back to it’s on position. From here on out, the soul that had so desperately tried to find it’s way home would watch. Freddy would take over, his motives, his directives, his niche all replaced with what that spirit wanted. Except for one thing.

                                               The rules of Freddy Fazbear’s pizza.

Seeing two ghosts, even if they may be deceased, breaking the rules and not following regulations would make the animatronic bear angry. He would silently twist and turn his bolts, turning his head as the passed man would float away through the door. The bear’s head would ever-so-slightly cock it’s head to the side, and the ears would perk. He had all and every intention to watch these folks now, to torture them as he pleased. He might not be able to experience the very pleasure of hearing those screams. He might not be able to feel the rattle of that red-like liquid that would splatter and spew all against his mechanism — he might not even be able to feel anything at all. However, he would have the pleasure of giving rebels what they deserved. When a sign says “EMPLOYEE’S ONLY,” Freddy expects it to stay as such. Especially with that secret stashed away inside of the backroom. He didn’t want anyone other than him and his friends figuring out about that extra exoskeleton.

Not wanting to be too subtle or too obvious, the bear simply moved to a darker area. A small region of darkness that he would perfectly concealed in as long as he would stay perfectly still. The loud echo of his moving limbs could be heard as he would sprint through the darkness, with that hardy laugh transmitting from his speakers to follow. The darkness was one thing that Freddy loved the most; it protected him and kept him safe from any of those curious hands that would reach out and try to grab at his metal, hard, and cold body.

There might be that soft hum of his engine, but the noise could have been barely audible to anyone who didn’t dare listen. If one didn’t open their ears quite big enough, and decided to take a chance to listen to everything, they wouldn’t be able to hear him. With that power to easily eradicate his visage in the presence of darkness, it would have been extremely difficult to focus on auditory surroundings. People would have been more focused on trying to find him more than anything else. But even so, he couldn’t leave it at that.

Oh no, there had to be something more. Much more. There had to be something that the bear could go off of, something that the bear could analyze and see how he could torture them. Something to see if how their brains wired themselves together. He had to see how terrified one could become, he had to see who the others really were. He couldn’t just leave them with contemplation, checking the camera’s here and there or perhaps even looking around themselves. He had to dig at them, to churn their stomachs and get their craniums constantly fighting to discover what was going on. Freddy couldn’t leave them with just a couple of quick squeaks from running. He had to give them a hardy laugh. It would echo throughout the entire pizzeria, even finding it’s way back into the security room. The sound may be quiet, but it would circulate around and back to the bear. It was obvious that this laugh meant something, that it was important to the bear in some way.

Eventually after watching those beating hearts that would illuminate through the ghosts’ transparent skin and outfits, Freddy would make his way just a teeny bit closer to the backstage. He would of course, fall back instead of running forward. There were two entrances to the backstage, and if Freddy was to do this correctly, and to test them as he wanted, he would have to take the unknown way. The door just off to the side, hidden from the curtains and televisions of the stage. He wouldn’t open it, nor would his hand be put upon that knob. He would instead be shrouded by the shadows he adores, and he would do what he usually does.

Wait patiently and study. Wait patiently and analyze. Analyze every little thing about the others, getting both their little and big pictures, who they generally were, their personalities. And most importantly of all, figuring out who they truly were. What the fear that would eventually be crammed down their tummies would transform them and make them to be. Without seeing his newly found buddies since he was hidden, he had to turn his eyes and face the camera. It would be a little difficult to do, especially since he wanted to stay quiet and preserved, but eventually he reached just a point where he could eye the dining room camera.

Now it’s time to manipulate those cords and BAM —

                                                  The robot had his eyes on those ghosts.

Fear of the unknown was evident--the bear was no where to be found and the Whirlindas filled the void left behind upon the stage, wife assuming the position next to the chicken as her husband stood near the lavender-clad rabbit. Their luminous eyes scanned the room for anything threatening, as their hearts were still beating, though not as quickly. It could be noted by Freddy that as Mrs. Whirlinda moved in closer to her husband and he took her arm in a protective manner that her heart escaped from her transparent chest and into his at full capacity, where it would beat at a quickened, though not rapid, pace. The Whirlindas were a rare case, though easily understood; because they shared his heart--hers was nonexistent, presumably lost in the retrieving of her body to resurrect her soul--they were stronger as a whole and weaker when apart--if the animatronic were to strike one, both would receive the effects of the blow.

But the leader of the band would need to get crafty; by no means could a ghost suffer the effects of fighting versus a physical being--but from another spirit? That was a new game that presented itself on its own.

Naturally, ghosts did not succumb to fear--they were fear themselves. Ghastly husks of their former selves is all what remained now; the outermost layers of their former, living selves, void of any materialistic qualities that they once bore. One would think that emotions and personality would not be evident in death, but the Whirlindas twisted that notion--in fact, all of the portrait ghosts did, each keeping their own unique and personal identities that set them apart from the rest. However, with that in mind, fear would be included in each ghost's own chest of identity, for everyone was once alive and once filled with fear of the unknown of the future--the fear that they would all die one day, not knowing how they would go. That was the last time that the Whirlindas felt true terror.

The kind of terror when one knew that the end was coming.

"My God! The entire chandelier collapsed right on top of them! My God--I got out--the entire building is engulfed in flames--"

The kind of terror when one knew that the end was now.

But the Whirlindas did not reminisce upon their death, rather they viewed it as only a small inconvenience, for they could not compete in any other competitions due to their lack of legs; now, their entire ghastly family were forced to sit through occasional performances--though a select few did not mind. However, when either half of the duo did mention anything in regards to their death, they never seemed to look at it physically--it was viewed in an emotional and mental light, focusing on the first audience member that pointed out the cords snapping and the last loving glance that the couple threw at one another before the once beautiful light fixture turned into a five-ton monster and fell, crushing every bone in each of their bodies whilst jagged shards of glass from the shattered bulbs pierced their skin, drawing blood in steady streams that poured from their bodies and onto the stage, forming a small pool around the scene while caking their later found, grotesque corpses that were found within the wreckage.

"If only it were part of our routine," he would joke quietly; both fell silent.

But the feeling of true terror was not dawning upon either Whirlinda; their time had come and past in a matter of seconds, leaving them without ever having to feel that same pang of terror ever again. However, there was unease present in the pizzeria as the animatronic bear stalked them from afar, for the beating of their hearts picked up once again as they took the initiative and floated from the stage to the tiled floor below--they were closer to the other presence, though it was no where to be seen. This was a different spirit--one that was cunning. Little did Mr. Whirlinda know that he was only inches away from its current residence only a little while before.

It was not in their best decision to do so, but they parted ways as their ghastly tails propelled them further along the somewhat dirtied tiles of the establishment. Silently, both of them came to the simple conclusion that if something were to happen, the other would be close by, for the building surrounding them did not prove itself to be that big. As they separated, another heart materialized in her chest as his shrunk; both producing crimson vines with thorns, ensuring their stability and safety as the two façade organs began to beat faster. He drifted about the abandoned curtains from before and inched closer, curious as to what they concealed inside, though his caution was evident. She, on the other hand, would begin to travel down a single hallway--her heartbeat progressively grew quicker and quicker until she stopped and turned back towards the dining area.

Gretchen nodded, pulling out a notepad from her hat body and scribbling something down. "Yeah, it does help a lot actually. Seems like in this case that personality traits and hobbies have a big part in carrying over for you guys. I am getting a feeling that the people here have went the same transformation, which I’m getting a feeling is from simply being spirits for so long that you just become ghosts naturally with much of your living traits carried over. Seems like in this way, ghosts get most of their traits carried over compared to other methods as far as I’ve researched. This Luggs guy sounds like if he had Dark Moon energy, he’d probably have been changed into a Gobber since those guys love to eat too. I’ll probably keep in mind to keep them away from here les we get some sort of competition between the two." Gretchen let out an amused giggle. She knows the Evershaders probably would enjoy the sight, but it probably would be better to lay off that particular situation.

The others that were described gave her some thought. Perhaps she should see to visiting them too at some point. This Melody lass seems like someone who she would enjoy a little piano playing. And this Bankshot guy could be someone to teach her how to pool. She was always curious on that game. Still, the fact they couldn’t hear or see them strikes her as odd. "Really? I would have thought that you would have, since they seem really close by. I suppose I can pick them on easier is because the fact that I’ve lived with ghosts my whole life that I can sense them fairly well. That and the fact that I’m still alive in a technical sense. I mean I may be a reanimated hat, but I’m pretty sure I’m not dead either, so maybe that is also making it much easier for me too."

They take Gretchen's words into account, despite the fact that they have little understanding of the concept of this, so-called, Dark-Moon energy. They can only affiliate it with the neighboring land, Evershade Valley, on account of Gretchen's tales and the mere fact that she hails from said land opposed to the Whirlindas' own. However, what she seems to convey is rather simple; because most of their traits whilst living carried over in the process of dying, the Whirlindas, alongside the other portrait ghosts, retained their own bodies in a ghastly form in death.

However, Grethen's most recent information presented creates new concerns and questions--in which the Whirlindas can only answer a select few with the help of a few items collected from before (though they were currently tucked away in the ballroom until further notice).

"Strange. As you have mentioned, my wife and I have noted sounds that seem as though they would emit from our ghastly companions, though we have only seen one--not for long, however. It was . . . Melody, yes, dear?" He turns to his wife, and she nods. "Ah, yes, yes. Melody.

Just as one would expect, the ghostly child was ecstatic upon the sight of the sugared delights, his tiny jaw dropping as his eyes sparkled with unparalleled bliss. For the first time in what appeared to be decades, his smile showed no traces of cruel intent, and the spectral king happily floated over to pick up a cookie — or more, given that half the tray was gone by the time he had gone near it.

Nibbling on the cookies, savouring every single second of it, the Boo gave a cheery nod, gleefully grinning.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Whirlinda! Bleeheehee!”

His voice, muffled, was laced with kindness and childish joy, something not often paired with his personality.

Although the child’s happiness may seen a little over-exaggerated, even something as simple as everyday treats were a luxury to the ghastly king — it wasn’t often that he was able to treated like a child, especially one with the title of monarch at his young age.

Once he had finished the small pile he had gathered, he floated over again to the tray, stopping as he reached for another.

"…I am allowed more, right?”

Tray held steadily in her hands, the ghastly woman looked on as the young king practically wolfed down majority of the sugar-induced, frosted-infested delights, gobbling them with a large smile and a cheery laugh. It was not often that any ghost--common, Boo, or portrait--could hear their ruler laugh--reside--in a happy tone, let alone laugh over something that was not other peoples' pain and misery. It was nice; granted, this particular ghost was merely a child in comparison to the ruler that the Whirlindas had accustomed themselves to.

The question of seconds--thirds, fourths, fifths--had been tossed into the air where it hung in nothingness before Mrs. Whirlinda would promptly catch it in her bosom as it fell. Blank green hues drifted between the young monarch and the batch before her, which only contained less than half of the cookies first presented, before she finally decided--once again, this was their king, after all.

Of course, the child’s eyes lit up upon the mention of ‘cookies,' a gleeful grin spreading across his pale, ghostly face. With no intentions to hide the joy of baked goods, he floated closer, excitement bouncing in his words.

"YEAH! Cookies, cookies! Show me, show me!"

She produces a fresh batch of plain, starch cookies sleeping beneath a thick, white blanket of icing; they are decorated with tiny black sprinkles--cliché designs, like ghosts, pumpkins, and bats. And the cookies, as well as the platter, are, of course, holographic, for no portrait ghost could ever seem to grasp any mortal object without it slipping through their hands and onto the ground below; but these treats will have to do.

It is probably for the best that the young heir should not be eating pizza, let alone cookies, in between meals, but Mrs. Whirlinda does not seem to need them anyway--and perhaps there is some sort of soft spot felt for children within her, especially because this is their king that she is giving an offering to.

"Hm. Luigi is weak--it's apparent. If anything is to be feared of that man, it is his knowledge on how to use that dreadful vacuum cleaner. . . . The old man is worse than him; to bother such apparitions that were not doing any harm in the first place is ill-mannered." Of course, that could not be said for most of the other ghosts.

"It is quite amusing just to see how timid he is, however. I would say that if another ghoul needed something to lift their spirits, he'd be the one to scare.