Arrival [So, he'd done it. He'd done it and then gone home and the world hadn't ended, not just then. Mr Mountjoy had not revealed himself, wars had not suddenly broken out. He'd not been recalled.
...The clock had started ticking. But the world had not ended and Zak had gone to sleep. Only to dream. Only to wake up to...this...
A portentous dream and and unfamiliar place. A room not his own, a letter, a town decidedly not York. The letter is not from Mr M but that does not ease any of Zak's suspicions.
Leaving the house (one of the townhouses on Blackwood Run), he sets out to explore. Get a feel of the place. At some point - just outside 'his' door or further along in his investigation - he tilts his head back to look up at the sky, narrows his eyes and addresses (or seems to address) no one in particular.]
Is this your idea of punishment? It's all a bit convoluted, if you ask me.
[His tone is not...scathing, running more towards 'unimpressed'. But to those particularly observant, there is a faint undercurrent of anxiety.]
Are You Afraid of the Dark [Campfires and all that aren't quite Zak's style and yet he finds himself drawn to this one. At the very least, it is an opportunity to meet - he believes - these fellow 'Sleepers' of his. En masse. The overly sweet-looking confections that everyone seems to be eating aren't really his style either but the longer he stands (just slightly back from whatever circle of people he finds) and listens to the stories being told - which are, to be fair, somewhat interesting - the less opposed he is to trying one.] traditional [Classic seems best, if he's trying. Zak nibbles on the gooey treat for a bit, listening to the current story in progress. After the person telling it lapses into silence and no-one immediately follows up, Zak himself steps forward a bit and without much preamble, begins to tell his tale.]
The story I have is one of a young woman so enraptured with the house her father built that she wished to be a part of it eternally.
[His voice is steady and sure and while he does not grandstand, it's clear that he's quite used to telling a story. Leading an audience.]
Anne Griffith was a young woman when her father, Sir Henry Griffith, began to construct their new home. It was to be a grand estate and - she thought - the most beautiful home ever to be built. She dreamed of when it would be finished and in the meantime wandered the countryside around it. One day, near to the end of the hall's construction, Ann set out to visit a nearby village, accompanied only by her dog. She made the journey there, safe and sound, but unfortunately on her way back - at dusk - she was set upon by criminals. The young woman was robbed and quite badly beaten.
She was brought home to the hall, but the damage done to her was severe. She drifted in and out of lucidity. In this time, she told her sisters that she could not possibly rest unless she could remain part of their beautiful home, as long as it shall last. She made them promise that upon her death, they would sever her head and keep it in the Hall.
[Zak pauses for effect, here, looking about the circle before he continues.]
Accounts differ as to just how she made this request. Some people claim that she asked her sisters to secret it away in the walls of their home. Some say that she wished it to be displayed. Either way, her sisters agreed - horrified, no doubt, but wishing to mollify their dying sister - but sensibly (at least, they thought) did not honor her request when she passed. She was buried in the church graveyard, head still attached.
Then the screaming began. Every night, the peace of the Hall was broken by spine-curdling screams of panic and horror. There was no spectre, no source, just screaming. In the end - at their wit's end - the family decided to honor Anne's request. And it worked. Once the skull was brought into the home, there were no more haunted evenings and the house was peaceful.
Ever since then, any attempts to remove the skull have been met with the same result. Once, a chambermaid unaware of the skull's origin found it in a cupboard and threw it into the garden. Later occupants tried to bury it. Every time, the screaming would begin again. Finally, the skull was placed in the walls of the house and Anne has been silent and a peace ever since.
nutella [The once hadn't been bad. Zak is...slightly aware that his inclination towards telling ghost stories had come from somewhere but really, if that's the worst-
But it isn't. He sees someone spreading Nutella on their s'mores and thinks it's a delightful idea. He copies it, eats it...
And then the story-telling urge strikes again. Only this time it isn't...impersonal. Not some long-ago ghost story. Not even supernatural or inexplicable. It is a perfectly...human sort of horror. Mundane and terrible.]
I served in the army for a bit. [His voice is quieter than before.] As a captain. Fought, some, until I made a choice that my...superior disagreed with. Saved lives I was told I shouldn't have.
['Superior'. He could mean superior officer, but he does not.]
After that, I was assigned to the Front. I'd been a lawyer - am a lawyer, that is - and so it was thought...appropriate that I should defend soldiers accused of cowardice. Poor, broken souls who deserved mercy and understanding and instead were given a trial.
Four years. For four years I woke at dawn to hear them cry for their mothers, for God, for that mercy denied them before they died.
Four years, and not a single ruling of mercy.
[There's horror in his voice, but also bitterness. And surprise, that he'd tell complete strangers something so personal. During it all, he'd had an almost dream-like expression but now he stands up abruptly and turns to go.]
ah, real monsters Watch out.
[Anyone coming into too close contact with a certain spectral moose might find themselves quite suddenly - almost miraculously? - spirited out of harm's way (only a few feet, of course, but enough) by a blond haired gentleman in a suit jacket.
Who may well not have been anywhere nearby a moment before but really, who is to say?]
That was incredibly unwise. [His tone is lightly chiding and a little condescending, the look on his face unimpressed.] Let's not do that again, hm?
Wildcard (ooc: Feel free to throw any other kind of situation at me! Also: Zak is an angel, and therefore would definitely ping anyone with any sort of divine and/or supernatural senses. If you want to chat, you can definitely PP me @ ltmutiny)
Zak Gist | Eternal Law
[So, he'd done it. He'd done it and then gone home and the world hadn't ended, not just then. Mr Mountjoy had not revealed himself, wars had not suddenly broken out. He'd not been recalled.
...The clock had started ticking. But the world had not ended and Zak had gone to sleep. Only to dream. Only to wake up to...this...
A portentous dream and and unfamiliar place. A room not his own, a letter, a town decidedly not York. The letter is not from Mr M but that does not ease any of Zak's suspicions.
Leaving the house (one of the townhouses on Blackwood Run), he sets out to explore. Get a feel of the place. At some point - just outside 'his' door or further along in his investigation - he tilts his head back to look up at the sky, narrows his eyes and addresses (or seems to address) no one in particular.]
Is this your idea of punishment? It's all a bit convoluted, if you ask me.
[His tone is not...scathing, running more towards 'unimpressed'. But to those particularly observant, there is a faint undercurrent of anxiety.]
Are You Afraid of the Dark
[Campfires and all that aren't quite Zak's style and yet he finds himself drawn to this one. At the very least, it is an opportunity to meet - he believes - these fellow 'Sleepers' of his. En masse. The overly sweet-looking confections that everyone seems to be eating aren't really his style either but the longer he stands (just slightly back from whatever circle of people he finds) and listens to the stories being told - which are, to be fair, somewhat interesting - the less opposed he is to trying one.]
traditional
[Classic seems best, if he's trying. Zak nibbles on the gooey treat for a bit, listening to the current story in progress. After the person telling it lapses into silence and no-one immediately follows up, Zak himself steps forward a bit and without much preamble, begins to tell his tale.]
The story I have is one of a young woman so enraptured with the house her father built that she wished to be a part of it eternally.
[His voice is steady and sure and while he does not grandstand, it's clear that he's quite used to telling a story. Leading an audience.]
Anne Griffith was a young woman when her father, Sir Henry Griffith, began to construct their new home. It was to be a grand estate and - she thought - the most beautiful home ever to be built. She dreamed of when it would be finished and in the meantime wandered the countryside around it. One day, near to the end of the hall's construction, Ann set out to visit a nearby village, accompanied only by her dog. She made the journey there, safe and sound, but unfortunately on her way back - at dusk - she was set upon by criminals. The young woman was robbed and quite badly beaten.
She was brought home to the hall, but the damage done to her was severe. She drifted in and out of lucidity. In this time, she told her sisters that she could not possibly rest unless she could remain part of their beautiful home, as long as it shall last. She made them promise that upon her death, they would sever her head and keep it in the Hall.
[Zak pauses for effect, here, looking about the circle before he continues.]
Accounts differ as to just how she made this request. Some people claim that she asked her sisters to secret it away in the walls of their home. Some say that she wished it to be displayed. Either way, her sisters agreed - horrified, no doubt, but wishing to mollify their dying sister - but sensibly (at least, they thought) did not honor her request when she passed. She was buried in the church graveyard, head still attached.
Then the screaming began. Every night, the peace of the Hall was broken by spine-curdling screams of panic and horror. There was no spectre, no source, just screaming. In the end - at their wit's end - the family decided to honor Anne's request. And it worked. Once the skull was brought into the home, there were no more haunted evenings and the house was peaceful.
Ever since then, any attempts to remove the skull have been met with the same result. Once, a chambermaid unaware of the skull's origin found it in a cupboard and threw it into the garden. Later occupants tried to bury it. Every time, the screaming would begin again. Finally, the skull was placed in the walls of the house and Anne has been silent and a peace ever since.
nutella
[The once hadn't been bad. Zak is...slightly aware that his inclination towards telling ghost stories had come from somewhere but really, if that's the worst-
But it isn't. He sees someone spreading Nutella on their s'mores and thinks it's a delightful idea. He copies it, eats it...
And then the story-telling urge strikes again. Only this time it isn't...impersonal. Not some long-ago ghost story. Not even supernatural or inexplicable. It is a perfectly...human sort of horror. Mundane and terrible.]
I served in the army for a bit. [His voice is quieter than before.] As a captain. Fought, some, until I made a choice that my...superior disagreed with. Saved lives I was told I shouldn't have.
['Superior'. He could mean superior officer, but he does not.]
After that, I was assigned to the Front. I'd been a lawyer - am a lawyer, that is - and so it was thought...appropriate that I should defend soldiers accused of cowardice. Poor, broken souls who deserved mercy and understanding and instead were given a trial.
Four years. For four years I woke at dawn to hear them cry for their mothers, for God, for that mercy denied them before they died.
Four years, and not a single ruling of mercy.
[There's horror in his voice, but also bitterness. And surprise, that he'd tell complete strangers something so personal. During it all, he'd had an almost dream-like expression but now he stands up abruptly and turns to go.]
ah, real monsters
Watch out.
[Anyone coming into too close contact with a certain spectral moose might find themselves quite suddenly - almost miraculously? - spirited out of harm's way (only a few feet, of course, but enough) by a blond haired gentleman in a suit jacket.
Who may well not have been anywhere nearby a moment before but really, who is to say?]
That was incredibly unwise. [His tone is lightly chiding and a little condescending, the look on his face unimpressed.] Let's not do that again, hm?
Wildcard
(ooc: Feel free to throw any other kind of situation at me! Also: Zak is an angel, and therefore would definitely ping anyone with any sort of divine and/or supernatural senses. If you want to chat, you can definitely PP me @