Wailing Willow1


IC time: Tuesday, Jul 10 05:14:34 2007 (Scene was set earlier, around 2-3 am.)

The Basement: Club - Grand Street: East

Immediately to the right of the black metal stairwell, several couches of many rich colors and leathers are arranged in a secluded manner, the circle of these sharing their organic pattern with the curvy bar that lies further to the right. With built-in containers that resemble huge lava lamps and matching wall decorations, the bar snakes about the far wall. A few tables are spaced around this area along with the couches and separated from the large dance floor by a waist-high black railing; bartenders serve these two sections with almost any drink imaginable. A raised stage takes up the opposite corner, hosting wet t-shirt contests, amateur performers, live bands or DJ in their absence, and many other shows of entertainment.

Bouncers patrol with an immensely tolerable eye, and the attitude of its patrons matches the plush crimson walls, dark polished furniture, stone tiled floors, and mixture of flashing and black lights.



He is a sun bronzed man in his forties, perhaps fifties. Standing at six foot two, he has the physique of a much younger man. He has a trim muscular body, far from being musclebound. Instead, he has the looks of an overall athlete, a body suited for nearly any athletic activity. For those that notice such things, he sports a very nice manicure and wears a subtle, smoky cologne.

His face is weathered and rugged, and sports a well trimmed beard and receeding hairline. His beard and sideburns are salt and pepper, but his moustache is dark, like his thick brows and most of his hair. Laugh lines crease the tan skin surrounding his dark brown eyes. The smile at the center of those laugh lines is well maintained and brilliant white. His dark hair hasn’t receeded too far yet in the middle, but it has pulled back on the temples, creating a rather dramatic Vee. Otherwise, his hair is kept long, and he has a neat pony tail of grey that stops between his shoulderblades.

He is wearing a pair of faded blue jeans with a black Harley Davidson t-shirt. The jeans are old and fit him nicely, neither tight nor loose. They have distinct fade lines running their length that gives away the fact that he irons them. The tee is a tight crewneck and hugs his body tightly. He keeps it neatly tucked into his pants. For footwear he’s got on a very nice pear of square toed biker boots, new and well polished. He is wearing an expensive pair of prescription sunglasses and sports a heavy gold chronometer on his right wrist. A diamond stud sparkles in one ear.


Usually near the dance floor there is a “cold spot” in the room. It does however occasionally move about to other parts of the club, close to the bar or the stairs. Breath doesn’t quite show in wisps, but it is noticeably colder. If you pay attention to this chill for more than a few poses in a row please page Melpomene. Or +Request your actions.


Royce agrees with a tip of the head, “Ayep. I find I like it more with each drink. The burn builds quickly. Rather like my gin without the taste of pinesol.”

“I’ve had enough.” She pushes her glass away and stands up, playing the bartender with a wad of cash. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go talk to someone about a giant spider.” Amalia pulls out her cellphone as she stands and dials a number into it.

Samuel comes down the stairs from the foyer, a mug of something hot in one gloved hand. His other hand glides along the railing. His dark brown eyes scan the dance floor as he leave the last of the stairs. There he pauses and his coffee mug is raised to his lips and he sips.

Royce chuckles and turns his full attention to his drink as Amalia departs. He tosses down the last of the whiskey in his glass then waves over the bartender, “Another gimlet thanks.”

Amalia passes by Samuel, on her way out. Quietly talking on her phone.

Apparently whom- or what- ever Samuel is looking is not seen, as the Asian man starts deeper into the club. He offers the departing woman a smile as he walks. He notices the older man watching her depart, but his attention is suddenly diverted by something - what is not clear, but he’s focusing on the edge of the dance floor, which at this late hour is largely deserted.

Royce pays attention to his drink, or rather the lack of one. The bartender delivers another gin gimlet and Royce thanks him, “Nice for your first one. Well, that’s wrong. Was good for a pro.” And then he turns on his stool to watch the bar while he drinks. Samuel’s odd behavior catches his attention and he looks from the man to well…whatever he’s trying to look at.

Samuel sets his coffee on one of the tables at the edge of the dance floor and steps on to it. His head tilts curiously as he circles a spot near the west edge of the floor. His power reaches out in an attempt to discern something. To anyone watching him, he undoubtedly looks odd, maybe even schizophrenic. “What the hell…” he murmurs to himself.

Royce sips at his drink and continues to watch the man and his odd behavior. Heading into a nightclub with a cup of coffee is odd enough, but talking to himself makes it all the more interesting. He turns back to the bartender and says, “Cash me out please.” Then he turns back to watch the show.

As Samuel circles the bar and it’s occupants, at least one of whom is watching him, comes into the top of his peripheral vision. He winces a bit, realizing what this much look like, but he’s too curious for now to give up his investigation. He grimaces at something. He hesitates, then seems to reach some sort of decision, as he removes one of his gloves very deliberately. Taking a breath to steady himself, he steps into the cold area and starts to crouch down to touch the floor.

Royce signs his check as it’s delivered. Then he stands up and walks in Samuel’s direction. He doesn’t rush over by any means, but he does make his way over, stopping not too far off to observe.

It’s very dark.

You’re sitting down, clutching a small book to yourself.. You can’t remember why you didn’t turn on the lights.. But it is very, very dark. And cold. Something wet and.. muddy is slowly raising over your legs. A moment later you remember it’s the cement. But it doesn’t really matter, all that matters it is soon the pain will be gone. You’ll be at peace forever.

You cry the entire time, sobbing.. Occasionally calling his name. “Nelson.. Nelson..”

And then the cement is high enough that it’s starting to pour over your face. It starts to pour into your mouth, you choke and struggle. Instinct kicks in and you try to stand, try to get up.. The book goes flying somewhere.. But the cement is so heavy by now.. You choke more, and your head starts to pound as it it’s deprived of oxygen. You suffocate and everything goes darker than before.. The last sensation is the pounding in your head, and the cold cement pouring over you.

Samuel does not make it all the way to the floor, instead he stops, half-crouched. His eyes are shut and he sways. “Jeezus,” he says under his breath. His face twists into sadness. A tear rolls from his eye, then the other, a few more follow those first ones. He inhales sharply and his gloved hand goes to his forehead. The ungloved one dangles loosely still. He coughs then and the involuntary reaction tips him backward to fall uncermoniously onto his butt. “Shit,” he says, his voice sounding detached in a way. Eyes open as he finishes the syllable and he looks around, stopping his gaze on the big man. “Ah, well. Hi.” He seems a little embarassed now that his curiosity is… sated.

Royce watches that whole sequence of events with more and more interest. As Samuel starts to cry he moves forward, setting his drink onto a table along the way. He drops down into a squat over Samuel and asks, “You okay? Something wrong?” He’s not felt the chill, so has no clue as to what caused all those interesting reactions from Samuel, though he does look towards the patch of floor the man was examining.

Samuel turns his head to each side, lifting shoulder in turn to dab at his eyes and cheeks. He smiles at the man as he squats down next to him. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.” He considers his answer to the second question more carefully though. “Ah, well, I think this place is haunted. If you move over there a few feet it might feel cold to you.” He pulls his satchel into his lap and opens it, then pulls out a business card. “I’m a PI and a psychic.” He offers the man the card. “Of course I’m not sure if you think I’m a nut job instead, crying at a patch of dance floor.” Tough call! Will he be viewed as compassionate or whacked?

Before Samuel is even finished saying the words ‘haunted’ the space behind him changes. It slowly fills up with a shadowy image of a girl. Her hair is long, though the color is impossible to ascertain. Her eyes bright. She’s very pale. And a we bit translucent too.

Royce laughs as he finds the man exchanging cards while he lays there on the floor. He digs out his wallet to put away Samuels and hand over one of his own. “Royce Harper, Pendragon Security.” Then his eyes start drifting up to take in what he’d seen but pretended not to see. But staring at the girl he can’t deny it. “Jeeesus.” He freezes in place, knees going a bit wobbly for a moment.

Samuel is not without a sense of humor most of the time, and this is no exception. He grins at the man’s apprecation of the mild absurdity of the situation. As he levers himself up a little to take the card, he sees the apparition. “Or maybe the ghost will manifest and I’ll look relatively sane,” he says, then grabs his other glove and edges away. He looks at Royce, then back at the girl. “Unh, hello?” His voice is uncertain. “I’ve no idea if she can hear me, just for the record.”
The ghost turns her eyes onto Samuel, a soft sniffle escaping. Though it sounds far away. More detail starts to fill in, not enough for her to be a “real” person, but some. It’s obvious now that she’s crying.

Royce watches the apparition with wide eyes. But at the sound of her sniffling the wobbly set to his legs disappears and he shifts gears mentally. “Well, even if she can’t, she wants to. Help her.” Concern quickly pushes all traces of fear from his weathered face and he steps closer. He reaches for his breast pocket, then realizes he’s not got a notebook, or a pen, or any other tools he’s used to carrying. He reaches for his cellphone and flips it open instead. He activates the camera and tries to get the girl’s image recorded.

Samuel looks to Royce. “Unh… how? I mean, I have no idea how.” He pulls on his other glove and chews his lips. He starts, saying “Ah! Duh! Sophie.” He flips open his satchel and digs for his mobile phone, though keeps half an eye on the ghost. The phone is flipped open and he dials someone - the person must be in his speed dial given the few button pushes it took. As the call connects he explains to Royce, “A necromancer associate of mine.” Yes, Samuel wanders in interesting circles. He watches the man trying to film her. “No idea at all if that works, but good idea.” He apparently gets Sophie’s voice mail and leaves her a quick message to call him back ASAP no matter the time. “Voicemail,” he says as he snaps the phone shut.

Royce shrugs as Samuel tries to call in the cavalry. He steps forward, looking from phone to ghost…or hologram or whatever. “H..Hello? Can you talk? Is there anything we can do to help you?” He talks to her with concern in his voice, but does manage to resit talking baby talk cute.

“..Doesn’t…love…” The voice is far away, almost empty. The ghost looks toward Royce now, and then back to Samuel. It repeats, “Doesn’t.. love..” She slowly starts to fade back away.

Samuel strains to hear the ghost’s voice, then nods. “I think she killed herself over her lover.” He sighs, sad both because of her fate and the echo of the vision and reading of her. He bites his lip, then lets out another sigh. “There’s one thing-” he starts, then cuts off as she starts to fade. “Heh! don’t go!” He steps forward, then stops. He doesn’t really want to touch her again.

Royce keeps his eyes on the fading spirit even as he listens to Samuel. He nods then steps forward as well, unlike the man who has already touched the girl, he reaches out to her. “How can we help you?”

Not too far away from the bar on the dance floor Royce and Samuel stand. Not too far away from them is a very -faint- glow. If one were to look closely at the glow, one might see what looks like a woman. It’s fading slowly. A far away voice asks, “Why..?” But to what exactly?

“Because we want to help,” Samuel says. Then he does the thing he was about to mention a moment ago: he pushes emotion at her. Hope seems the best one at the time. He focuses on his hope that they can help the ghost. Hope that Sophie will call back in time to help them. Hope that the girl’s heartache can be assuage somehow so she can move on.

Julia peered into the bar and changed her mind only to head for the main part of The Basement’s club instead. She looks around the place, the lights, the people, but one light in particular gets her attention. Moving closer, a faintly familiar scent threatens to divert her attention. Luckily, that scent, Samuel’s is near the fading light. “What’s going on?” She asks in general, although she looks like she knows what’s going on. She looks like she saw a ghost. Julia’s heartrate is up, but with the question, she reins in her fine control.

Royce nods in agreement to Samuel’s offering, “Yes. Because we want to help you. Help you however we can.” He keeps his hand out, as if offering it to the empty air. He’s got no tricks to help out, unless the spirit wants tips on a good suit shop.

“Doesn’t…love..” The ghost responds. Fading away even more. Though she does reach out a hand toward Royce, her fingertips - a freezing sensation, with pins and needles, pass through his as she fades even more.

Julia looks away from the fading light to Samuel and the older looking man. Swallowing her heart, she says, “If- if that’s real, don’t- I don’t think you’re supposed to pay attention to her. I mean, it.” Or was that something else she’s remembering? She looks confused for a moment, a little afraid, and it’s certainly what she’s feeling. So much for a night out, huh? Julia blinks and rubs her eyes before turning and giving the mournful thing her back.

Samuel frowns as it seems his active use of empathy does nothing. Then he glances back at the familiar voice of… his reflexologist. Well, he’ll probably need a session after this, though he’d rather it be at her spa and not in a club. He catches a whiff of her nervousness, but as she reins it in quickly he says nothing concerning it. “It’s real,” he confirms. “On that you can trust me.” He watches her turn around. “How will that help?” he asks, half turned so he can watch both the fading spot and Julia.

Royce looks to his hand then back to the empty air, “Who doesn’t love? Love what? Tell us so we can help you. We’ll find you love if that’s what you need.”

A soft sob echoes through the air, and then the glow and the ghost is gone. The cold lingers for a few moments.. and then that too is gone. Perhaps found some place else to haunt.

Julia just kind of shrugs. Without looking to Samuel, she says a tinge nervously, “I… don’t remember. I- My mom told me something about it.” Clearing her throat, the small half Chinese woman goes on, “Mythology I’m okay with… a bit of the occult, sure. I think we’ve talked about it some at the spa, but I’ve never actually met a spirit or ghost or poltergeist or, well, whatever that is.” With an agitated glance back, she says nothing but just gives a shake of her head. “I didn’t know there was one here.” She takes a deep breath as a shiver runs down her backbone. Shaking it off, Julia says, “I’m going to have sit down. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like, Samuel.” And then Julia’s all business with her perfect calm.

Samuel nods slowly as Julia explains as best she can. He shakes his head, “Me either, though this is my first time in the club part of The Basement.” He looks back as Royce tries to get some answers out of the ghost, but it seems she’s faded. He touches the man’s elbow with a gloved hand even as he nods at Julia’s news she needs to sit. “She’s gone for now. Come, have a seat.” He lets out a huff of breath. “I need to sit too.” And he then moves to join Julia at whatever table she’s selected, stopping only to grab his coffee.

Royce sighs as the ghost disappears completely. He waves a hand through the air where she’d been, then turns around to Samuel as the man suggests he joins the two of them. “Ah. Yes.” He looks around for his lost drink, then picks it up off the nearby table. Looking to Julia, then back to Samuel he says, “I’d not want to intrude.”

“It’s fine,” Julia says to Royce. “You’re more than welcome to join us.” She finishes in a very American if not vaguely west coast accent. Julia takes a seat and once Samuel and Royce have joined her, she gives the smallest of smiles. There’s some tension around her brows, dampening her gentle beauty. “Have you seen one of… um, those before?” She asks with some trepidation.

Samuel sets his cup down heavily and himself even more so. He let’s Julia assure Royce it’s okay if he joins them. He’s coming off his adrenaline and the headache he’s now noticing is a doozie. He shakes his head gently in answer to her question. “No. Well, if I have it was never so… powerful. Or visible.” He fishes in his satchel again as he continues, speaking to both of them though answering Julia’s question. “I’m not sure where a psychic hotspot ends and something like that begins, you know?” He pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen and fumbles at the childproof cap. “Damn gloves,” he curses, then sets the bottle down and starts to remove his right glove.

Royce takes a seat at the table chosen by Julia. He looks from Samuel and over to Julia. He offers a smile and offers her a handshake, “Royce Harper. Pendragon Security. Nice to meet you Mz.” Then he looks back to Samuel, “This happen a lot to you?” He reaches over to pick up the bottle, opening it for Samuel then setting lid and bottle down in front of the man. “Gloves to protect you from random psychic visions?”

Julia reaches across the table to shake Royce’s hand. “Julia Lau, Black Swan Studio and Spa.” She smiles with more assurance. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Harper.” She starts to reach across the table for the bottle but stops since Royce beats her to it. Her smile now is almost shy. “With time and attention, I guess they form. I also guess I’m going to be going over to the library to read up on…” She seems hesitant to say it. “Ghosts. Honestly, I never really thought about it.” Her dealings aren’t with the dead. At Royce’s question, she glances at Samuel’s gloves then up to his face.

“Oh, thank you,” Samuel says with relief as Royce opens the bottle. He shakes three pills out of it into his hand, pops then and chases them down with the now tepid coffee. He manages a grin and sort of rocks his head to indicate a kind of uncertainty. “Well, sort of. It’s almost always more detailed, usually worse, when I deliberately touch something. The gloves? Yeah, basically. From accidental touches.” He widens his grins and turns it on Julia as he finishes his answer, then says, “Do you have any openings tomorrow?”

Julia nods, “I do. Or I can make one. Although now I’m thinking I might need to make an appointment for mysef.” She gives a weak grin and will engage them in conversation- perhaps about ghosts, although Julia makes a point not to talk about the one over there in the corner. As the few people left in the club begin to leave, members of staff make their way over to the table to ask the three to leave. “It’s time for us to close.” And maybe they’ve noticed the ghost, but they aren’t saying anything about it. Some, however, might note one or two seem a little nervous as they lock the doors. And then it’s out into the night, all of them, where they go their aways.

Wailing Willow
Staff Run Events

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