Fuck. The man that Violet had been chasing after had made a run for it, and Violet couldn’t even think there goes my food without wondering if they had hid their face well enough to escape whatever that man could say about his encounters. Before they knew it, that man could be reporting the whole thing to Nightwatch.
Okay, don’t panic. He doesn’t know. You’re fine.
Except they weren’t fine, because they were out of food, and they couldn’t go to bed hungry again. They spun the way opposite the direction the man was headed, hoping to come across something much easier.
So they wandered back into town and slumped against the wall of the nearest building, appearing to need to pass out, lazily looking at any onlooker who looked like they might be able to help.
“you’re really bad at killing things, you know,” holden says as he materializes next to violet, he himself now leaning against the very same wall they’ve chosen to slump against. “i’m dead, which makes me an expert, and i’m thinking– and feel free to ignore my advice– but i’m thinking you should wait for your prey to come to you. lie in wait, you know? and when they’re already in your path, you pounce. and you got yourself the human equivalent of a rotisserie chicken. or, uh, a glass o’ wine. guess that’s more applicable.” he smiles at them. “don’t worry about it. you’ll get the hang of it real soon. i have faith in you.”
the only thing on his mind was to just sit in silence after the long shift he had with a few kids who spent most of their time crying or screaming. he catches the bartender’s attention as he takes a seat waiting for his drink. it’s pretty quiet with a few patrons scattered about with music flowing throughout the room. as he’s getting settled he’s shaken by the appearance of holden. a frown appears on his face upon this unexpected interaction. “why do you always do this shit?” he grumbled as he finally got the drink and took a swig of it.
“i like to keep you on your toes,” he says, the sour expression on the jase’s face coaxing a grin out of him. the bastard looks absolutely livid, but is not yet throwing punches. and maybe holden’s okay with coexisting with jase, for a little while. that doesn’t mean he’s about to apologize, but he’ll be closer to friendly than usual. “hey, man, can you see this drink?” he gestures to the one in front of him. “it some kinda ghost cup only i’m allowed to experience? or am i being fuckin’ crazy?”
elliot was not exactly bar crowd. he was too quiet for that, too little social for that, but he had been dragged outside by a friend who was now snogging somebody in the bathroom or probably left already. it always happened, and yet, he could never say no to any of that. he sighed, after walking back from changing the music in the jukebox and reached for the drink he had left there before going there. that’s when he noticed the table wasn’t empty as he thought– “shit–” he mumbled under his breath. “sorry man– i didn’t see you.” he couldn’t assure the table wasn’t taken before. he was too distracted to notice some things. “do you mind me sitting here? it’s… it’s kind of the only table with good light,” he asked, hoping he could stay, as he pulled out his smallest sketchbook, big enough to fit in his pocket, and a pen.
now that the mystery of the drink is solved, holden nods. “be my guest.” the kid who is now being his guest has taken out a little book and a pen and holden isn’t sure if he’s about to start writing or drawing but he supposes it’s none of his business. he turns, eyeing the bar, wondering if he ought to get his own drink. he’s getting to be a little jealous of this newcomer. he nods at the drink. “what’s in that? looks good.”
Naamah had thought she left something behind and came back to it. Maybe it was a drink. Had she been drinking? She couldn’t tell. Memories of her life and death often mixed together, sometimes to the point that her hands felt ‘real’ again. In any case, she had been wandering back to the bar to check just exactly what it was. Oh. A drink. She shouldn’t have left a drink behind, lest somebody slip something but wait. I’m dead. Nothing can happen. Who cares if I leave behind a drink?
A man sitting atop a bar stool seems intent on staring at the drink. Now Naamah remembers what it was. A pina colada on a girl’s night. He must be staring, on account that he thinks it matters to him.
Naamah so conspicuously takes her seat the bar, thinking that this is some odd case of deja vu. She doesn’t spare the man a glance. Then, she speaks.
“Cute parlor trick.” She would take a huff if she still needed to breath. But she doesn’t. It’s no bother. “Trust me when I say it gets old after a while. So,” she spins in her stool, finally giving him a nonchalant look. “Who’re you trying to scare?”
the girl looks familiar but holden has no way of judging if this is genuine familiarity or the result of her just having one of those faces. maybe he knows one of her ancestors or something. maybe time is passing like quicksand and it’s already 2054. “i did a piss poor job of it so i figure the best thing to do now is cut my losses and pretend i was never trying in the first place.” it’s interesting that she’s so unfazed, but then, all he did was appear. it wouldn’t have scared him either. unnerved him, maybe, but only a little. he looks at the drink again, and then at her. fuck it. “do me a favour and satisfy my curiosity. can you see this?” he gestures to the glass.
“you ever think about your name being holden? you’re like…every sad boy’s dream.” if there had ever been an urge to drop out of high school, it was when they were reading catcher in the rye. “i mean, mediocre men will relate to anything.”
“nah, can’t say i’ve ever given it much thought.” he shifts his weight, resting most of it on the arm of the chair he’s perched on. if he’s dead he ought to feel weightless, but he does not. “i never adored it. too fucking british. but i’ll take what i can get. ‘s better ‘n peter. i get to grow up.” holden can see the irony as soon as he’s spoken the words – it’s not as if he’s gonna be getting any older.
the book he’s reading is paint by numbers literature, formulaic to a fault, but holden’s happy to have something to run his mind over as he sits in a corner of the bar that light can reach but not fully saturate. there is a drink in front of him that he didn’t order, and if he weren’t living in this strange half-state he’d think someone had left it there when he wasn’t paying attention, but now he’s wondering if it’s a phantom beverage, if it’s something that was there the night he died and it’s here to remind him. as he’s mulling this over, someone takes a seat beside him, looking very much like they don’t even know he’s there. he makes himself pointedly visible, half hoping that when they glance up they’ll be startled enough to fall out of their chair.
( brad pitt & cis male ) + you know holden price, the 30 year-old recluse that has lived in eldstead since the storm? i heard he has a tendency to be calm, honest, detached & brazen. the aquarius has equipped death in time for the full moon + ( admin mia & 23 & pst & she/they. )
hey !! i’m mia <3 hnstly do not know how to talk about myself so i will simply proceed with the intro... but like this or mssg me if you’d like to plot ! i’m SO excited for this rp omg it’s been like a hundred years since i was in a supernatural / horror group ( thank u to jinx for their Vision )
trigger warnings for murder, gun violence, drug & alcohol use, & death.
LIFE ;
Holden grows up in Nevada in the ‘60s and he’s adopted by his uncle, Jack, and Jack’s wife, Eileen. Holden’s parents are gone – nobody knows where. He sees pictures of his mother. She was from England, but that’s about all Jack and Eileen can tell Holden. He sees far more photos of his father, a tall blond man who was a pilot in the war and met his mother that way. Holden pretends that his parents are together in England, and that they’ll come get him. Maybe when he’s older. Maybe they’re waiting for him to grow up, so that he can travel with them properly. But he’s seven, he’s ten, he’s thirteen, he’s fifteen, he’s nineteen, and they still haven’t shown their faces.
Holden is twenty-three and he’s moving from place to place. His best friend, Charlie, is by his side. The two of them are not entirely honest, but they are not entirely reprehensible either. Sometimes they find a town they like and they stick around for a while. They spend a year in a small town in rural California. Holden works as a mechanic while Charlie tends bar. They live in what is essentially a shack, but which has two bedrooms and a stove that heats the place to an unbearable degree and a reliable bathroom. Charlie meets a woman and for a little while Holden thinks he might settle down but that doesn’t end up happening – her parents hate Charlie, say he’s just a no-good drifter, and Charlie can’t really argue the point. He and Holden leave the day after they break up. Holden’s sorry to go, but he gets used to the road again quickly enough.
Holden is twenty-five and Charlie’s gone back to California without him. Holden is in Detroit, working on an assembly line. He’s married to a woman he doesn’t particularly love. She’s got a strange name – Calliope – which was the first thing he liked about her. He still likes it about her. The truth is that he does like her, which is why it frustrates him that he doesn’t feel in love with her. He wonders, on occasion, if his parents ever felt like they were really in love. Callie and him talk about having children, but they haven’t yet. Callie notices Holden aiming long looks at one of her friends. The rift between Callie and Holden grows until something breaks and Holden bids her farewell, apologizing for any trouble. She doesn’t seem too broken up about it. She tells him it was a long time coming and he can’t help but agree. They say they’ll stay in touch. It’s much to his surprise that they actually do.
Holden is twenty-seven and he’s in Los Angeles, living with a woman named Lydia he met when they were both fired from the same job at the same time. He has a job as a mechanic but at night he and Lydia take long drives outside of town. Holden finds Charlie’s obituary in the paper. He tells Lydia about Charlie and Lydia says lets go for a drive and she packs an overnight bag for herself and he grabs all he owns, which isn’t really much – he’s not that into material things so long as he’s comfortable – and the two of them decide they’re going to drive up to Alaska.
Holden is twenty-nine and he and Lydia are in Seattle. They have a kid now. The kid is Lydia’s, but Holden feels a certain sense of responsibility. He helped pick a name and everything – Charlotte, after Charlie, and her middle name is Celeste. He and Lydia are just friends, which works out for the best – they agree that if they were ever anything more, they’d probably kill each other. Holden is still a mechanic. He still drives too quickly, especially on long open roads at night. Lydia doesn’t come with him much anymore.
Holden is thirty and he gets into a bar fight in Eldstead. It’s 1993 and he’s a little drunk and the guy he fights is a little high and when he wakes up dead years later Holden will be unable to recall why the two of them fought. In 1993 Holden leaves the bar alive, if a little bloody, having gotten away with a warning from the law, and in 1993 he receives one shot to the back of the head as he’s getting into his car. And then there’s a storm, and Holden wakes up.
DEATH ;
Holden isn’t pleased about his inability to leave Eldstead. He’s got no attachment to the town whatsoever. He loves the city and he loves barren landscapes and he misses nightlife and the desert that he knows he’ll never see again. He feels as if he’s been trapped in some strange parallel universe. He’s not unfriendly. He’s not friendly either. He’s reclusive. He haunts the bar he died beside, and sometimes he lets himself be seen in it. He has trouble with reality. He didn’t when he was alive – he was grounded. Now he wonders if anything is real. He supposes it makes no difference. He misses Lydia, and Charlie II. He misses his dog. He misses taking long drives at night. He misses working on cars.
PERSONALITY ;
Holden is laid back, at least up to a point. He was accused in life of being a little too go with the flow, and tended to be able to talk to just about anyone because he wasn’t really doing the talking – he was more of a listener. That’s still true in death, although the experience has shaken something loose in him. He’s more cynical now than he ever was while he was alive, and he fears consequences far less, which isn’t great, considering he was already a bit reckless. It takes a lot to get him shaken up, and if he thinks something, and he wants to say it, he’s gonna say it – he doesn’t believe in brutal honesty if it’s pointless, but if he believes someone’s gotta know something he’s not going to hold it in.
WANTED CONNECTIONS ;
friendships. he’s pretty easygoing, despite being reclusive. he might know people who spend a lot of time at the bar, and anyone who works around cars.
they have a dog and he thinks the dog is cute but . can he even go near dogs?? feel like dogs don’t vibe w the dead. idk !
someone more modern who will explain technology to him. i can’t promise he’ll understand or listen but like... he’s not Fully out of it. he vaguely remembers the internet. it just wasn’t that much of a thing while he was alive.
someone he’s had perfectly normal interactions with but for whatever reason they get like . ghost vibes. a chill goes up their spine. but they’re like ??? this guy seems more or less normal ????
people who know about ghosts . he’d love to pick their brains
