Better Off Dead

ISA DRESCHLER SPECTROPHILIAC

[fantomes-and-gore]

✘ IMPRISONED ✘ Byron & Isa

[fantomes-and-gore]

The second Byron asked the question, he regretted it immediately. Isa began swinging his arms back and forth, a strange expression appearing on his face. The man before him looked giddy and ecstatic, like he was meeting his favorite celebrity. "You and me are going to be close. Very close." Byron shuddered at his response. This, without a doubt, was the creepiest thing he had ever witnessed. And to think, this was coming from a man who had spent several years trapped in the Inn. 

"my ghost…" There it was again. Byron’s eye twitched, unsure if it was because of anger or fear. Perhaps it was both. But one thing he did know was that he hated how Isa kept calling him his. Byron was absolutely not Isa’s and not anybody’s for that matter. He wasn’t an item or object to be owned. No, he was a fucking human being and even if he was dead, he wasn’t going to let himself be “owned”, especially by his own murderer. 

He was about to reply with an angry comment when Isa suddenly reached out to touch him. To Byron’s own dismay, he was solid. He began feeling the tips of his fingers, the hair on his scalp and the remains of his clothes against his skin. He looked down and he never thought he’d be so happy to see that he was still floating. Remaining unsolid seemed like an inconvenience at first, but now he wanted to return to his complete ghostly form. Isa wouldn’t be able to touch him or anything, and that would be amazing.

Byron watched as Isa ran off to get some things and he cursed aloud when he realized he couldn’t escape because he was told the simple words of “Wait here.” It was hopeless, just hopeless. The man returned shortly and began laying out a blanket and arranging something really…weird. And of course, there just had to be fucking candles. Again to his dismay, Isa gestured for him to lay down beside him. Byron had no other choice but to obey and float towards him. He took a place by his side and awkwardly lay down beside him. He felt a tingly sensation in the lower area of his body and saw that his ghostly tail was slowly growing to legs and feet. Byron let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He felt so, so tired and just wanted to sleep, if ghosts could even sleep. He was tired of screaming, of being afraid, of being angry. But most of all, he was tired of Isa’s bullshit. He was so fucking done.

He opened his eyes after a moment and grumbled, “What now?” At the back of his mind, Byron knew exactly what would happen, Isa was a spectrophiliac after all, but he hoped it certainly wasn’t. But whatever did happen next, he just wanted it done and gone. “Just get it fucking over with,” he muttered.

[spectromaniac-blog]

It was finally time. After waiting for so long, the spectrophiliac was finally going to get what he wanted. He reached out to touch Byron but some cold hand grabbed him by the ankle. He raised a questioning eyebrow. In an instant, he was pulled into the darkness of the basement, yelling and screaming all the way. Whatever it was that had a hold on him let go and he rolled over, confused and bewildered. Something didn't want him to do what he was planning on doing. Something wanted him out of the basement. 

Defiantly, he got up and marched back to where Byron was lying down still. The second he got to the blanket, the candles went out and they were left in pitch darkness. Isa was beginning to grow both annoyed and frightened. He couldn't see anything so he bumbled through the darkness in an attempt to find the light switch.

"Ghost, be a dear and turn on the light, would you?" he asked of Byron. 

He barely got these words out before he felt very cold hands on his waist. He whispered a curse word under his breath and then was drawn back into the darkness. Whatever seemed to want to ruin his experience wasn't really planning on killing him it seemed but it did want to make him give up. It kept a hold on him, shoved him into the corner and pinned him there.

"Let me go!" he demanded. "Ghost, help me!" 

He knew that Byron couldn't resist the command given to him to help but he hoped that the newly made ghost would be strong enough to fight against whatever powers were in the basement. With his face shoved against the wall he could only make muffled noises now. The ghost who was fighting him was a little late to the party, unable to save Byron from being killed in the first place, but certainly keen on saving him from being used. 

Isa grumbled to himself. Things never seemed to go right for him. Even when he got so close to getting exactly what he wanted, something came along to take it away from him. He figured he'd have plenty more chances to fulfill his needs in the future but in the meantime he was definitely being cockblocked by a meddling ghost.

[fantomes-and-gore]

✘ IMPRISONED ✘ Byron & Isa

[fantomes-and-gore]

While Isa was busy celebrating the fact that he was now a ghost, Byron was shivering with fear and fury. A strange combination of both, but there nonetheless. He was afraid of what Isa had done to him, afraid of what was in store of him, afraid that he had transformed to something unrecognizable. But he was even angrier at the fact that he had just been murdered, and for no goddamned reason. He had done nothing wrong to him! Now he was going to spend the rest of his afterlife roaming the Fantome Inn halls, doing nothing but moan and groan and occasionally scare people. And he wasn’t even solid, for fuck’s sake! Looking down, there was no trace of feet and simply a tail of ghostly white. But maybe it was a good thing, at least now Isa wouldn’t be able to touch him….

He watched as the spectrophiliac bounced with joy and examined his new ghostly self. His eye twitched and his jaw clenched. This man was happy that he had suffered and died in agony. Byron had vowed to make him suffer and he would, yes he would. He figured his new ghostly powers would strengthen him greatly. If only he had time to explore his new abilities…whatever spells Isa had written and drawn on him was keeping Byron from leaving his side. But everything had an expiry date. The minute the spells and charms wore off, he’d flee and map out the perfect revenge. For now, though, he had no other choice but to stay bound to Isa’s side. He was afraid of what Isa had in mind for him, but he quickly pushed away the thoughts and focused on his anger instead.

"I suppose you’re not strong enough to solidify yourself yet, hm? No worries. I’ve waited this long for a ghost, I can wait a little while longer."

The second Isa’s hand slipped through him, he floated backwards, as far as the spell would permit him to. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled, still surprised at his new hoarse voice. He guessed the effects of being killed by a cut jugular included a rough, hoarse voice in the afterlife. 

Almost on cue, a tingly feeling tickled his ghostly tail and he looked down to find that he was solidifying. He stared at it in shock. He thought it would take at least a week for him to learn how to be solid, but no, it was happening right at that moment. His heart began pounding wildly as he realized the moment he became a sold ghost, Isa would have the power to touch him and oh dear. He didn’t want to even think about it. He looked away quickly, hoping Isa hadn’t noticed yet. 

He decided to stall him somehow, do anything to make time go faster. “Isa,” he began. “What do you intend to with me?” he asked slowly, trying his best not to shout at the top of his lungs. Angering the spectrophiliac would do him no good, so Byron would be careful, very careful. “Why do you want a ghost so badly?” Not only did he want to steer away attention from the fact he was slowly solidifying - he could feel it slowly rising up his body - but he also wanted to know: What was going to become of him? He crossed his ghostly fingers and hoped it was something good, though a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach told him that it was the exact opposite.

[spectromaniac-blog]

The spectrophiliac was unable to tell that Byron was becoming solid, but that didn't stop his excitement. For once in his twisted lifetime he was going to have something that would listen to him, obey him, and maybe even love him. All those charms and satanic prayers turned Byron Gore into what was called a familiar spirit. Familiar spirits were known to mostly accompany witches but in this case Isa had taken various ritual prayers from different sects and covens to formulate the perfect familiar ghost. Although, Byron would keep a mind of his own he would be bound to serve the spectrophiliac.

“Isa, what do you intend to with me?” 

He smiled at the ghost as the question was asked. His body language became akin to that of a schoolgirl with a crush. He swung his arms back and forth and kept on smiling like he had a secret. 

"We're going to have lots of fun, don't worry about it," he replied. "You and me are going to be close. Very close."

“Why do you want a ghost so badly?”

Isa giggled, again akin to a schoolgirl. "I love ghosts. I just needed a ghost who would love me back. I saw you walking and I thought to myself, 'Yes, he'd make a fine specimen of a specter.' That's why I dragged you down here and murdered you. Now you're my ghost."

He happened to look down at the moment and notice that Byron was becoming solid by the second. He reached out to touch him and found that he was able to this time. His heart practically leaped out of his chest. Things were going to be perfect, he just had to make them perfect. He held up one finger. 

"Wait here, my ghostly companion," he said. "I'll be right back."

He ran off up the stairs and didn't return for about a half an hour. When he did come back, he was carrying all sorts of things in a box. He rushed down the stairs and set the box on the floor. He pulled out a red velour blanket and spread it out on the floor. Then he lit candles of various shapes and sizes and placed them all around the blanket. He had a bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage and he kept drinking out of it as he arranged his love nest.

When he was through primping and organizing his space, he laid down on the velour comforter and patted the space next to him. He may as well have been holding a rose between his teeth and wiggling his eyebrows for all he was trying to signify. 

[fantomes-and-gore]

✘ IMPRISONED ✘ Byron & Isa

[fantomes-and-gore]

Byron felt so fucking frustrated at how calmly Isa was taking his threats. He wanted the other man to feel terrified, threatened, paranoid by his threats - just like how Byron was feeling now. But all he got in response were simple replies and zero amount of fear, and all Byron wanted to do now was strangle the man to death. Of course, that wasn’t possible because he was still utterly trapped and in the hands of the deadly spectrophiliac.

Isa continued writing words on his already heavily bruised and scarred skin. Byron couldn’t make out what was being written on his skin, and frankly he couldn’t care less. The pain was blinding and the sensation of his warm blood dripping down his arms and chest…he couldn’t describe it. It was suddenly getting hard for him to breathe, and along with the huge loss of blood, Byron struggled to keep conscious and awake.

Before he knew it, the scalpel was pressed against his neck. This is it, he thought. This was the end of Byron Gore. There would be no more searching for supplies, no more worrying about being eaten, no more pain and suffering. At least he hoped it to be. He’d still be him, but something entirely different. The second he became a ghost, Byron planned to get his butt out of there at once and flee to a safe place, where Isa wouldn’t find him and where he could plan his revenge in peace.

Byron’s bloodied lips twisted into a sarcastic smile and he uttered his last words. "Fuck you."

Then, his throat was slit, his jugular cut and blood began gushing out like a waterfall. He let out a hitched gasp and his eyes widened as blood continued to flow out of him. This was the moment he stopped thinking, about the never ending pain, about the fact that he was dying and about how much he despised Isa. He could only feel overwhelming and immense pain. That’s the thing about pain, it demands to be felt.

The other man left for a while, but he could barely register it in his mind. Byron felt like he was drifting off to a dreamlike state. He knew he was on the verge of death. When Isa returned, he wanted to shout and scream at him, but then again, his jugular was cut and every short breath he had left was extremely painful. He found it ironically tragic how his last sight was of his murderer touching himself.

Byron began to feel the life being drained out of him. In just a matter of moments, he knew he would be as good as dead. He could no longer feel his legs and that feeling was travelling upwards. His vision grew blurry and his brain couldn’t create a single coherent thought. Besides the thought of Well, this is it. What a fucking great way to die.

And with that, his spirit left his black and blue body, floating higher and higher towards the light. He knew, though, that he would reach the light, only to be denied exit from the Fantome Inn and would return to the scene of murder in a flash. That was exactly what happened. He reached the light…and saw horrifying, gruesome things. Bleeding demons, screaming creatures, lurking monsters. It seemed like an eternity, but it in a matter of a few moments, Byron returned to the basement. He looked down at himself, his hands, legs and body. No longer trapped by the restraints of the chains, he carefully touched his face, as if afraid it would crack from a single touch. He looked just like he did a few hours ago, except now he was more…ghastly. Or ghostly, actually. He wasn’t fully solid (yet, at least) and you could almost see through his bones. “What….” he said aloud. He was surprised by his own voice, as it was rougher and more hoarse. But he didn’t have the time to explore his new form, he had to get the hell out of there.

He ran, or more of floated towards, the staircase and ready to escape the basement. And yet, as he made his way out of there, he found himself returning to the spot directly in front of Isa. Something seemed to be drawing him back to his murderer. It wasn’t in his own control, it was something else completely. It dawned on him that it must have been some kind of spell or charm…across his arms and chest weren’t just words and random ramblings. They were satanic prayers. Eyes widening in sudden realization, he backed away from the man, unsure what to do or say. The words came back to him in a flash…"You’ll love being my ghost. I promise you that.” He stared at the spectrophiliac with eyes full of fear, his mouth agape and shaking his head, not wanting his greatest fears confirmed.

[spectromaniac-blog]

The spectrophiliac smiled and leaned up against the wall, waiting eagerly for the moment when the ghost would rise out of Byron and follow him blindly as a slave. He reached down to touch the blood that was pouring out of the wound in the other man's throat, and he used the same crimson liquid to write a pentagram sigil above Byron's head. He then leaned back and sat himself on the concrete floor of the basement, awaiting the final breath that his prisoner would take. When it finally came, Isa could barely contain his shriek of joy. 

"Yes, yes," he cried like a mad genius. "I'll finally have someone who will love me unconditionally, a specter to meet my every need."

When Byron returned as a ghost, the spectrophiliac watched with wonder in his glistening blue eyes. Someone who had just been alive was now dead and in his own possession thanks to the evil prayer he'd learned. He gazed at Byron's ghostly form and bit his lower lip. Although the phantom tried to float away, he was bound by the spell that Isa had put over him. He giddily sprung towards Byron and looked him up and down and all over. 

"It worked!" Isa exclaimed. "It really worked!"

He looked about as delighted as a kid on Christmas. He was bouncing up and down on his tiptoes and examining every inch of Byron's ghostly self with awe. He put his hand over his mouth and tried to suppress a giggling laugh of giddiness. Ever since he realized the existence of ghosts, that night he spent out in the graveyard after his mother died, he'd been craving to experience falling in love with the dead. Something had gone wrong in his brain, connecting love to ghosts and spirits. He just snapped under the pressure of an abusive household and the loss of his only beloved parent.

He tried to touch Byron but his hand slipped right through the ghost's not fully solid form and he withdrew, feeling freezing cold through his fingers. 

"I suppose you're not strong enough to solidify yourself yet, hm?" he cooed. "No worries. I've waited this long for a ghost, I can wait a little while longer."

[fantomes-and-gore]

✘ IMPRISONED ✘ Byron & Isa

[fantomes-and-gore]

Before him was Isa Dreschler. This was the man he had found not long ago with a bloody head after the monster attacked him. He spotted a scalpel in his hand. He stared in shock, his mouth agape. He knew now what was happening. If the rumors were right, Isa was a spectrophiliac. Put 2 and 2 together and that meant only one thing. Byron Gore was going to die.

"Let’s get started then."

Byron had never felt more terrified in his life. When he encountered demon dogs, when he confronted monsters and demons, when he had met the murderer, Nathan; nothing compared to this. Though there were possibilities of him being killed then, right now, he knew he was going to die. His horribly short life flashed behind his eyes. Memories of his father scolding him severely, of the first time he met Benny, of the moment he was accepted as an vet assistant. All his achievements and failures and adventures, they all came tumbling down on him. His eyes began welling up as he shook his head, pleading. “Please, no. Don’t do this. There are so many other ghosts already. P-Please,” he whimpered pathetically. The fear was making him weak and he hated it, but he couldn’t stop himself. When Isa cupped his chin, he immediately recoiled. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled, his voice wavering. But he was chained, trapped, with no way out. This man could do anything to him and there would be no escape.

"It’s almost a shame to bruise your pretty face, my friend. I promise you, you’ll make a fantastic ghost."

"I’m not your friend. I hate you!" he spat out, glad his voice didn’t waver this time. But his soon-to-be-murderer didn’t seem to care and began his torture. The first punch came. The fist pounded against his face, again and again and again. It hurt like hell and Byron wanted to barf, to run away, for it to be all over. His face began to feel numb and he knew he was covered in bruises. "No. Please," he whispered, but the punches kept on coming. He shed a silent tear, knowing this would be a long night.

Isa brought out his scalpel and Byron edged away, still trying to break free. All he could do was cry out in pain as the man dragged it across his skin, writing words and phrases everywhere. Byron writhed in pain, yelling out incoherent words because he could no longer think straight. His voice began to grow hoarse after a while, but he continued to scream and shout in hope that someone would hear him.

Blood dripped down his arms, face, legs. Every inch of his skin was covered with words. The pain, oh the pain. It was unbearable and overwhelming. He’d never been in so much pain in his life. But, the pain, the burning, stinging, grueling pain of it all, fueled his anger. After all his fighting and surviving in the Fantome Inn, this was how he was going to go down?! Killed by a fellow human he had done no wrong too?!? It was unfair, utterly unfair. All his fear melted away and was replaced by a familiar emotion: fury. 

“Terribly sorry I have to do this to you but you must understand, everything has to be perfect.”

Byron was too weak and drained to break loose and attack Isa, but his mind was racing with angry curses and threats and vows. He wanted to strangle the man, drown him in a vat of acid, feed him to demonic dogs, plunge a knife through his skull. The murderous thoughts scared him, but it was all true. He wanted to end this man who was about to end him.

"You will pay for this, Isa Dreschler," he whispered, not looking at his eyes. "When I become a ghost, I will be stronger than ever." He looked up, finally meeting his eyes. "I will find you, haunt you, murder you," Byron vowed. This was not a lie, a bluff or a joke. He was going to fucking murder this son of a bitch and make him suffer. "YOU WILL DIE, ISA BECAUSE I WILL FUCKING MURDER YOU. YOU WILL REGRET EVER MESSING WITH BYRON GORE!!!" he thundered, shouting at him with all the strength he had left. A wave of pain washed over him and he screamed curses and swear words. Panting, he forced himself to look at Isa again. "So, go ahead. Kill me. I’m ready," he said, glaring right at him. 

Byron knew there was only a matter of time before he transformed into a ghost. He knew he would be a different being altogether. Maybe he’d lose all his memories or become a flesh-eating ghost or shit. But whatever thing he was about to become, there was only one thing he wanted to remember, even as a ghost: Benny. “Benny,” he whispered, closing his eyes. A soft smile grew on his face, because he knew he was about to be reunited with his best friend.

[spectromaniac-blog]

"You will pay for this Isa Dreschler."

"Will I, then?" he asked. 

"When I become a ghost, I will be stronger than ever."

Isa smiled. "I'm sure."

 "I will find you, haunt you, murder you."

"Go on."

"You will die, Isa, because I will fucking murder you! You will regret ever messing with Byron Gore!"

"Must you yell so loudly?"

"So, go ahead. Kill me. I'm ready."

"Certainly."

The spectrophiliac heard a soft whisper of some name he didn't recognize, but it didn't matter to him. It was all the same, his victim was going to become a ghost, his ghost, his slave. He finished writing the rest of his satanic prayer on Byron's arms and chest. The spells would put Byron under his control for just a little while, but he was certain that the other man would come to love him soon enough. His psychotic manner of thinking didn't account for the fact that Byron could turn on him after the spell ended.

Isa pressed his scalpel against Byron's neck. With his other hand he adjusted his glasses which were semi-blood splattered. With a single swift and sharp motion he cut Byron's jugular and let the blood pour out from his throat. He stood up, leaving the other man to bleed out. He went to go wash his hands again, content with his plan to bring about the perfect ghost companion. 

He ran his hands under the tepid water and sighed to himself. He cleaned his glasses off on his shirt, which he then took off. It was covered in blood anyway, so he tossed it into the laundry machine and poured in soap from the box. He turned on the machine and closed the lid. Isa returned to his victim to see how things were going. Byron was so close to dying now that one could almost taste it. Isa ran his hands down the length of his own body until he reached his thighs. He brushed the insides of his legs across with his fingertips. 

The whole act of murdering had him hot and bothered. He couldn't wait until that ghost rose up out of Byron's corpse and he could unite life and death. The spectrophiliac's excitement rose as he thought about it. He put his hands gingerly to his face and let all the air out of his lungs in one long sigh. 

"You'll love being my ghost," he whispered. "I promise you that."

[fantomes-and-gore]

✘ IMPRISONED ✘ Open

Byron woke up to a massively painful headache. His head was pounding ferociously and his entire body ached. Thinking he was still in bed, Byron tried to stretch out his hand for his bedside, only to find that he could not move. “What the…” he murmured. He looked up and saw that his hands were chained to the wall. Eyes widening in fear, he tried to move his feet and found that they, too, were bound and chained to the wall. This was not good. 

Byron looked around, trying to figure out where he was or how he got there. All he could make out was darkness, darkness and never ending darkness. The room he was in smelled horrible and felt horrible, too. He racked his brain for his last memories. He realized the last thing he could recall was entering his room from a short walk. He remembered opening the door and seeing a figure, though he couldn’t seem to recollect what or who it was or how it looked like. He figured he was drugged or knocked unconscious. Maybe both.

But whatever was going on now was too creepy for Byron and had to be stopped immediately. He tugged on the hand and ankle cuffs with all his might. “Arghhhhhh!” he cried as he kicked, pulled and trashed all about. Nothing happened, he was still chained to the wall. He tried with all his strength to break free of his bonds, but nothing worked. He tried calling out for help, but he doubted anyone would hear him. Fear began to settle on him as he realized the gravity of the situation. There were endless possibilities about what might happen. He might be tortured, abused, experimented on, abused. He gulped nervously, trying and failing to push the thoughts away. After a while, he gave up attempting to break free and slumped against the wall, defeated. Silently, he braced himself for whatever was to come.

After what seemed like eternity, Byron heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He bolted up, alert and awake. Relief washed over him instantly - he was going to be saved! “HEEEEEEELP! Help me! I’m down here!!!” he shouted as loud as he could. But he got no response in return. “Hello?!” Even more fear began to take over him as he realized that there was a chance that it was not his savior coming, but his imprisoner. “Ah shit.”

[spectromaniac-blog]

The spectrophiliac washed his hands in the sink basin near the laundry machines in the basement. He scrubbed like he wanted to get filth and sin out of the palms and fingernails of his hands. The dirt and blood washed down the drain and he turned off the water. He dried his hands on the grimy towel hanging to the side. It almost made it not worth the effort of washing his hands in the first place, now that they'd touched the filthy towel. Nevertheless, he returned with great haste to his prisoner who had woken up and was now yelling.

He pulled out a scalpel and looked at it closely through a maniac's eyes. It was clean and sterilized. There were a thousand ways to make a ghost. A thousand ways to die. He got to choose which way this victim would die and thus what kind of ghost would be made from it. Would it be a fiery poltergeist, a corrupted creature, or a quiet lurker of the shadows? The different types made for different electrifying lovers and all Isa wanted was the experience of spectral carnal pleasure. The ghost he would make would be his slave, he decided.

"Good, you're awake," he said. "Let's get started then."

He crouched and reached out to examine Byron's face. He cupped his chin in his hand and took a look at each cheek in turn. The eyes were especially inspiring. Yes, this one would make a fine ghost. If someone could be this good looking as a human, imagine how they would look in their ghostly form. It would be breathtaking. Tortured souls seemed to make the best lovers. So torture perhaps would be the best way to achieve the result. 

"It's almost a shame to bruise your pretty face, my friend," Isa quietly spoke. "I promise you, you'll make a fantastic ghost."

He gripped Byron's shoulder and pulled back for a punch. He repeated the process over and again until he marked Byron's face with multicolored bruises. He took his scalpel and began to draw satanic words and blasphemous phrases into Byron's skin. The more pain the better. It would just make for a better phantom as the end result. He had studied the way that ghosts manifested themselves and the worse deaths they had the wilder they were. He liked the wild ones.

Isa added, "Terribly sorry I have to do this to you but you must understand, everything has to be perfect."

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ SPIRAL DOWNWARDS [CONVO]

[fantomes-and-gore]

Oh, so he took down you? Wow, and you’re still alive! What was it like? Tell me all the details!

Sorry, can’t help you there. I don’t know who you are too. But, you should get that head of yours treated. Can’t help you with that either. Maybe the nurse or anyone who’s not me.

[spectromaniac-blog]

I'm Isa Dreschler, I think. I've yet to gather all my faculties. All I remember is I was going for a walk and then this gigantic monster jumped me. It knocked me on the ground but I heard someone yell from the end of the hall and it went after them.

I think I passed out. There's a nurse?

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ SPIRAL DOWNWARDS [CONVO]

[fantomes-and-gore]

Bloody hell…

What the fuck happened to you?! Wait, I bet you tried to take down that…monster. What were you thinking?!? You could have been killed!

[spectromaniac-blog]

Me? Trying to take down a monster? No no, my friend, the monster tried to take down me. I'm lucky I escaped with my life. Almost forgot who I was for a moment there. Ack... my head. Ssss, this hurts.

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ SPIRAL DOWNWARDS [CONVO]

Where am I? What happened? What was that thing?

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ LIFE'S A BITCH AND THEN YOU DIE [CONVO]

[edwardthewitch-deactivated20151]

I never realised there was more than one way to die until now… Actually wish I had stayed ignorant to that information. 

I hope that you pull through this.

[spectromaniac-blog]

Same to you, I wouldn't want something awful to happen to that pretty face of yours.

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ LIFE'S A BITCH AND THEN YOU DIE [CONVO]

[edwardthewitch-deactivated20151]

Eventually we all die, if we are not dead already that is. 

[spectromaniac-blog]

Hello, hello, my ghostly friend. 

I was speaking more specifically of the lovely game we're all meant to play, the goal of which I believe is to not die. 

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ LIFE'S A BITCH AND THEN YOU DIE [CONVO]

So, I hear tell that we're all going to die... Does someone care to elaborate?

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ CEMETERY GATES [DANNY]

[glass-spider-deactivated2018041]

It was about the fourth time Danny had ever fallen down the stairs in the Fantome Inn, and this time he came crashing down with a thunderous thud. It was all on the account of him being slightly drunk. Luckily this time he didn’t injure himself so terribly aside from knocking his head against the bottom step and perhaps spraining something or bruising his ribs. He’d hit his head more times than he could count now and all it did each time was push him ever so slightly further off his rocker. His vision was blurry for a moment and he silently hoped to himself he hadn’t got a concussion. 

"Aw, bloody hell," he grumbled. He was usually so careful when going down the stairs that he never knew how he managed to keep falling down them. In any case, he got up off the ground and limped his way into the lobby, avoiding putting any weight on his left foot because it was aching like he’d injured it. As soon as he got into the lobby he saw someone who looked like they were having a … moment. A very private moment. He stared at them for a minute, wondering if he should go and leave them to it or if he should stay and make conversation with the new guy.

"Ahem." Danny cleared his throat and the man stopped doing what he was doing, whatever that was — Danny wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly. “Ah… Hi!" He took a few limping steps forward and rubbed the back of his head where he’d hit it against the stairs. “Hello, I don’t think we’ve… I don’t think we’ve met." Being ever so slightly drunk he was slurring his words just a touch and seemed quite out of sorts. He looked the part too, with ruffled hair, an untucked shirt, and his jeans done up in sloppy cuffs. He put his hand to his chest and introduced himself. “I… am Danny McQueen." He hiccuped here and there. “Nice to meet you."

He tripped forward towards the other man and extended his hand like he’d meant to trip forward all along. He waited for a handshake and when it was completed, he sat down on the raggedy couch next to the guy and stared at him through bleary blue eyes. The other man seemed very interesting, with very big blue eyes and a generally Irish look to him. Apart from the intimate moment the man seemed to be having by himself just a few moments ago, he seemed relatively normal. Of course Danny had no idea of what normal was or who had normalcy.

"You uh… you new here?" Danny asked, blinking one eye but having the other one taking a little longer to close. It almost looked like he was winking in slow motion except his other eye was also half closed until finally he completed his slow blink and stared at the other man’s hair. He liked to look at people’s hair, it was one of the things he first noticed about them. Hair and eyes. He appreciated a good-looking hairdo and this man seemed to have one. “I was new here once, and I was uhm… sane back then. Not sane anymore, no, I thought I was but it turns out…. I… am not."

[spectromaniac-blog]

“Hello, I don’t think we’ve… I don’t think we’ve met. I… am Danny McQueen. Nice to meet you."

The spectrophiliac was hardly pleased to be interrupted by a drunken subject, an alive subject. He looked the not-ghost over from head to toe and concluded that he must be insane, right away. It was something in the way the man dressed, how he carried himself, and the particular way he stared that wasn't just from drunkenness but from some weakness of the brain. Isa put his hands to his mouth and pulled down on his lip for a moment, before reaching out to shake hands with the intoxicated bother. 

"Isa Dreschler. Charmed," he said dryly.

"You uh… you new here? I was new here once, and I was uhm... sane back then. Not sane anymore, no, I thought I was but it turns out... I... am not."

At this point in time, Isa was not at all surprised to find out about Danny's mental state. Quite the opposite in fact, he had been expecting it. He didn't bother to ask anything about how the sanity was lost or how Danny figured he was insane, because he clearly was and that was accepted by Isa. The spectrophiliac imagined that Danny would probably be better off dead, and make a much better looking ghost than this ruffle-haired yet strangely well dressed ragamuffin standing in front of him.

"Yes, I'm fairly new here," he mentioned. "I came here for the ghosts, not for the living, so now if you'll excuse me, I'll be off." 

He saluted to Danny and started on his way off, ignoring any attempts that were made by Danny to restart conversation. It wasn't until he realized that he didn't have anything better to do and that Danny might happen to know of some attractive ghosts that he changed his mind and went back. 

"Do you happen to know of any ghosts around here?" he asked. "I've been absolutely dying to meet some."

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ THE HUNT [CONVO]

[fatelocked-blog]

No thanks. This is a whole lot of sexual harassment bullshit and I suggest you knock it off before I kick you in the balls.

[spectromaniac-blog]

"I'm so scared."

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ THE HUNT [CONVO]

[fatelocked-blog]

Was that a threat?

[spectromaniac-blog]

"Not a threat, an ultimatum. You sleep with me or I will make you."

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ THE HUNT [CONVO]

[fatelocked-blog]

You can keep your flowers, buddy. The sentiment is nice but I don’t think I’m completely interested. No offense.

[spectromaniac-blog]

"I can assure you, you don't want to turn down my advances. I've waited too long for this and you won't stop me from getting what I want."

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ THE HUNT [CONVO]

[fatelocked-blog]

Ah, so hitting on me with style. Gotcha. Well, buy me a drink first and maybe we’ll talk.

[spectromaniac-blog]

"I'd buy you many drinks and even flowers if we were someplace other than here. In light of the circumstances, however, I must ask you give me a chance minus alcohol."

[spectromaniac-blog]

♚ THE HUNT [CONVO]

[fatelocked-blog]

That sounds an awful lot like hitting on me.

[spectromaniac-blog]

"I wouldn't call it that... I'm courting you. Flirting with you. Not hitting on you."