#;;jackson

[wvtchy-a]

            † * ⋆✕⋆ *†   ||

                                  “You’re my girl...anything you want is yours.”

[justplaythegame]

{  starter status:  open (m/f/nb) muse:  Jackson Sayers, canon character from Malevolent (2018) connection:  acquaintance from school, study partner, anyone who may have a reason to approach him. please note that your muse does not know of Jackson’s abilities, but they may know that his sister Angela is a medium, if you wish!   } ✖ She was there again. The girl.

     Of course it's just his luck that the library he chose to study in is occupied by dead people. Stood in a dark corner in between the rows of bookshelves, as white as the pages of his boring brand-new history book and with a nasty purple marking around her neck, she stares him down. Beckoning him.

'Jackson...'

     And he can't help but stare back at her, even though he is sick of this shit,  even though he's getting used to it by now. Being bothered by the dead, that is. Slender fingers reach up to touch his lips subconsciously, as he watches her. She doesn't move. They almost never do - unless you look away. A voice in the distance brings him slowly back to the land of the living. Jackson remains frozen for another moment before he diverts his attention to the person in front of him.     

"Hmm? Sorry, I didn't catch that."      The calm of his voice completely betrays what he just witnessed, as usual. He glances over again to the spot where he'd seen the girl. She's not there. Textbook ghost tactics.

✖

[wvtchy-a]

            † * ⋆✕⋆ *†   ||

                                     “Did you miss me?”

[deadinsde]

imeddierp

No podía dar crédito a lo que había escuchado. Quizá era el alto volumen de la música, pero la verdad es que sí lo había oído muy bien, sólo que prefería no aceptarlo engañarse así mismo. —¿Perdón?— Espetó con la incredulidad en su rostro. —¿Un sueño? ¿Tú y yo…? ¿Acaso fantaseas conmigo?—

Soltó un bufido bastante gracioso. El castaño estaba borracho, o al menos se sentía borracho. Como era usual, un hombre lobo no podía embriagarse, pero Jackson había conseguido como hacerlo gracias a un par de contactos. Mordió su labio, observando al muchacho frente a él. --¿Estaría mal si lo hiciera?--.

[skeletiisms]

;open

It had been a few years since Jackson had fallen into this world, though he never knew it of course. He'd believed that it was only normal for him to be the way he was, finding old rats skeletons in the sewers and taking them up for further investigation. He was known as the town creep for these habits, that and the fact that his house seemed like it was abandoned for thirty years. Jackson was now aged at twenty-one, and he had no recollection of his past life in Halloween town.

Then he heard something he'd  heard before in a dream, a knock on his door.