#seance-senseless

[cheatdeathsarchive]

@seance-senseless​ did u forsee that i was literally gonna do thsi for all ur muses cause i can’t pick or what !!!

“You got a killer sense o’ style.”

[cheatdeathsarchive]

@seance-senseless​    /    cs.

Playing errand boy for the NCR was frustrating, especially during moments like these. She wasn’t a detective -- she was just a mail man. They needed this informant found, and fast, if the reports about the incoming Legion attack were supposed to be believed.

"She's been missing since Friday and you're not worried?" She poses the question lightly. The Sergeant was a stranger to him, after all -- nothing but a client for whatever strange hocus pocus he was up to, “Anything you could tell me I’d be awful chuffed to hear, sir -- last person anyone saw ‘er talkin’ to was you.”

[woman-out-of-time]

Morbid Curiosity

@seance-senseless

In the world before the bombs fell, Nora Howard hadn’t considered herself a superstitious woman. She wasn’t the most faithful of Catholics, but she’d managed to get to church during the holidays and always said a quiet little prayer before drifting off to sleep at night. Ghosts were fun for Halloween and cheesy horror movies at the Starlight Drive-in. But did she truly believe in the afterlife?

She didn’t have an answer for that.

After the world she knew was destroyed by nuclear fire, she’d lost what little faith she could have. She pushed forward, desperately hoping that the human spirit would endure. There were still good people willing to do what’s right, and that’s all she needed to believe in. 

Or so she thought.

Rumors had begun circulating around the Commonwealth of a young man with the ability to see into the beyond. With the threat of ferals, super mutants, and raiders around every corner, a violent and unexpected death was almost an inevitability out here. People were still clinging to the desperate hope that their loved ones had moved on to some peaceful, ethereal plane. She’d bitterly scoffed and waved away the thought.

While visiting Hangman’s Alley one day, she overheard a ghoul provisioner speaking with a fellow settler. 

“I’m tellin’ you,” the ghoul’s raspy voice drawled out, “The guy was talkin’ to my brother. I lost him when the nukes fell. I know it was him. He told me things, see, that nobody else could know.”

Nora wasn’t superstitious--but she was curious. So after finding out that this mysterious figure had been frequenting Goodneighbor, she made her way in that direction. Arriving at the Third Rail, she slid onto a bar stool across Whitechapel Charlie, motioning for a drink. After catching up with the surly robot, she turned in her seat, allowing her eyes to scope out the crowd as she slowly sipped her beer.