2021-05-01 - The Skeletons in the Basement

Some higher power must have a sense of humour; the kind of humour that lead to the creation of Laurel & Hardy. That power, whatever its true nature and origin may be, is probably having a popcorn moment right now, watching Ravn Abildgaard with a screwdriver. The Dane has a tool box. The former butcher's shop has old fluorescent lights armatures in the ceiling that no longer work. They need to come down and then new lamps need to go up. It's possible that the armatures can be salvaged, and only the bulbs need changed out -- but there is only one way to find out and that's taking the armatures down and inspecting them properly. With the questionable wisdom of any man with good intent and ten thumbs, Ravn figures he can do this by himself.

The Dane is standing on a chair trying to loosen a stubborn screw with one hand while holding on to the armature with the other lest it falls down to break beyond the point where checking the bulbs becomes a moot point. He's whistling a melancholy little tune unfamiliar to anyone who didn't grow up in Denmark in the 1990s, and balancing carefully on the folding chair in violation of at least half a dozen work safety regulations.

The smell, though -- it's not nauseating, but it is the first thing anyone entering will notice. That eerie, slightly metallic, slightly earthy smell -- as if old blood had seeped into the floorboards and below and just been left there, to decompose at its own quiet pace. As if this happened for quite some time. As if properly cleaning the floor here was never really a thing. The building that now will house the HOPE centre used to be a butcher's shop, and one definitely gets the impression that it's probably best that it isn't anymore. A concern about salmonella doesn't start to cover all the health code violations that this smell announces.

It's not equally bad everywhere. In the front room, where Ravn is, the smell has sort of retired to the corners; the hands-on using Spirit to clean things approach of a couple of visitors drove it off, grumbling, to reside where the floors has not yet been scrubbed to a shine, in the wall paper that has yet to be changed. The smell is the kind of smell that should have its name capitalised. The Smell is teaming up with The Mold. And then we haven't even talked about the back room yet.

There had been a request made. Or an offer. Or some kind of vague communication that passed between Kailey and the Dane in the boring hours of life. They actually happen in Gray Harbor. Sometimes. Anyway Kailey opens the door, her usual smile in place, but the smell hits her. And her nose wiggles and she straightens and more properly sniffs while her eyes scan the interior.

And spot the Dane in a precarious position on a folding chair of all things. "Ravn!" She says in a stern, but hopefully not sudden, voice as she stalks towards the Dane with worry. "Let me get that for you okay?" She tells him. "You want to take it down?" And she hasn't even reached him yet when there are screws starting to unscrew themselves and the armature becomes nearly weightless to the Dane. As she works her magic she sniffs again and asks, "What is that smell, dude? It's...I can't put my finger on it. But...yuck."

Conner arrives because he has decided to volunteer. Whether he's much better than Ravn in the screwdriver department is debatable. Highly debatable. But he has to learn anyway, or he has to decide whether the Broadleaf's budget can really accommodate a new maintenance person. And if it can, he still has to find one. And if he can't? Full circle, has to learn. Plus this is a good cause, he likes Ravn, and it should help him further his own personal stretch goal of getting more integrated into the community instead of being the community hermit.

Granted, The Smell and the Mold give him a moment of pause, causing eyebrows to lift and eyes to widen a little bit as his face betrays his visceral reaction to it. Yet he doesn't let that stop him either. He watches the struggle with the armature for a moment, and then softly clears his throat. "Hey," he says. "I've come to help."

Vyv is almost certainly not better in the screwdriver department, unless we're discussing mixed drinks. Then he might give the others a run for their money. As it is, he will quite happily leave the light-finagling to others. He's not exactly dressed for getting stuck in to a good thorough clean and repair, anyway; he's wearing that same well-fitted and quietly expensive camel coat from the carousel, today over a burgundy suit if the trousers that show beneath it are any indication. The cognac leather monk-strap shoes suggest an eye for detail, and match well with the glove that even now is holding the door open as he steps aside for the woman arriving along with him.

His nose wrinkles as he looks around, though it may not be what he sees that causes it. One hint to this fact is the immediate greeting: "I wasn't aware they made abattoirs this small. Have you murdered someone in the back room, Ravn? Wrangling volunteers surely can't be that bad already." Conner and Kailey get an arched brow, though clearly if it is that bad, they aren't the ones who've driven the folklorist to homicide. "Something is quite definitely rotten in the state of," the look goes sidelong to the Dane, "...Washington."

Hyacinth shows up in jeans, work boots, and her work attire that of course looks vintage retro because even working style counts. Her safety glasses are slid atop her head and travel box of tools with her. Yes, Ms. City Hall Zoning Commission 2021 is still first a licensed carpenter. She looks tired and given the previous evening no doubt as to why. "Mr. Hawthorne." She greets though Kailey gets an appraising look before a nod. "Morning." Her voice rises in that way to address the room and Ravn in particular as she follows Vyv in, "Lovely mid-summer apocalypse we're having. Ravn, your airflow in here, or lack there of, is truly not helping. Does your A/C work?" Yup, she's already set to judging.

For just one moment Ravn seems to dangle in space much like a cartoon coyote stepping off a tall cliff and then suddenly realising what he did. Cartoon coyote puts on a very concerned expression and then dips one toe downwards only to find -- nothing. Gravity asserts itself. Cartoon coyote plummets into the abyss. Ravn lands on his backside with a solid "Oomph!" but unlike Wile E. Coyote, at least he does so in one piece, and he's not flat as a pancake either. He manages to catch the armature as it comes floating down with the innocent severity of a feather and then just -- chuckles. This is Gray Harbor. On the sliding scale of Honey, the ants are setting up a sacrificial altar in the bathroom again to Oh God, please don't eat me!, an electrical armature suddenly deciding to turn weightless is in the very harmless end.

"Definitely not a born handyman, me. And by that I mean that Ms City Hall should consider paying me to not be personally involved with renovations before this becomes a matter of public safety." Ravn picks himself off the floor. That, at least, looks pretty clean -- almost as if a couple of spiritualists had magically scrubbed it a few days previous. "Not going to say I'm sorry to see the lot of you and your tool kits."

He brushes non-existent dust from the seat of his pants and looks around, then makes a face. "The smell -- I swear, I have no idea. The place used to be a butcher's shop. So we cleaned it. The smell stayed. So Aidan Kinney and Grant Baxter used their mumbo jumbo on it. And the smell stayed. By now I'm willing to bet that there's a decaying moose under the floorboards. I was hoping maybe some of you folks who know how to stab ghost meese with screwdrivers might be up for helping me maybe take up a few floorboards in the basement, take a look -- if you think it's bad here... Mid-summer apocalypse. Good term for it. Sure has been an interesting week."

The Dane makes a small half-helpless, half-amused gesture and then heads for the back room and the stairs to the basement. The door is closed. He opens it. Given the reek of decay that wafts up from below, reaching consensus that he should have let it stay closed will not be hard to reach. This is definitely not a gas leak.

"On the up side, at least the basement isn't full of dolls that represent the souls of dead Baxters," Ravn says wryly and begins to walk down the stairs. "I don't suppose any of you happen to know a lot about those, anyhow? I was dreaming about them all night."

Kailey looks properly embarrassed as Ravn falls as a result of her fiddling. "OH! Oh Ravn, I'm sorry. I was trying to help," She says as the screws all fly into her hand as the armature gently settles down. She flicks a glance at the other armature and it, too, begins to unscrew with silent hands to come down to the floor. "You should know better than to stand on a -folding- chair to reach things!" She scolds him as she goes to help him off the floor. Tucking screws into her jeans pocket for now.

A sunny smile is given to the others and she waves cheerfully too. "Hey Vyv," She says to the chef, giving him an up and down. "You're not exactly dressed for cleaning and renovation." It is apparently state the obvious day for Kailey. Conner she doesn't know and she gives a quick introduction, "Hey, I'm Kailey Holt." It's brief but chipper and done with a toothy smile.

As the smell becomes the center of focus she wrinkles her nose. "I don't have the talents Aidan and Grant have...but I can help you take up floorboards," Kailey talks as she follows after the Dane to the stairs. And when the door opens her face blanches and she puts a hand over her nose and mouth. There's a gagging sound and she retreats into the main room with a, "Oh stars, 'scuse me that is so bad,oh god oh gods fuck that's bad," The words come out quickly as she does this. Standing in the marginally better front room and taking deep breaths to school her stomach.

"DUDE! That is -bad-!" Kailey yells before, well, doing what she does. Flagrant abuse of her abilities. Blame Spring. Blame the town. But she doesn't seem to care. When she comes back into the room the smell of lilies and roses hovers around her thick. Propelling that sickly rotting flesh smell away from her for about five feet. "There, that's better," She says as she comes back to peer at the basement door with disgust.

"Councilwoman Addington," Conner greets, cordial and polite. "Hi Kailey. Conner Hawthorne, nice to meet you."

He follows Ravn down the stairs. "Ripping up the floorboards should be easy enough. What's under them might not be, but one step at a time," he agrees. Of course, he's obliged to pull out a bandana, wrapping it around his nose and mouth, as soon as the smell gets worse. A benefit of his stint at being his own handyman means he is a little more prepared for such things. He still blanches though. It's only a little helpful.

"I hope it's not so bad that you're going to end up having to tear down the building and rebuild it. That might be the only way, at this point."

Without the advantage of knowing what Kailey's done to the screws and thus the delicate balance of Ravn's operation, the man falling is a surprise to Vyv. And also, amusing. It's handy the Dane finds it funny also, because that's definitely a tiny breath of a laugh. "To be fair, it isn't as though it folded. How do you know anything else would have been better?" he notes idly to Kailey's chiding, watching as she helps Ravn up. Not, also to be fair, that he'd likely hesitate to note it as a poor choice if that currently suited him.

"I'm not exactly here for cleaning and renovation," Vyv replies, arms loosely crossed, and one hand lifts to gesture vaguely before returning, "Manual labour allergy, terribly tragic." 100% deadpan, and equally shameless. He trails along as the group heads toward the back. "I'll have to make do with providing snacks and potentially jobs. But I thought I'd come take a look." A pause. "And apparently a smell, which may have been a mistake."

And then Ravn opens the door to the basement, and the chef takes a step back, hand rising to cover his mouth and lightly catch his nose between his thumb and the side of his first finger. "Yes. Definitely a mistake. ...Are you sure you haven't murdered someone in here, Ravn? Because someone certainly has. I suppose we can't rule out moose." Kailey, he decides, has a good idea here, though the illusion he spins is simply a lack of terrible pong, like some kind of remarkably effective neutralizer that leaves nothing but a vague hint of the sea nearby. It envelops anyone present who doesn't fight it. "...there, that's better. Frankly I'm not sure whatever's down there is better than the dolls. Unfortunately, you know about as much as I do about those. I didn't know they existed until yesterday. Which," a glance to Conner, "hello again. Vyvyan Vydal, Vyv generally. I run the pâtisserie. How do you do." It's a greeting, not a question.

Hyacinth stops and warms a smile to Conner and says "Don't go giving me ideas. I'm just chairing the Zoning Commission. My uncle is the one with the unfortunate burden of being mayor. He can keep it." for now... the wheels may be turning. Conner what have you started?

The sour note in the room has her nose wincing. "I'm against property destruction...but our friend might be right. Are you sure you don't just want a new one?" Are her eyes watering? Yes. Absolutely. IS she going to let the stinky thing win and make her make a face? NONO she will not do it!!! It's not allowed to win.

Looking to Kailey she pauses and says, "Your hair really suits you. Hya. Pleasure." See she can not be a carnivorous monster in the face of building code violations regarding improper hauntings and possible possession in a no-haunty location of town...per right now.

"The problem with just renting another building is that this one still persists in smelling up the street," Ravn returns with a small grin. He's had time to become -- used to the smell is not quite the right term because you do not become used to a smell like this unless you either have no olfactory organs or you are the zombie. Accustomed to the idea that it exists, possibly. He may have bribed the smell to go easier on him, possibly by sacrificing a couple of local rats in its honour.

"I didn't get around to get down here with a broom and a dustbin yet," Ravn confesses. "Priority one has been getting the front room ready, and then the fog hit and we had to try to get the bathroom to be operational since a couple of the blokes from down under the boardwalk stayed over -- they claim that mermaids tried to eat them in the fog. And well, -- in this town, I am not going to tell anyone to bugger off and stop being silly about stuff like that. I got bit on one hand by a carousel horse made from wood yesterday, for feck's sake."

The Dane pulls the string on the light bulb and a cold, fluorescent light spreads; far stronger than what is required to illuminate the room, providing an illumination that might remind some of hospital wards or third degree interrogations. "Anyway, if Denny drops in, just nod and smile about the mermaids," he adds.

The basement shares a few characteristics of archetypal abandoned buildings anywhere; light is provided by a bulb hanging from the ceiling at the centre of the room, the floor is covered in a thick layer of dust, and the wallpaper is a) stained and b) from 1958. A couple of unmatched chairs sit about in the corners along with a couple of empty crates (one of which still has yellowed old paper in it and a label that says United Fruit 1972). A child's tricycle sits abandoned next to an old wardrobe or cupboard -- the kind you'd store coats or linen in. There are footprints in the dust. This is not a great surprise as such; the smell clearly originates from down here, and from most of the prints it's very obvious that they a) were left by Ravn's size 43 (EUR) boots, and b) have been circling around to try to find the source.

A few of those footprints seem smaller, though -- as if left by a child's shoes. What's stranger is that they look as fresh as the rest, and seem to circle around the old cupboard several times. Maybe some kid got in here to play hide and seek.

And maybe that kid is still trapped in the wardrobe. The idea might occur briefly to Conner at least; unlike the other four, he's pretty certain there is a quiet, scraping kind of noise from that direction at least.

Kailey smirks at Vyv good naturedly. "I have benadryl if you're worried," She offers with a chuckle in her voice. "I have a ladder in the van, Ravn. For any other tall stuff...renno..vations? Did you have someone with a kid over?" Asks the mother as her eyes note the footprints. Following them to the cupboard with a certain kind of discomfort dawning.

Down the rest of the chair she goes, taking them in a quick rhythm before she hits the floor of the basement. The smell continues to be chased away and she seems reluctant to approach the wardrobe and tricycle. "You can almost hear the suspenseful music," Kailey says and her smell illusion very briefly includes a bit of Friday the 13th 'Ch-ch-ch-ch ha-ha-ha-ha-ha' because apparently she is just in a mood. Though to be fair it isn't just her in the mood for theatrics with her abilities lately. Gratefully she turns to Hyacinth and smiles, "I think we might have been at the same parties before. Kailey Holt, would have been nicer to meet you under less...spooky circumstances..." And she looks up at the ceiling because no one ever looks up.

"Nice to meet you, Vyv," Conner says. He's listening quietly to Ravn's explanations, and takes in the room. He walks over to the wardrobe with a sort of 'all due caution' vein. Scratching could also mean rats. "I think a kid got in here," he adds, just in case anyone freaks out over him opening it. In a town where eaten by mermaids in fog is routine, someone freaking out over the opening of a wardrobe hardly seems outside of the realm of natural possibility.

The way he opens it is quick and to the point, but he also looks ready to leap back and out of the way if something comes for his face. He's not even self-conscious about this paranoia. Kid. Rat. Reanimated dead kid. Kid-shaped monster with a face that's more teeth than face. All of these are possibilities.

"Not about that, anyway. I find it's not too difficult to avoid," Vyv returns lightly to Kailey, then notes Ravnward, "Just renting another building might have that issue, but renting another building and utterly annihilating this one solves both issues neatly. I don't think we're deeply in love with the architecture or history of this one, are we, Future Mayor Hya?" Whether or not wheels are turning, and whether or not he can tell, is entirely irrelevant to whether or not this is amusing.

Conner gets a little head-tilt acknowledgement to his reply, and the chef follows the others down the stairs, taking in the basement with a critical eye (now that the critical nose is no longer taking critical damage). The small footprints in particular get a wary regard. "Yes, did they bring children, those blokes? Or were either of them particularly... dainty?" He watches as Conner heads toward the wardrobe, and the explanation does nothing to make him more inclined to get directly involved. "Well, at least they and their mess are contained, if so."

Ravn looks down because unlike at least two people present, he had not previously noticed those smaller footprints. Judging from the Dane's expression when he does notice them, he clearly feels that he should have -- maybe because on some level this is Gray Harbor, and anything even slightly out of the ordinary is a potential risk, and not very likely to be a hypothetical one at that.

They're the prints of a child, definitely. And they lead into that wardrobe. Which is why genre-savvy Kailey looks up instead -- and like any action movie hero who opens that closed door, she instantly knows that she's going to regret being genre-savvy.

The skeleton of somebody who must have been at least seven foot in life looks down at her and grins. Being a skeleton it really has little choice in the matter -- but even so, its grin seems a little wider than it technically has to be. Perhaps because it -- lowers one hand slightly in order to salute with the lead pipe it holds, the gesture obviously reading hel-lo, baybeh.

Which is really not a gesture any girl wants ever from her not so friendly neighbourhood seven foot skeleton armed with a lead pipe. Or his rather chubby but somewhat more fleshy friend also clinging to the ceiling by means of claws and narrative cohesion; that one possibly has got enough windpipe left to actually speak, but it -- he? -- is holding a rather large chef's knife in its teeth. That one might be the source of at least part of the Reek.

Kailey's not the only person demonstrating a bit of genre savviness here, however; Connor marches straight for Narnia and the assumption that little Lucy Pewsey has run off to find herself a not too predatory faun. He's ready to leap back -- and he does, because while what falls out is not a kid rat, or a reanimated kid rat, or monster with too many teeth, but it's close enough.

The skeletal claws of another far too tall rack of bones reach for him, trying to grab him -- and while he himself escapes unharmed, that shirt he's wearing gains some rather unflattering angular tears as too sharp nails rend the cloth like a hot knife through butter. It doesn't help that at knee height, something that was once human but is now kind of covered in greenish slime leaves handprints that sizzle and smell on the man's clothes and shoes.

Ravn scrabbles backwards and to his feet. Vyv and Hyacinth, the two people clearly possessed of the most survival instinct and/or the strongest urges to not have their clothes stained pick up on the presence materialising on the stairs behind them a second faster than the Dane -- but the outlook is the same.

The man on the staircase wears a butcher's apron. If he was not see-through, perhaps one might be excused for thinking that the building's original owner had just strolled out for a walk and a pack of cigarettes, and now he's back. Although, if that is the case, then the cigarettes clearly killed the man -- and somehow inspired a grin that at best translates into I am very happy to see you and at worst to because I am going to eat you now.

And behind him, another shimmering figure -- this one faceless and formless, much like a floating blob of nothing that somehow blots out whatever is behind it (in this case, the door). Is that too grinning? That is very hard to tell in a splotch of colourlessness, an absence made manifest.

The smell, though -- that's definitely the guy in the wardrobe and the guy on the ceiling. Those two guys need to rot faster if that smell is going to ever go away.

Do these boys want a fight? There was never any doubt. The five living people in the basement are left in no doubt. Kailey's two new friends drop from the ceiling and scamper towards -- Ravn and Vyv? Why? Maybe they don't like elegant clothing. The wardrobe denizens burst forth and -- with the same kind of logic that must make more sense once a certain level of brain putrefaction sets in -- target Vyv and Hyacinth. Clearly, being well dressed is a poor survival strategy around here.

Maybe the butcher's ghost has clocked who supposedly took over his house? He at least raises a translucent meat cleaver and runs at Ravn (who is anything but a brawler and instinctively seeks to shield himself with his arms), while the nothingness on the stairs -- yep, that one goes for Vyv too. Protip for British confectionary owners: Dress less well.

It is clear that Kailey has watched far too much horror as she looks up. Even as she does her arms are coming up defensively and crackle with static shock. She doesn't even recoil and instead just curls her lip at the 'flirt' from the skeleton. "Ew, as if!" Comes out in perfect 'Valley Girl' tones. The static jumps from her arms to arc around her in an almost invisible shield. Only sparks and iridescent shimmer giving way to where it is. "Think we found your smell problem, Ravn. It's a doozy. I'm charging overtime," Yeah she is one cool cookie this evening. Not that Ravn was paying her anything anyway. Except maybe in Karma points.

Sizzling clothes. Not good. Conner scramble scramble scrambles back as his clothes hiss and tear, and raises his hands. They crackle with sparks of electricity. It's clear he's never really used his arts this way before, because he sort of does the hop hop thing like a boxer gearing up, the 'okay, okay, I got this,' bounce, a little shake of his hands, like he's shaking off dishwater or, what? Trying to shake the shine into them?

Whatever the heck he's doing, he at least does manage to let some of it fly towards one of the creatures, the one that ends up being closest after all of his quick panic-scramble back is complete. He's a bit wide-eyed, but he at least reacts in a swift and productive way?

Hyacinth looks around at the basement space. "Oh god... sticky children are in your basement?!" And then there's a door and a very tall... skinny...person...erm...yeah sure. There are others. Ravn scrambles back and Hyacinth starts going wide-eyed bringing one arm around to shoo Ravn behind her with a 'mom arm bar' . Her skin starts to glow with a faint blueviolet crawling down her arm and sparking like a Jacob's ladder between the metallic sparkle polish in her nail polish. Eyes check on Conner and Kailey and back to the dead.

"This is why we don't wear cute things to work days, boys. Uhhhh excuse me. Loitering is not permitted here. This is private property and we'd be very happy to let you leave. Ta daaa! you are free. Off with you." She pauses giving her ponytail a shake behind her jutting with her chin to the stairs. "It's over there. Thank you for coming by." There's a pause before hissing a whisper to Ravn, "Total. Health. Code. Violation....so you know." There's a pause and she murmurs, eyes front, "Vyv, can you kindly fill him in on health codes after this?"

This is arguably worse than sticky children. And those are right down there with socks-and-sandals and leggings with 'juicy' across the butt.

Vyv starts to take a step back, then catches the movement and presences on the stairs and takes a step to the side instead. It's hard not to notice how many of them seem to be paying attention to him, in particular. And yes, all right, one might surmise he doesn't dress as well as he does out of a deep desire to be ignored, but some focus one wants, and some, one does not. "Some things are better remaining in the closet," he mutters, eyeing the slimy thing that's clearly eyeing him as well, and shifts his hands in what looks like some sort of subtle warding-off gesture, perhaps? It's far less obvious than the crackles of electricity around most of the rest of the crew just now, at least. "I wasn't intending to have a work day," he notes to Hyacinth, "...and yes, I can."

But in the meantime, his weight adjusts slightly, shoulders fractionally farther back and chin faintly more lifted; tiny changes one wouldn't expect to alter the overall presence quite as much as they do. His standard carriage gives the vague impression he subconsciously expects the world to get out of his way; this one expects it far more consciously. The accent doesn't hurt the effect, either. "As Ms. Addington mentions, this center is not yet open, nor is it any longer a butcher's shop. You have no business here at this time, and I'm afraid we do need to ask you to depart. Promptly. Much appreciated." Hyacinth's chin-indication is underlined by a somewhat imperious flip and glide of a hand in the direction of the exit, along with a small inclination of the head.

For a moment everything is mayhem. One moment you're planning to tear up some floorboards, maybe find a dead moose, and the next ...

Well, this.

Ravn finds himself impersonating Luke Skywalker to the Emperor Palpatine of the dead butcher. He can smell his flesh burning where lightning strikes even as he's thrown back through the room -- only to position himself perfectly for the more beefy looking skeleton to slam that lead pipe into the back of his head. How the Dane remains standing is a good question -- and the dazed expression on his face is not difficult to explain. You can almost hear the little canaries circling his skull as he tries to flail at the skeleton with a fist. No one, least of all the skeleton, is surprised that he doesn't manage to land a hit. He's not going to let this stop him from trying to do anyhow.

Lightning flies from Conner and Hyacinth as well; George Lucas' lawyer would have a field day here. The slime clovered ghoul from the cupboard is not as much knocked down as it is roasted -- and if you thought the Reek was bad in here before, now feel free to picture that turned up to eleven with a healthy dose of barbecue oil long past the last good by date. It burns. It sizzles. And eventually, it lies still.

In the confusion, the more massive ghoul -- the hello bey-beh! one -- manages to dart past and bury its knife in the chest of Vyv -- a fact that almost goes unnoticed because at the same time, the nothingness on the staircase reveals itself to be, perhaps, the most formidable enemy -- fire, pale and ghostly, explodes from its tendrils, striking the chef clean and true and knocking him right across the room. These are not canaries circling Vyv's head, figuratively speaking. Cassowaries, perhaps.

The more massive skeleton as well as the ghoul that is still standing dash -- all right, they sort of slither slash bounce slash creep but the English language is woefully understaffed here -- towards the fallen and singed confection maker, weapons raised. The taller skeleton turns on Ravn -- and on the staircase, so does the nothingness entity who is rapidly revealing itself to be the true danger along with the butcher's ghost; the latter whom for some reason seems to decide that actually, Kailey is the true threat here. It advances on her, grinning lewdly in a fashion that might cause older residents of this neighbourhood to consider a few things: This used to be the neighbourhood butcher, he's looking at Kailey's butt like that, and now is a great time to re-evaluate some life choices and take up veganism.

And Conner? Something about the older man seems to just not register with the band of basement dwellers. This is probably not very conductive to the poor man's ego.

"Shit," Conner whispers, as Ravn gets thrown back and beaten. "Shit," he whispers again, as Vyv ends up getting shanked right here in this basement. His eyes go very wide, but other than those two sharp curses of worry, he keeps his cool. The best thing he can do here, he realizes, if he wants to save lives, is to take advantage of the fact that he doesn't seem to register to any of these things as a threat or a target. His ego is fine with this. He'll take any edge he can get. Maybe there's even some reason for it he can discover later...and work to cultivate.

So he turns and the lead-pipe wielding skeleton.

One handed, because the other arm has come up so he can breathe into his elbow. The smell alone is something of an assault. This time when he thrusts out his hand, it's with a lot more confidence.

Things happened fast and in a blink her friends are being attacked. Kailey's face sets into a frown as she takes a few steps back. The flicker-flash of her shield an iridescent purple around her only vaguely. It has never been said Kailey is an upfront combatant. In fact she prefers to be sneaky and hide or throw things, like lightning, about. But that was before there is a spray of red and Vyv goes down and she is pretty sure he wasn't wearing a scarlet cravat, though he certainly has one, a few minutes ago.

Her hand reaches out and grabs at the air. To her she is grabbing his image and she throws it against the back wall, across the basement, where no one is at. He is on the ground and Kailey is bent over Vyv, or the illusion of the chef anyway. Vyv and Kailey apparently vanishing from their respective places. Well...at least according to their opponents. All the other normals can see where they are just fine. And their duplicates. "I can't heal him!" She shouts as she keeps one hand outstretched towards where the illusion is going through the motions.

Hyacinth is always quick to show her disapproval, or her endorsement, and very seldom anything else. There's a conscious snap decision when these... citizens*opt *out of just leaving. Well! And then Vyv comes in with getting everyone's attention. This is probably NOT the time for that. Yeah yeah they look creepy and terrifying and well disembodied. Being a ghost means not being sticky and it's decided in an instant (with Conner apparently) that the smelly creature that is likely a walking health code violation that will easily be the hardest to get out of fabric. There's a distinct look of approval to Conner (The man that likes to KEEP things up to code, thankyouverymuch) when there's the sound of how very very wrong that choice may have been...

...no not about Conner, he's a gem.

There's that very distinct sound of both meat being slices and tetanus and the shattering glass sound of Vyv's demeanor breaking. It's when her attention is turned watching the swing come in at Ravn, her arm going wide as ball lightening is hadokened the distance to the offal construct that Ravn gets hit. Her arm waiving nono stop, ours is not enough for that. And now?

Eyes go wide, wet, and terrified when she hears Kailey. "...vyv...?" And she sees that thing buried to the hilt with a scream and disapproval that can etch glass. "VYYYYYYYYYV So. **NOT. Die on me and ruin your shirt! Do NOT." Holy shit the first lady of Lumber has tears much less whole feelings? For a moment last year's feelings of unsanctioned helplessness appear and then almost immediately she rallies; pissed.

"Conner..." is whirring his attention on the thing on the left as she targets the right bearing down on the injured chef, "Good. Vyv, you are breathing, Light him the fuck UP do NOT take the knife out it's likely staunching that clos-" her words are cut off. Lil Mama is shielding and... that tall skeleton is back she points her clawtooth hammer at the skeleton trying to move past her to Ravn, "Oy, No touchie! The only one that gets to haunt him without an appointment is me. Queue up!"

As if calling on the spirits of Thor and Glenn Haege to aid her, yes there's some angry lightening arcing off her hammer. If only she can figure out how to arc it. Later. When Vyv's not dying. Which reminds her, as she calls out, "Alexa, Call 911." Uhhhh which would be an amazing feat if this building had wi-fi yet. Well, it's a thought! The problem with assuming the world is automated for one's convenience.

Yes. This is absolutely worse than sticky children. These creatures prove at least as resistant to seeing sense, and whatever might be the case for anyone observing, the knife being buried in his chest does not go anything even close to unnoticed by him. Granted, the blast from the ghost certainly doesn't either, except inasmuch as he's not noticing anything at all in the immediate aftermath of the impacts. Those alertly attuned to the flow of glimmer might sense the shield the chef had been willing into being actually pop into existence almost simultaneous with hitting the ground, as though it had just been shoved right out of him. It'd be funny if there weren't a few too many other things to focus on, most of which are trying to kill them.

Be it luck or sheer cussedness, he claws his way back to consciousness almost immediately, to be confronted with noticing various other details. This floor is no less dusty and dirty than it began (except for the area he can't see as it's beneath him), everything really hurts, Ravn looks rather like he feels, and every single upper layer of his outfit is quite definitely ruined, down to and including the flesh underneath. Did I mention it really hurts? At least his things-don't-stink illusion is holding for him so far, whether or not it may be wavering for anyone else.

And now Hyacinth is yelling at him, too! All right, it's mostly about not dying, which is absolutely his plan in any case, and-- and there are tears, and she is on the shortlist of people whose distress he finds actively distressing. On the other hand he's fairly distressed already. There might even be some wetness to the eyes, if anyone had the time to check. "It's too late for the shirt -- and jacket and coat you philistine bastard," the last segment of which is fairly clearly directed toward the ghoul rather than Hya, along with a sharp glare, "and I would have but he kept it!" The last year or so has included far too many penetrative wounds, though this is the first that's his. He could have gone without. Thought whips out from his mind to grab the knife in question and wrench it out of the monster's grasp and back toward him, though he probably doesn't intend to try to put it back into the wound. He's got enough presence of mind assembled still to give Kailey a tiny approving nod for her illusion gambit, and-- yes, even to adjust his theft of the knife to let it switch almost immediately to start moving off in that direction, just to add to the distraction.

Cut a second in twenty pieces and then cut one of those pieces in another twenty, repeat a few times, and that's about the amount of time that two realities overlap; just long enough to make you question whether that actually happened. It's not a complicated alternate reality experience as far as that sort of thing goes; it's simply that Vyv and Kailey are over there -- but no! Actually, they're over here -- and then they're back where they were supposed to be. Whatever causes Kailey's attempt to distract the vengeful butcher's ghost by illusionary means to break, it does achieve its intended effect before breaking, and maybe that's the only really important thing. The butcher, grinning, forgets all about the chef (this is the part that works as intended) and turns on Kailey (this is not); a bolt of white ghostfire flies from his hands, embedding itself in the young mother's chest with a sizzle.

Insofar a skeleton can have an expression at all besides a ghastly grin, the tall skeleton looks astonished as Hyacinth's wrath strikes like very literal lightning. The experience is brief; outlined in blue fire it is very quickly reduced to little more than a pile of ash and a smell of burnt bone (which takes one look at the Reek and decides to just sidle off because there is no way it is signing up for this contest).

The other skeleton swings at Vyv. The downed chef doesn't exactly need somebody beating him up with a lead pipe on top of everything else, but as far as threat goes, he's not the one taking the brunt of undead wrath this time. Bruises do not quite compare to say, knives sticking out of your chest. Maybe this is what inspires the chef to somehow find the presence of mind to -- whatever it is he does that results in that very same knife suddenly not being embedded in himself but in the smelly, overweight ghoul's flesh instead. As far as small improvements go, one might argue that this is one such.

Lightning flies from Conner's hands too -- and maybe it's that flicker of an illusion that distracts the estate manager as well, causing it to go wide of its intended target. Somehow, he still seems to largely go unnoticed by the uninvited guests (slash original owners). Some other time, perhaps, one might sit down with a cold one and speculate as to why. Maybe it's simply that some people here have been attracting the Veil's attention for longer and more often. Maybe it's just sheer luck. Maybe it's just that at least in case of Vyv and Hyacinth, the undead are like fish, attracted to movement and bright colours; they are a fashionable pair.

Ravn tries to punch at the taller skeleton -- only to find himself swinging at the empty air above a small smelly pile of ashes. This distracts him -- which is unfortunate, because the folklorist does not spot the bolt of sheer invisible (and hence somewhat hard to spot, indeed) force that the apparation of nothing on the stairs throws his way. He is sent flying across the room, face first into the wall, sliding down from it like a sack of wet cement, lights out. The sound that sounds a bit like milk being poured over cereal does not bode well for at least a couple of fractures.

It seems to dawn on several of the forces of the undead that their priorities might need to change. Some turn on Kailey -- the one upright, the one who shifts reality is surely more dangerous than the bleeding chef or the sack of potatoes in the corner. The thing on the stairs seems to be doing a similar math -- paying heed to the sad little pile that used to be its skeleton henchman, it turns (insofar a blob of nothingness can) and focuses its attention on the person in the room who did that.

This fight is not going well at all, and the apartment manager's features take on an increasingly grim cast. Still, he whirls around, following the target he was previously tracking, the big beefy club wielding skeleton. He's now taking full advantage of the edge-- however generated-- to simply all out attack, striding closer. They can stop paying attention to him clear up until he ends them. This suits him just fine.

Hyacinth's rallying cries are like an anchor in the chaos, but punctuating those are the sounds of the others hitting walls or taking knives, getting hurt in dozens of ways. In a way it's a blessing that he doesn't know any of these people well yet. The sounds of their pain is horrifying but doesn't cut in any deep, personal way, allows him to stay centered in the knowledge that staying focused and giving the miniature war that's broken out in this basement everything he's got is the best gift he can give them.

He drops his arm; it hardly helps with the smell, and he needs both hands for the work of trying to get this thing fried, done, and down.

This was bad. This was really bad. And yet Kailey is managing to keep a very cool head. Her shout of pain joins the others as ghostly fire hits her full in the chest. The leather jacket takes a good singing and the skin beneath reddens and blisters. Thank evolution for adrenaline responses!

Kailey stumbles back from the undead turning their attention on her. Hissing and growling under her breath without even realizing it. Then she sees Ravn go flying and a scream not unlike Hyacinth's splits the air. The cry of a very angry mother melded with angry bear.

If her hair weren't tied back in a braid her hair would be a purple halo about her head. Lit with electric pink flickers down the locks as she builds up her own charge. It trails down to her hands to explode at the Ghost, Emporor Palpatine style. The lightning is even purple though the inner core is vibrant white-pink. "FUCKING DONE WITH GHOSTS!" She screams at it.

Hya's scared. This is not a common occurrence. Vyv's... bitching. he's moving and bitching. This means he's not dying but that doesn't mean this is not the right call but it's something. That Conner and Kailey seem hale and capable? It helps her stay focused.

Kailey might put herself between who she is trying to protect and the baddie, but she has maternal instincts. Hya starts to get distance from Ravn and like a pissy cardinal flashing gang colours at other birds stepping up on her tree turf does she try to find the ghost's entity-ness scanning for her target. "Kailey can you help him?" And as if to keep it's attention says , "I am Hyacinth Addington, Zoning Commissioner for Gray Harbor City Council, and you are very VERY out of compliance, and I'm here to shut your business down for good, buddy." She's not going to outright say she sometimes leaves Moana on while working and might have to improvise the island speech, but she can't outright deny the delivery on that.

Let's be honest, the odds are pretty decent that Vyv would be bitching if he were dying. What better time? It's highly likely that someday he'll die as he lived: irritated. Thus far, however, that day is not today. And he's highly motivated to keep it that way.

The knife he mentally yanks from the ghoul's hand draws back toward the image of himself and Kailey for the fraction of a second they exist -- then flies toward the creature, aiming to get real reverse-golden-rule about it and do unto him as he did unto others, Vyv specifically. It might be the decidedly greater fleshy padding the ghoul's got that keeps it from being quite as effective as the chef might have preferred, but theoretically, it's at least a start. Shame it doesn't have any decent clothes to feel that part of Vyv's pain.

In the service of that 'not dying today' plan, Vyv tries to roll out of the way of the skeleton with the pipe, and... does not do terribly well at it. Distracted by piloting the knife, perhaps, but regardless, it leaves him breathless for a moment, and aching, though probably not yet so much as he will be later. Still stuck on the floor, he lashes toward it with a foot, trying to take its legs out from under it or at least make it hurt too (can independent skeletons feel pain?); it's far from the best weapon he has, but that's already spoken for, the opposite arm pushing out at the same time, as though the limbs are balancing each other, to get in on all this lightning-tossing, aiming to focus it through that buried knife and deep into that ghoul. This is personal, now.

This is also probably not the best set of choices he could make as far as that wound in his chest is immediately concerned. Anyone watching closely might, in fact, catch his skin going a shade paler with the movement, but any other signs of pain are firmly quashed. "We said, leave," he snaps out, which is not high on the pithy one-liners chart unless one's being attacked by a tree, but check back when a higher percentage of his blood is remaining on the correct side of his skin.

Things are still happening, far too fast.

Ravn tries to scrabble to his feet, blood splattering down his shirt from a face that impacted with the basement wall at high impact. At this rate, Conner may end up the only man leaving this basement not on a stretcher; and yet somehow, the undead apparitions still don't seem to have noticed him. The Dane flails, struggling to see anything but the yellow cartoon canaries circling his head, and more by accident than actual intent, maneuvers towards the thing on the stairs, perhaps trying to catch its attention.

He does not succeed. The blob of nothing on the staircase ignores him entirely as it lashes out; a bolt of blackness slams into Hyacinth much in the way of a golf club hitting a bird's egg in the tall grass -- and the effect is not dissimilar; the zoning planner is sent flying, much like Ravn before her, slamming into the basement wall and sliding off it like a wet blanket. Whatever it is that thing does -- it needs to stop doing it before someone actually gets killed.

It's the impact, of course, that causes Hyacinth's attempt to do something similar to the staircase monster to go wide. Apparently, the laws of physics still apply to telekinesis; an entire shelf of what turns out to be fruit preserve is knocked off a cabinet shelf and splatters all over the floor, making it even harder to tell what's dust, what's blood, and what, indeed, is blackberry. Ravn scrambles towards her, although what exactly the man intends to do is a good question; shake life back in her, maybe? Tell her that the stair creature is violating several health codes?

The butcher's ghost, still grinning, swings his meat cleaver at Kailey -- and while the cleaver itself is nowhere near her, ghostly lightning flies from it and embeds itself firmly in the chest of Kailey who now appears to be the most prominent threat in the room (largely because everyone else is either down or apparently, functionally invisible). The fleshy undead thing claws at her as she staggers backward, rending flesh -- and the young artist slash mother is no doubt very happy that she wore that leather jacket today because the sleeve of it is going to need some pretty severe repairs. Given that those claws and that lightning tore flesh beneath the jacket? Better not to think of how she'd have looked if she had not been wearing it.

The remaining skeleton manages to bat Vyv's head with its lead pipe much in the fashion of a kid hitting a particularly fashionable piñata; but before it can repeat this successful tactic, lightning flies from the hands of until-now-unnoticed Conner and for a moment, the thing is outlined in pale fire -- then it too crumbles to dust, joining the union of dust, blood, and fruit preserve. The chef stays down, encouraged by lead pipe therapy; but while down there, he hooks his leg around that of the chubby undead thing in front of him, and sends it reeling, face first, into yet a wall. It does not look broken in the fashion of Ravn and Hyacinth -- but being a lumbersome and weighty thing, at least it'll take a second or two to manage to halt its inertia and come back for another round. Small mercies.

The knife, though charged with electricity, flies to embed itself in undead flesh; something there fails to take in any significant way, though -- perhaps because the man trying to throw literal lightning around is feeling a little lightheaded. Almost like he got stabbed and then beaten with a lead pipe a few times, or something.

The butcher remains standing, and so does the staircase nothing. And now they are both looking at Kailey with amazing amounts of unpleasant intent.

There is absolutely no triumph in Conner's eyes as the fries his target. He's all-too-aware that the injury count is continuing to mount.

So he just whirls around to launch himself at the wraith, flinging more electricity in that direction. He has nothing to say, no banter to add. Why would he call attention to himself if they still can't see him? No. His face is twisted up with anger and concentration, but he keeps his trap firmly shut, feeling a growing sense of protectiveness for these people, a burgeoning sense that they're depending on him now.

Him, of all people, a man who has been shyly living as a virtual hermit for many years, anxious and avoidant. Today he doesn't feel anxious at all.

Ground beef. That is how Kailey would be looking. Or at least her chest would. But that leather jacket is a blessing. A for sure, even though it is badly damaged, she will probably be putting it in a place of honor. When she has time to think about such things. If she has time to think of such things. This is bad. Very very very bad. Also her jacket is really messed up. "THIS WAS NEW!" She yells angrily at the menacing and rotten specters. Kailey know she is not a killer or fighter, at least not in the upfront. And it would appear none of them is as the Ghost's electrical blasts push past her own. They do a hell of a lot of good tickling the ghostly face and not else.

And so like any summoner from any game or movie ever the world slows around her. Just for a second. Kailey backs up and strikes a defensive stance familiar to anyone who has done martial arts. Then her back-hand reaches out to smack into solid air. She grips an invisible handle and throws open a door that isn't quite seen. "Uncat, need your help tearing apart some bad humans please?" Kailey manages to gasp out. A cat-sized rectangle opened onto inky blackness. And from that blackness comes, or is formed from, the Uncat.

With coat as dark as space itself it even has stars caught within the fine hairs like burrs or leaves. Piercing golden-yellow eyes peer from the impossibly black coat, eyes that see past the flesh to the soul. Uncat is the size of a bobcat but her growl is loud that of a lion, but the sound is not. A higher pitched snarling of all unwanted and discarded cats and now she roars as a lion might at the things attacking Kailey and the others. Swiftness born of dreams and nightmares she leaps with alacrity at the Wraith. Claws that are silver, like crescent moons, flash out to strike at the wraith.

Hyacinth did not plan on that happening. It wasn't in her list of improvements on the building that could be made. It is now. Like the fashionable Swarovski Crystal Glass Cannon™ she flings a projectile of ball lightening at the offending thing trying to keep it away from Ren and Vyv so Conner and Kailey can figure... something (anything) out.

But Vyv's moving. He shouldn't be but is. Then again he shouldn't be stabbed, or bleeding, or in a filthy stinky basement either. Yet...alas. Ravn's not moving. He's not bleeding but he should really be contracting battle out to professionals. Her focus is on Conner without looking at him hoping to keep this creature's focus long enough. It all goes sideways in a flash. The blast of energy hits her and she spins like a broken doll into the wall with a puff of dust and her hair splat like an ink stain. The ball energy flying in the other direction and making a splat of...c'mon is it even jam after 80 years? Just set it on fire and pretend it isn't there. She is not moving, but is breathing when Ravn pulls himself over there.

One would think with as many things as she keeps on her that hitting the wall like that might look a bit more like a yard sale. oh my.

Is there an official word for the accidental opposite of a dodge? Vyv's twist against the floor was intended to get his currently very unhappy chest out of the way of that skeleton and its pipe, and-- well, technically that could be considered a success, since he instead egdods his head right into the way instead, and gets his bell fairly thoroughly rung. Unlike in his meeting with the wall, he at least doesn't lose consciousness this time, but one can just about hear the reverberation of that one from outside his skull.

He can't even take much comfort in the redirection of the ghoul, doesn't have time to determine how much effect the jolt through the knife might have had beyond 'not enough'; Conner looks still untouched, but Ravn's bloody but mobile, Kailey and her jacket are both looking rather the worse for wear, and Hyacinth-- is being hurled against that wall, and dropping like a stone. "Hya!" ...it's not the best nickname to exclaim in these circumstances; it sounds like a cheery greeting having an extremely bad day. Granted, half of that impression is actually accurate.

This is, however, no time to fall apart; there's still creatures trying to handle that for them. Were he standing -- were he entirely certain he's capable of standing -- he'd probably whirl on that Wraith about now, but being down where he is gives him a different perspective on things. As it were. He's kind of seeing double, but as he's fairly confident there are no clones (or 'clones') present, his math still works out to two people down, two people (and a cat) he's pretty sure are focused on that Wraith, two other beings, zero of those beings looking at him (he's also pretty sure), and one damn good idea Kailey's got there. His jaw tenses slightly, pulling himself back together, and he lifts a hand, fingers snapping as his hand makes a motion down and toward him and he adds a verbal snap: "Xuri!"

One moment there definitely wasn't a six-foot-plus floating nudibranch in the room, and the next there most definitely is. It manages to give the impression of having just stepped out from around a corner that doesn't actually exist, regal in all its blue-and-orange opalescence. "Sir?" it replies, assessing the room.

"Deal with this," Vyv instructs shortly, and while the vague hand gesture encompasses all of this, it does seem to single out the butcher-ghost in particular, which leaves him (he hopes) in a position to focus on trying again to pay that fat ghoul back for what it's done to his outfit, and also him. This time he gambles on not having anything else's attention, and throws everything he has into trying once more to zap that ghoul, drawing a hand back and thrusting it that direction as if it might push the lightning harder.

"Certainly, sir," Xuri replies, and glides over to the ghost, clipboard in... hand? "I do apologise, sir, but the Marquis and his colleagues simply can't see you today. We'll need to reschedule. I can pencil you in for August 12th, 4023, at 10:15am, yes? Good." There isn't actually a pause for a reply there. "Terribly sorry for the inconvenience; do let me see you out." It moves to do so, radiating the conviction that the ghost will, of course, cooperate with this. There is a clipboard, after all. The flickers of electricity sparkling between its flowing cerata are lovely and decorative and certainly not a threat, though should the ghost refuse, it may become evident whether they could be.

The thing on the stairs -- the expanse of nothing shooting bolts of ghostly hatred -- is probably the most capable enemy on the premises. How do you tangle with something that is not? Something that does not exist so hard that it actually has left a hole of non-reality in the very fabric of -- life, the universe, and everything? If '42' is the answer, then 'what the hell is that thing' is the question.

And yet it can fail.

A bolt of otherworldly absence flies at Kailey and somehow, in a feat of surprising nimbleness, the artist sidesteps it. It slams into the wall not too far from where Hyacinth just made her less than fortunate imprint, adding to a mural of blood and hair and very old fruit preserve. The butcher's ghost, all undead leer and ectoplasmic meat cleaver, shakes that cleaver at her again, and once again, a bolt of ghostfire launches from it -- but this time, it bounces off that ghostly door through which the black cat leapt. The mural gains another artistic signature. This mural might honestly not be a keeper.

Pride stands before a fall. The stair creature, the absence of presence, launches itself down the stairs, heading for Kailey -- and as it does, Conner who somehow still remains unnoticed by the black parade sends a bolt of lightning of his own flying. It lights up like fireworks; and now, finally, it has form -- outlined in pale fire, it is a creature resembling a woman. Or rather, the fantasy of a woman. A fantasy conjured up by someone whose idea of 'woman' is unreasonable and angry -- a black hole into which one might pour attention and care, only to have it evaporate right off the planet, right out of existence. A bolt of force flies from Kailey and yet somehow dissipates upon impact, as if the nothing-woman at least saw that one coming. It -- she? -- did not see the black cat suddenly appearing behind it, though, tearing it wide open for the fire that Conner is lighting in its ... well, flesh is the wrong word here. Let's go with 'substance'.

The butcher has clearly got wife issues. Add to that, he is the last undead still standing, because his nothing-wife joins the rest of the piles of ash and fruit on the basement floor.

The shiny, pearlescent sea slug looks disappointed. Present a perfectly clear rejection to a customer and then they start throwing lightning around. Such a completely insensible and indeed, intolerable display of bad manners warrants a response -- and it gets one, in the form of that electricity bolting from its feelers to the chest of the butcher's gost. Pay attention! that gesture says. Or maybe it goes more along the lines of sizzle. Honestly, by now, the smell of the dead ghouls is getting some serious competition from the combination of ectoplasm, ash, and fruit preserve gone bad a decade ago.

Ravn makes it to Hyacinth, at last, and finds himself quite relieved that she does in fact seem to be in one piece, more or less. He shakes her, trying to get her back into the moment -- because this is honestly a very bad time to lie around defenceless. Even if both of them are currently in a condition where 'defence' might possibly amount to little more than some really disapproving looks.

Next to them, the ghoul that also impacted with the wall is still reeling -- and the reel continues as the lightning launched from the chef impacts, knocking it right back into the wall a second time and reducing it to a very smelly pile of decomposing flesh that slides down the wall much in the fashion of an old dishrag.

"I'm going down fighting," the butcher's ghost declares with a lascivious grin and dead eyes that gleam with madness. "Come at me, bitch."

Who's the bitch? It's a little unclear. Probably not the sea slug, although, honestly, who's going to lift whatever requires lifting, in order to find out?

At any other time, people summoning various combat cats and personal assistant slugs would generate some questions from one Conner Hawthorne. Today it's just another thing. The ghost says come at me bitch and Conner looks less than impressed. But he tilts his head this way and that, a sort of silent I had every intention of doing just that, thank you.

He steps in good and close to try to flank it, to try to get one good solid shot in so they can end this and everyone here can get the medical attention they all probably desperately need.

'How do the X-Men do it?' Kailey thinks to herself as she slides behind one of the basement pillar supports. It isn't much cover, but it is enough as the bolt from the wraithly woman barely misses her. Keeping her attention on a couple illusions and her shield is hard! She's never attempted this much at once.

It shows when her attempted telekinetic shredding disperses like a soft caress against the non-existance. But it does enough. With the enemy focused on her, the others, and their familiars, make a significant impact. Later on she will look back and realize they all did pretty good. If they survive. Still one ghost left...they know about anyway.

"Hey fugly, you've been evicted," She says to the butcher with a sneer. So far playing bait and distraction has worked better than outright attack so she keeps it up. "Your cuts were always too thin and grissly. Your sausages were terrible," She doesn't know that, but if this butcher ghost is still here. Then he probably was very much tied into his business. So insult the business, right? Works with Vyv when Ev does it.

Then she is moving again for another pillar. Daring the butcher with her snark and insults to come at her. Pay attention to her. Let the others finish him off. "Your ground meat had cockroaches!"

Hya lays on the stone basement like a broken marionette which her now porcelain leg does nothing to improve the image of as she clatters and it spiderweb fractures imperfectly. So much dust in contrast to the imperious self she uses as a social
cudgel to keep the peace of the town with.

It's when Ravn pushes her hair from her face and tries to give her a wiggle of life that she coughs and there is a dust cloud and some groggy awakening that occurs. A murmur, "Point... where is that twerp with a...a permit." She is working at pushing herself to a sit. She's had better days, loos strand of hair falling in her face with fwiiip! trying to blow it futility in place. "Prop me up, Ravn... this ain't over."

Fun fact: nudibranchs are simultaneous hermaphrodites! So take your pick; you're probably simultaneously right and wrong. Whether or not they're the bitch intended, Xuri does not appreciate the butcher-ghost's attitude. "So sorry, sir, something's just come up. The Marquis won't be able to see you on that twelfth after all." Given the being now has the attention of the entire roomful of psychics and their familiars on him, this may qualify more as a prediction than a cancellation, really. That lightning's still crackling through their cerata, and now the impression is less 'decorative' and more 'charging up'.

For the record, insulting the business does not work with Vyv when Ev does it, unless what Kailey's aiming for is even snarkier retorts to her 'critique'. To be fair, though, the ghost doesn't seem possessed of quite the same sort of composure, so yeah, if he cares enough about the ex-shop to still be haunting it... it might be a pretty good tactic for grabbing his attention. Vyv should probably support this attempt by shutting up, but he has a splitting headache, if not actually a split head, and maybe her intention isn't what his mind grabs onto from the various data around them. Or maybe he just feels mean. "Your wife was right about you," he hisses at the ghost, forget that he has no idea what she ever might have said -- nothing but that now-even-deader empty form to go on. He doesn't wait to let it come up with good retorts to either of them before his hand thrusts forward roughly to try to send a bolt of lightning the ghost's way.

Is it Kailey's distraction that works? Or Xuri's calm dismissal? Or Vyv's heated sneer?

Maybe the combination of all three, a trio of scathing verbal emasculation, is what causes the butcher's ghost to flail his ghostly meat cleaver at Kailey in a highly ineffective fashion -- ghostly lightning goes wide and leaves another mark on the far wall, to join the previous ones and the splatters of blood and fruit preserve. He yells -- he bellows out a roar that contains all the rage of a man ten years dead, a fury against the living, against the unfairness of it all, a madness of existential, almost elemental hatred, and raises the cleaver again, ready to --

-- ready to get clocked from one side by Conner's own brand of ghostfire, and then from below by Vyv's ditto; if anyone ever wondered if ectoplasm can in fact burn, that seems to be one question to which there is now empirical evidence -- it burns very well, thank you, and the smell is almost bad enough to consider applying for a play date with the Reek from the dead ghouls. A third bolt of friendly fire lightning flies from the nudibranch, and maybe some higher power is feeling merciful on the ghost's behalf -- at least that lightning crackles across his ectoplasmic surface, doing little actual damage.

Then there is cat to face.

In an almost cartoon-lile display of ferocious violence, the creature formerly known as the Black Stray launches itself and all its hatred of abusive humans at the butcher. It slams into his chest with far more power than any cat -- even a cat the size of a lynx -- should possess. You can hear the bones break -- bones that an ectoplasmic manifestation should not have -- as the cat's form passes through the ghost. Not in the fashion of something otherworldly gliding through something equally otherworldly, nothing so fluid and graceful -- no, this is reminiscent of a big dull knife with eighteen sharp claws and ditto teeth, tearing its way through a surface that until now was reasonably convinced of its own solidity.

It's not pretty. It's highly efficient, though, and maybe it reminds at least some people present that before this black cat allowed Kailey to turn it into her otherveil pet, it tried to leave a bloody trail of bodies through Gray Harbor.

The rest is silence.

Conner is first to notice the most significant change (barring the fight being over, some might argue that this too is significant): The horrible reek of meat juices that have been allowed to fester for far too long is gone. Sure, the basement now smells of fire and ash, and fermented and rotten fruit preserve, of the dust and dirt of a decade of neglect. It smells of blood and sweat, and scraps of wallpaper that still smoulders with ghostly lightning gone astray. It smells -- like a good, thorough cleaning job might actually work. This, at least, is something.

"I guess we found the dead moose," Ravn ventures awkwardly through the blood in his mouth from being flung across the room and slammed face first into the wall (he's probably going to need to talk to a dentist about at least one front tooth). Maybe the Dane feels a little -- guilty is the wrong word because he sure as hell did not plan this party, but odd about asking people to help look under a few floorboards and before anyone could blink twice, have them fighting for their very lives. "I think... Maybe some of us might want to see a doctor, though."

And in case of Hyacinth's leg, a -- who repairs porcelain anyway? A plumber? If anything, it's testimony to the Dane's concussion that he finds himself distracted wondering about that.

Summoning Uncat, or the Black Stray as she personifies now, was a very good idea. Kailey finds herself ducking behind another support pillar after her last snide quip at the butcher. Smiling happily to hear Vyv's own voice through shade on the man. That's her favorite baker...chef? Cooking of good and tasty stuff person. Where was she going to get her croissants if he was down and out?? So she misses the way the Uncat's sharp claws turn the Butcher ghost into ectoplasmic mincemeat. But she does get a glimpse of the bits splattering into non-existence. And the smell suddenly vanishing.

Yet she stays where she is for a few seconds as the sound of battle, and the smell, fades and changes. Though she tries to stay standing her legs and body have just gone full on, 'NOPE' and she slides to the floor with a groan. Breathing hard and bleeding slowly she is thankful the pain at least hasn't hit yet. But she can feel the warning warmth as Uncat comes over, nuzzling at her face. At least she's not covered in ectoplasmic remains long.

Kailey weakly lifts a hand to scratch at the fierce and murderous' beast's chin and chest. "You are amazing. Thank you for coming," She whispers softly to Uncat as the creatures purr begins to fill the room. It is quite loud and the Uncat moves to curl lightly across her chosen's legs. As Kailey quiets her heart and slows her brain enough she finds the words to answer Ravn, "Yes. Yes very much so. Its starting to hurt to breathe..." And she weakly begins trying to peel off her burnt and stabbed jacket. And then stops with a cry of pain, curling in and around the Uncat. That burn to her chest is bad. Feeding Morganna is gonna SUCK.

Conner doesn't waste any time. He has his cell phone out in a split second. He tucks it between his shoulder and his ear after dialing 911. He doesn't know how they explain this exactly, or if it will be even necessary to do so...but it might not matter if everyone bleeds to death or something. As he does he's taking off the outer denim shirt that he has over his t-shirt, and starts looking around for something to rip it up with so that he can give them each something to put pressure on whatever's bleeding the most.

He speaks rapid-fire, about as decisive as he's ever sounded. "Yes four, wounded. Construction work. Community center, yeah. Here's the address. Get here ASAP."

Until they do, he's going to do his best to make them as comfortable as possible.

"They'll be here guys, they'll be here soon," he tries to reassure. They're all going to have him Mother-henning them until he's very sure they're all going to be okay. It's going to be a thing.

A glazier who works with ceramics might be able to help Hyacinth. Still her arm is lobbed sideways in some dazed drunken effort to prohibit danger from getting past her arm of NO. Ravn can sleep easier or more paranoid that he's counted among her assets in the realm of 'no touchie'. Focusing is hard and there's three of everything as the ghost goes PIFFT. "I... yes... good. That. Well done." She must be really out of it because she says, quite clearly, "Nooo, Ravn, I shan't want to see a doctor. They keep terrible hours and usually have little to discuss. You'll do. I'm more suited to your conversation anyways. Vyv... are we done dying for the day? I'd rather like for you to stop bleeding. " Yup. Out of sorts and not standing soon. "Conner... Kailey... you're... peopley. Faaaaaaaaabulous. This is preferable. Though I think maybe a trip to a professional to get patched up might be in order." And were she in her right mind she'd know Ravn lead with that.

"...and stay dead," Vyv mutters as the ghost fully ceases to coalesce. He has just about enough energy and self-control left to manage to shift one arm back and fold it in place before his head drops back on it like a pillow, eyes closed and breathing a touch shallow and Very Intentionally regular. The already pale skin seems paler than usual, and probably only partly because of the colour-contrast with all that blood spreading through the camel of his coat, across his chest. Not standing any time soon either.

"I would also rather like for me to stop bleeding, thank you," he agrees with Hyacinth, "And I can't die today; I have plans." This, quite logically, brings the PA to mind, even if opening his eyes is a little too much work at present. Alas, some jobs can't be delegated. "Thank you, Xuri, that should be all for now."

The nudibranch hesitates, eyeing the chef's condition -- but the overlap between worlds is swiftly disspating, and they have been essentially given an instruction. "Yes, your lordship. Please don't hesitate to call if you require anything else," they reply, and float off behind one of those support pillars, failing to emerge from the other side.

Vyv's brain is scrambled enough right now that the odds of him joining in with Hya's notes on the advisability of lack thereof of 'seeing' doctors, and potentially his current ineligibility to do so in any case (now that she's brought it up), would be pretty decent. But as the adrenaline ebbs, it's getting harder to concentrate on anything but trying to breathe without engaging his chest in the movement. "That might," he manages to murmur, "be a good idea," and then he's not got much to say about anything, for a bit.

Gray Harbor. A town in which you can walk into a basement to tear up a few floorboards only to be assaulted by the living dead -- and have next day's Gazette report it all as a small gas explosion in a run-down building on Spruce Street, incidentally the site of the soon-to-open community centre. It's not even a big headline -- Spruce is a pretty run-down area in general, and Gray Harbor is just one of those towns where a lot of accidents happen. There's a quote by a shop owner down the street stating that this is what the city gets for not inspecting abandoned buildings regularly, and some complaints about city hall cutting back proper funds for maintenance of utilities, and then it all tapers off into the usuals griping about the usuals, as small-town politics go.

The paramedics buy the story. Of course they do -- several people have obviously been thrown right across the room by the explosion, and there are burns and lacerations from shrapnel -- most of it probably glass from the old cupboard of fruit preserves.

A few medics don't. But they're the ones who see this sort of thing often, and they ask no questions -- because there never are answers.

In good news, though? The smell is finally gone.