1965-10-13 - The Dead(Girl) Walks!
Summary: Dead Girl comes upon Ambrose in the cemetary. He's a little freaked out.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
dead-girl ambrose 

The relatively-immortal have their bouts of feeling morose. Humanity has become boring, perhaps, or memories plague like a coat filled with leaden bricks. Regardless, one of city's many cemetaries is playing host to a Jackal. Call it parts curiousity atop wandering feet that brought him here. Where is the oldest grave? Who's entombed there? There's likely nothing at all to purloin from any of the finest sepulchers; not only that, but he's been hesitant ever since his own punishment for trespassing outside of Basra came from on high.

His boots make little sound on the graveled path as he meanders, eyes scanning the weathered and worn tombstones. He's in a heavier jacket, something with many useful pockets and a thick lining and his black fatigue pants. The night lights come from nearby street lamps and the eternal glow of the city that sincerely never sleeps. That's okay, neither does he.

"'n look at you, poor bastard," he comments quietly as he pauses by a gravesite just off the path. "I was…what, eighteen when you kicked the bucket? Getting older." He has no idea he's not alone in this place — no supernatural senses to help him in that.

And Dead Girl? She often hung out in graveyards- they're comfortable to her. Filled with necrotic and necromantic energy- and she, a font of that stuff. Here there were many ghosts, many lost souls, just quiet and standing watch towards the end of time. Those who had lost their way, or never had a way to begin with.

And Dead Girl tried to do what she could- to shepherd the dead to an end. An end was better for them, she had found.

And then there is another here- in this quiet Graveyard- Dead Girl approaching slowly. "He died surrounded by family. Not so sad." she offers, having been wandering apparently random. Glowing red eyes- body of a corpse. She was just there, in her hippie style clothing. The Zombie of the 60s.

|ROLL| Ambrose +rolls 1d20 for: 19

|ROLL| Ambrose +rolls 1d20 for: 11

A shrug of the man's broad shoulders beneath his coat and he sighs, breath gusting silvery in the chillier temperatures of night. "I suppose it could be worse," he comments back to the feminine voice nonchalantly.

Wait — a female walking the graveyard this late in the day? Ambrose is frowning even as he glances over to see — NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE!!!! Uttering a sharp yelp, he immediately turns on the spot and dashes towards the nearest tall sepulcher. Loose grit and moss tumble to the grass below as he takes an arcing leap to snag the roof's edge. Up it he scrabbles, a startled creature indeed, and then makes to ascend another level yet, clinging to the praying angel set atop it. It puts him at least a dozen feet if not more from the ground and waaaaaaaay out of immediate reach of Dead Girl. "You stay back!!!" he shouts down at her with an imperative point of finger — too startled to do much else right off the bat with his heart in his throat.

"Oh, it could be much worse." Dead Girl says, "You could wake up dead, or something…" and then Ambrose. "Oh? What? Er.. okay- is here fine? You okay there, slugger?" she wonders over to Ambrose, eyes still glowing- red like baleful anger. Like a look from beyond the grave itself. As if Death Herself had stepped forward to meet Ambrose. "You okay there buddy?"

A little higher up Ambrose climbs yet, until the angel might as well be carrying him in her arms, beatific as she looks with carven face lifted towards the cloudy night sky.

"I am fine, please, stay back," he says again, a waver in his tone. "I'm not here to rob you or anyone else in this place, I was simply walking through! Don't curse me, kill me, or try to eat me, I beg you — I'm far too stringy, no meat on my bones."

"I'm not really in the eating mood. I mean, I haven't been for a great long while." Dead Girl offers, as she leans against another headstone- sitting quietly and looking up to Ambrose. "And, you don't need to worry. I'm not really in a killing or a cursing mood. I think you'll be fine." she assures Ambrose.

"And really, the dead don't usually care if you rob them. They're dead. You know how it is, dead and gone." She shrugs.

"I'm Dead Girl. Nice to meet you." she offers, "YOu okay up there? Need a hand down?"

Ambrose squints. She…seems to mean well, in all of the small microtells through her poise. "No, I don't need any help getting down. Climbing is second nature to me," he informs her from on-high. A glance to the statue's face and a brief flinch, as if realizing precisely where he is. He gives the angel a glower even as he makes his way down to the top of the sepulcher, still keeping him at least seven feet above Dead Girl.

"They call me 'Traceur'," he says down to her, still leery, but apparently inclined at least to kneel atop the roof and continue conversation. "Why in the bloody hell are you here? …how are you…alive?" An awkward question for anyone but her, no doubt.

"I'm not alive." Dead Girl begins answering the question first. "And I just am- I'm here. Here I am. Being." She continues, "Funny how that all works, huh?" she asks, of no one in particular. "Nice to meet you, Traceur." she says with a little smile.

"So, what are you doing in a graveyard at night?"

"I…am…wait, hold on one bloody moment, how are you not alive?" That's the sticking point for the Jackal. "You've clearly the sentience to be considered human. You're not some dread creature from the grave rising without such. Too friendly to be a geist, not enough screeching to be a lich…" A squint and he leans down from the rooftop, still clinging to it like some timid raccoon. The ambient light flashes through his own pupils as he stares, proof that he's attempting something: touching upon her with the Bane.

To those with the Sight, blood-red tendrils like intelligent smoke emerge from his person and twine down towards her. A pause and then they make to surround her, only to…bounce off her person as a bird from a window. Ambrose is shocked, his eyes showing whites now. Another attempt, another sensation of a void of life. "…bloody hell," he whispers. "You are." She is. She be. How trippy.

"Well, see, I *was* alive for a while. And then I got murdered- stabbed a bunch of times by my bo.. Well, EX boyfriend." she explains it like it was nothing weird at all to talk to a dead woman. "Anyways, I bled out, and I died, and I was still sort of there? I guess you could say- I mean, I was still me, just.. Dead me." she explains, or at least tries to explain.

"Oh, Hello." she offers to the tendrils as they approach her, "What's up with the cloud thing?" she wonders next, "That was a little weird." she offers, the Queen of Weird.

"Yeah, I mean, why would I lie about being dead? Seems like a weird thing to lie about."

"Bloody fekkin' hell, you can see it?!" The fact that this not-dead-but-alive-somehow woman can apparently make out enough of the Bane to comment on it rocks Ambrose. He sits down heavily on his rump atop the sepulcher's roof, staring at her in abject disbelief. The retraction of the Bane is almost comical, like a clam retracting back into its shell — zzwhip. It hides away on his person again, proof of its existence seen only in the brief interior glow of his entire circulatory system. Now he looks normal again, if not still agog. "You - you - you really are dead, I couldn't…touch you with the curse," he says even as he settles one leg to hang down, the other bent and tucked beneath his other thigh.

"Yeah, I can see all kinds of stuff." Dead Girl offers, "All sorts of weird things. It's the eyes." she says, her eyes glowing red still- a baleful glow. "But, yeah, totally dead. One Hundred and One Percent!" She says with a surprisingly bright smile, "So, what do you do with that whole thing. That It. Clouds and anger, from the looks of it." she says, "Like a thunderstorm or somethin'."

Dead Girl just sits back, and pulls out a pack of rolling tobacco. She starts to roll herself a cigarette. "Care for a smoke?"

"Um…no, but thank you," replies Ambrose to the offer of the cigarette, long-ingrained manners overtaking his relative inability to put together a coherent reply to just about anything Dead Girl says. There's also the general unease of being around something he doesn't understand. Hubris in combination with nearly eighty-six years on this earth cannot countenance it on some level.

"It looks like clouds? As in the ones above us or something else? Fog?" He pauses and seems to assume a neutral mask, as if preparing for trouble. "I was…testing to see if your person contained any life-energy. I would have known if so. I have been lied to before, so you'll have to forgive my distrust."

Dead Girl lights up, smoking quietly. Inhaling slowly, nodding. "Yeah, like a cloud. Smokey. It rolls on out, with it's little fingers. Little feet, maybe. I don't know, that's what it looked like." she says as she takes another puff. "I don't have any reason to lie to anyone. I mean, truth will set you free, right?" she says with a little grin.

"Do people lie to you a lot?" Dead Girl wonders, "That's kinda sad if they do." she remarks.

"Hmm." A pensive sound as he files away what he was told. Anything to aid him in his quest to figure out precisely what this curse is that clings to his person.

"No, it's not that the general populace has lied to me. Those of your ilk, those beyond the confines of simple explanation of existence. Other supernatural creatures. I have…an unfortunate habit of coming across them in my travels, both past and present. Unfortunately, some have considered me edible. To claim life while actually without it is not an uncommon ploy by the darker creatures of this world," he explains.

"Oh. I'm going to be honest with you here, I have no idea what you're talking about." Dead Girl offers, "Everyone I meet seems pretty nice, I mean, a little freaked out at first. I had a guy stab me a while back. I mean, you know, it happens." Dead Girl shrugs, "I represent the *end* you know? Like here I am, walking talking dead girl. People get freaked out." she smiles still, another pull on her cigarette.

"I'd bet you are edible, to the right people. I mean, I'm edible. Not sure I'd be a good meal, though."

The master-thief's laugh at her last comment is wry and half-hearted. "Yes…I am apparently edible to those inclined towards humans. I suspect you might…taste…funny." By delivery, he's atttempting to avoid insulting her, benign as she has been thus far despite looking pretty damn scary. "You've been lucky in your lifetime, then, not coming to encounter what I have. This continent as a whole has been tame, in terms of the supernatural." There's the other leg hung down now and he seems to consider dropping to the ground, but relents and then remains sitting where he is on the eaves of the sepulcher.

"Now that I consider you fully, you seem…less antagonistic than I originally suspected. My apologies," he offers with an archaic nod better seen in Queen Victoria's courts long ago.

"Yeah, I don't see much point in being antagonistic." Dead Girl says, holding up a pair of spread fingers. "Peace, man!" she says with a beaming smile, "I've met lots of supernatural peoples, though. There's Adam- he's Frankenstein's monster, and there's this vampire guy, and um. Wither, I guess, he's supernatural kinda. Well, he's lonely, that's for sure- I like to give him hugs when I can. He doesn't get enough love." she says, continuing on, "Oh! There's are a couple of wizards I know. One is named Stephen, he's really nice. Proper, you know? And there's another named John, he's like English or something."

"And then there's me! I can do all sorts of neat things. Like, my body isn't really where I am, I don't think." she says, "Because I can like control it from being detached from it and stuff."

Ambrose looks significantly interested in the name dropped in connection to what must be the same, tall, and terrifyingly-constructed creature that graced his abode not long back. Adam. Like the first man. He's not terribly surprised to hear of vampires or wizards, having come across both, and snorts to hear of John.

"You've met John Constantine then. Be wary of him. His particulars have a habit of turning your lucky for the worst rather than the better. I would hazard that 'chaos' is his middle name." There's still a friendly undercurrent under the comment, almost grudgingly. "But you yourself - you can…separate from yourself and still tell yourself what to do? I heard of this talent, long ago, in northern India…" He snaps his fingers before his chest as he thinks hard, eyes averted to one side. "They called it 'spirit walking', I believe."

"Well, sorta." Dead Girl says, "I mean, I'm still in my body, kinda." she says, as she goes a touch see-through, floating through the air. Through the perch and marble and the rest to peek out from within the tomb. Floating up still and grinning wide as she comes to sit next to Ambrose. She comes back solid.

"I always see it, the other world- I think it's called the Astral plane. It's always there, you know. Just sort of sitting there with the rest of it. With it's strange geometry." she continues.

"Spirit walking, huh? That's neat. Can you do that?"

|ROLL| Ambrose +rolls 1d20 for: 10

Ambrose squints at the dead woman as she goes partially transparent. He then cranes his neck over the edge of the roof to see her disappear into the tomb itself. A swallow — okay, that's just —

He doesn't tumble off the high surface at her reapperance, but definitely throws up hands in defense and cringes, getting ready to do so. Another hard swallow and he attempts to calm his racing heartbeat even as he looks her over again, this time at a far closer distance. "…no, I cannot do this spirit walking. I am human." Cursed, but still homegrown human.

"So am I." Dead Girl replies, "I'm human." she says as she sits on the edge of the tomb, smiling. Her cigarette left behind. She just smiles "Just a different kind of human, like you." she says, "You should meet that Stephen STrange. He's a doctor, and a wizard. So he's got two things going on." she smiles, "He's nice. Maybe he could help you!"

A wrinkle of his nose and Ambrose scratches at his jawline, a habit never lost since his time in the military. "No…" he elongates the vowel. "I think not. No one has been able to help me. I believe myself beyond it and so be it, if so. False hope is a better poison than cyanide itself." He considers Dead Girl again and then…slowly reaches out as if to place a hand on her upper arm, beneath her shoulder. His motions stutters several times, but then comes the brush of fingertips upon the bluish skin. Again, the Bane finds nothing of interest in her person and retracts back to beneath his skin after briefly filling his hand to pins-and-needles tingling of readiness.

"…you really are without life." Yeah, he's said it once before, but now his breathed comment has the essence of belief to it. He stares at Dead Girl. "My god. I can't drain you." Now there's an embarrassing slip of the tongue.

"Yeah, can't drain the dead." Dead Girl says with a little smile. "And yeah. Totally dead. One hundred percent." she says with a nod of her head, "I don't go by Dead Girl because it's a fancy name." she just lays back, looking up at the sky. "Not a lot of ghosts in this cemetery." she notes, "Mostly the dead rest here. Mostly." she says quietly, "It's a good place to relax." she offers, "There are a lot of more… active… graveyards." she takes a slow, quiet breath. "So, I should probably let you get back to your brooding." She leans in to try and give Ambrose a nice hug! "You'll be okay." she says, "I'm sure of it."

"…mostly at rest here?" he echoes, looking away to scan the graveyard for any of those restless undead that aren't the young woman sitting next to him. Then comes the enwrapping of arms and he stiffens abruptly, going stock-still in her embrace. Oh no-no-no, the Bane, it will — !!! Wait. Ambrose slowly turns to look at her, still shocked. "…thank you," he mutters. A squirm and he extricates himself before getting to his feet. Too much, too new, he's got to get back to his abode and…probably drink.

"Be well," he says by way of dismissal, polite in this, at least, before leaping down from the roof of the sepulcher. He lands without issue on the grass and with obvious experience in such things before walking off — at a brisk pace — so brisk, it's almost a jog. Talk about needing to think over things! Dead Girl's given him so much to consider over a bottle of wine. Or three.

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