Post by England on Sept 12, 2012 16:32:54 GMT -6
"For the last time, I don't understand what it is that you're trying to tell me!" Arthur growled to a particularly persistent spirit that had been shadowing him for several days. Aside from howls and an expression of urgency, the female that had decided to choose him for a target of haunting had given the Englishman no further hint as to her motivations. It only added to his discouragement. Hungry, cold, lacking a proper shower and at the point where he couldn't decide if putting a bullet in his head might not be worth a rest.
He scrubbed at his face with both hands. No. That was the weariness talking. Arthur wouldn't take a coward's way out of this. That smacked of a weakness that didn't suit him. The Englishman scowled up from where he'd crouched against a wall, eyes darkened to frown up at the hovering woman. Her gown torn and trailing upon the floor, death pale toes suspended inches higher. At one point, in life, she might have been beautiful. Now she was merely a shade; a shadow of someone who once was and now no longer would be again. "You're going to have to try harder. Something. A clue, or.. or a sign. What is it that you want of me?"
As Arthur watched, she floated away from him further down the corridor. He rested his head in his hand, fingers splayed as the Englishman dropped it into that support. Waiting for her to do something else or else leave him in peace. She remained at that distance gazing through a nearby window that was coated with a layer of dust. What did she see beyond the glass? Were there other shadows out there roaming the graveyard and the grounds? It would have come as no surprise to Arthur.
His eyes drooped. Heavy. They felt too heavy. Perhaps if he took just a few moments to rest them, it would clear his head of all the cobwebs? The image of the woman's ghost veered in and out of focus. Arthur's eyes slipped shut to close her off for a few minutes in the hope that she might vanish before he opened them.
♫Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme♫
Arthur's eyes snapped open. Her face was right in front of him. Close enough that he could feel the chilled aura of her against his skin. The Englishman stared, that haunting echo of a singing voice having come too close to have been from any other spirit. "What? A song? You want to sing me a song?"
She veered back from him wordlessly. Arthur placed a hand against the wall, using it to push himself up to his feet. He watched her warily now. That was the first snippet of something audible that he'd heard from her since she had appeared to him in his wanderings. The spirit turned, gliding down the corridor. She paused, head twisting slowly over a shoulder to peer back at Arthur with lifeless eyes. Waiting. Waiting for him to follow.
Finally, he caught on. Arthur's tongue swept across his lips to wet their dry texture. He nodded to her, pushing his weight away from the wall to trail cautiously down the corridor to where she hovered. It might well have been a trap. Yet why that particular song, and those specific lyrics? This song was familiar to the Englishman, most definitely, but he could not place it in this context.
♫Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme♫
The song echoed again. Arthur's tired mind pounced upon a particular part. The trailing echo of "thyme". His head turned as he passed the window to look out upon the gathering of tombstones just outside. Memories surfaced back to a time when thyme would be gifted to knights and warriors for their courage. When it would then decorate their graves after they had fallen. The Englishman's uneasiness spiked in him as he stared through the faded glass.
Was she trying to tell him . . . someone had fallen? Had she come here to tell him? Arthur's face angled up to the side to view hers. She watched him in patient silence, giving nothing. He crossed beyond where the spirit lingered. A door to the courtyard and the graveyard beyond was right there. Arthur closed his hand around the doorknob. Hesitated. He addressed her with a weary thread in his voice. "Is it worse out there than it is in here?"
♫Are you going to Scar--♫
"Okay, I get it! Fair and herbs and I'm going, all right?" Arthur cut her off in exasperation, twisting the knob to push out into the dull grey day. The Englishman lifted a hand up against the change in brightness that hit him when he stepped out. This didn't feel at all like his beloved London fog. It just felt like death lying in wait to embrace him. "Are you at least coming with--?"
The door clicked audibly shut behind him. Arthur whirled around to see that the Manor had closed him out. He tried the doorknob to see if it were unlocked. No such luck. The Englishman scowled as he looked in through the thin bits of glass in the door. Beyond it, the female spirit hovered but made no motion to help him. She had done her part, it seemed, and now Arthur was entirely on his own.
[For reference to the song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYqgqdM9AXg&feature=related This is where the lyrics come from.]
He scrubbed at his face with both hands. No. That was the weariness talking. Arthur wouldn't take a coward's way out of this. That smacked of a weakness that didn't suit him. The Englishman scowled up from where he'd crouched against a wall, eyes darkened to frown up at the hovering woman. Her gown torn and trailing upon the floor, death pale toes suspended inches higher. At one point, in life, she might have been beautiful. Now she was merely a shade; a shadow of someone who once was and now no longer would be again. "You're going to have to try harder. Something. A clue, or.. or a sign. What is it that you want of me?"
As Arthur watched, she floated away from him further down the corridor. He rested his head in his hand, fingers splayed as the Englishman dropped it into that support. Waiting for her to do something else or else leave him in peace. She remained at that distance gazing through a nearby window that was coated with a layer of dust. What did she see beyond the glass? Were there other shadows out there roaming the graveyard and the grounds? It would have come as no surprise to Arthur.
His eyes drooped. Heavy. They felt too heavy. Perhaps if he took just a few moments to rest them, it would clear his head of all the cobwebs? The image of the woman's ghost veered in and out of focus. Arthur's eyes slipped shut to close her off for a few minutes in the hope that she might vanish before he opened them.
♫Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme♫
Arthur's eyes snapped open. Her face was right in front of him. Close enough that he could feel the chilled aura of her against his skin. The Englishman stared, that haunting echo of a singing voice having come too close to have been from any other spirit. "What? A song? You want to sing me a song?"
She veered back from him wordlessly. Arthur placed a hand against the wall, using it to push himself up to his feet. He watched her warily now. That was the first snippet of something audible that he'd heard from her since she had appeared to him in his wanderings. The spirit turned, gliding down the corridor. She paused, head twisting slowly over a shoulder to peer back at Arthur with lifeless eyes. Waiting. Waiting for him to follow.
Finally, he caught on. Arthur's tongue swept across his lips to wet their dry texture. He nodded to her, pushing his weight away from the wall to trail cautiously down the corridor to where she hovered. It might well have been a trap. Yet why that particular song, and those specific lyrics? This song was familiar to the Englishman, most definitely, but he could not place it in this context.
♫Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme♫
The song echoed again. Arthur's tired mind pounced upon a particular part. The trailing echo of "thyme". His head turned as he passed the window to look out upon the gathering of tombstones just outside. Memories surfaced back to a time when thyme would be gifted to knights and warriors for their courage. When it would then decorate their graves after they had fallen. The Englishman's uneasiness spiked in him as he stared through the faded glass.
Was she trying to tell him . . . someone had fallen? Had she come here to tell him? Arthur's face angled up to the side to view hers. She watched him in patient silence, giving nothing. He crossed beyond where the spirit lingered. A door to the courtyard and the graveyard beyond was right there. Arthur closed his hand around the doorknob. Hesitated. He addressed her with a weary thread in his voice. "Is it worse out there than it is in here?"
♫Are you going to Scar--♫
"Okay, I get it! Fair and herbs and I'm going, all right?" Arthur cut her off in exasperation, twisting the knob to push out into the dull grey day. The Englishman lifted a hand up against the change in brightness that hit him when he stepped out. This didn't feel at all like his beloved London fog. It just felt like death lying in wait to embrace him. "Are you at least coming with--?"
The door clicked audibly shut behind him. Arthur whirled around to see that the Manor had closed him out. He tried the doorknob to see if it were unlocked. No such luck. The Englishman scowled as he looked in through the thin bits of glass in the door. Beyond it, the female spirit hovered but made no motion to help him. She had done her part, it seemed, and now Arthur was entirely on his own.
[For reference to the song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYqgqdM9AXg&feature=related This is where the lyrics come from.]