getting real tired of your crap, house

Ashes

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Jan 13, 2017
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Damien was getting extremely fed up with the state of his house, these days. Er - his apartment. It wasn't much of anything, really - not compared to the luxurious house he'd owned back in the future, or his expanse of a house in the 1800s, or even compared to the tiny flat he'd lived in, in New York. Really, all it was was a 1-story flat, with enough space to be respectable - but not remotely a "house". It was cheap - the one he'd been able to afford here - but was it the best? No. And that frustrated Damien to no end already.
What had really bothered him, though, was the tiny quirks of the "house" - It had no technology to speak of, much less advanced technology, and for the past few weeks, things had been...
Well, something was off. Every time, it seemed, he turned around - poof, there would be another thing out of place. His silverware set (singular) had been spread on the floor one day - the other it had been the remains of one of his smashed plates. Last week? That was when the walls had seemed to breathe - they'd expand, and then they'd relax, and they'd leave marks on the already-peeling wallpaper of the apartment, although Damien had tried his best to stop that from happening, otherwise it would bother him to high hell.
Presently, he was unlocking the door, stepping with a sigh and a cautious step into his apartment. What would it be next? His favorite mug? His carefully-protected tablet? His laptop? The very thought made his blood boil, and he swung the door open.
Well.
That wasn't what he was expecting.

@WorldDevourer

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One moment charlie was in his office, sans glamour, making a nice cup of earl grey tea. He had prepaired a copy of a reference book he was using to make notes from on the subject of necromantic intelligence. He had just picked up a mug, a plain black one with a skull in it, and reached out for the teapot and suddenly, it was gone, replaced by a dark apartment, which was lit only by the faint glow from Charlie's eyes. A particularly poor quality apartment. The paint was badly applied, and there was a smell of mould to the place. Along with something else, a strange feeling in his bones, one he could not quite put his finger on. He swore. If this was Lulu's or Rhymien's idea of a joke he would kill them. Well he'd find a way, then kill them. He looked down at the mug. It was empty. He swore again.

At his feet was some sort of smashed electronic device. Charlie had never been one for technology, but had been forced to use it. He had brought a blackberry, despite it being dated, because his bony fingers could not operate a touchscreen phone. It allowed him to look at emails and websites, and that was all he needed. He had no use for the little videos or the pictures of food and dogs but he was curious about the game where one used improvized avian weaponry to damage green hogs. He had no idea what the device at his feet was. It had a screen, that was for sure, as shards of glass protrued from the cracked mess, but what else was there was a mystery. Some form of casing? Or was it a keyboard?

He heard a low creak, as the door ahead of him opened, and in the doorway stood a figure, illuminated from behind by a light outside, whos features he couldn't quite make out due to the lighting. But he stood there, a skeleton in a waistcoat clutching the empty mug.

"Erm" Charlie said, rather awkwardly "Good morning, would you mind telling me, where am I?"

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Ashes

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It took him a few seconds to register what had gone on - but there it was, his prized tablet and Bluetooth keyboard, smashed on the ground shattered to pieces. IT was the closest he'd had to a holo-jector appliance... Damien's gaze grew colder than possibly the Ice Age. Approximately. And right smack in the middle of his little apartment, too. Carpets everywhere - so the glass would most likely be a pain in the ass to clean up, too.
"What're you doing in my house," he asked - well. Not asked. More like grunted. It wasn't a question so much as a threatening gesture.
He gave a total, slow once-over of the skeleton... man? Woman? It probably didn't matter - he now had an explanation for all the strange incidents. And a criminal - well, in his eyes. Damien started towards the man, though he was careful to keep his hand over his face, should an attack come forth. The skeleton carried a black mug, with (appropriately?) a skull on the front. And a housecoat...? He was swearing, for some reason.
It seemed he didn't have to start interrogating the skeleton, though - he looked confused, himself. Asked where he was.
"Ahem. You're in my house. You broke my tablet and my keyboard. And you're obviously to blame for the weird shit happening here. Wasn't that you last week, who smashed my plates, took out my silverware... did something to the walls?"
Of course, there were many plausible explanations, at first. Overhumidity of the walls. Gravitational forces. Development of a particle field strong enough to move the metal - but none of it would have been done in the manner it had been. So, supernatural occurrences that he could totally explain fully, and then there just happened to be a supernatural being that he could totally explain? That screamed out "suspicious" to him.
"No, you're definitely the cause." He could feel that something... he wasn't sure what, but it was something - was rolling off the skeletal form that made him very uneasy.

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Charlie stood there. He was confused. Who was this person? Was this damp hovel his house? Why was a lot of this gentlemen's stuff damaged?

The man asked him what he was doing in the house. To be honest he had no idea what he was doing here, so he looked down at the empty mug and responded, confused:

" Erm... standing here?"

Then the accusations started, accusing Charlie of breaking the devices, the names of which he did not understand, which sat in a heap on the floor. Was there a broken stone tablet around here? He clutched at the mug as some form of sanity in the mad situation he had found himself in.

"Erm, no I'm not. I have no idea where I am? Am I still on Manta Carlos? Look" he said, and skin suddenly flickered and appeared on his bones, Charlie's soft blue eyes and kind smile flickering into existance "I'm not some monster, I'm a teacher. It looks like you've got a poltergeist, or something along the same lines. Have you picked up any cursed idols, or vexed or similarly irritated a shaman? The broken stone tablet might have caused it, if it had been used to seal away some form of spirit. Do you have the pieces? I'm Charlie Rotmoore, nice to meet you."

He stepped forwards, holding out a hand to be shook, but unfortunately stepping onto the pile of damaged electronics, which cracked further with a sickening crunch.

@Ashes
 

Ashes

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Oh, great. So the skeleton was a smartass. Of COURSE he was standing there, in the middle of his pitiful space he called his home, feet crunching the very tablet he'd held dear for... what, three years now? The anger was palpable in the air around them, as his fist clenched and he spoke through gritted teeth, "No, I mean why is a clearly delusional, cracknut of a skeleton here at my apartment flat, crushing the only viable source of technology, my plans, and the proof that I own this stupid dump. THAT's what I'm asking."
Somewhere between the start of his rant and his pointing at the crushed tablet, Damien realized either he was the one on crack, or something eerie had happened, because the skeletal man he'd been talking to suddenly flickered into the form of a man with a kind smile and soft blue eyes.
To hell with that, anyway. He jabbed his finger again at the man. "You're on this dumb island, yeah - but there's no spirit to speak of, especially since you just crushed my - "
While the man - Charlie Rotmoore - extended a hand, he'd stepped onto the pile of crushed bits of glass and motherboards and battery and little splinters of plastic. His tablet. It cracked with a crunch so sickening, it nearly brought Damien to throw this "kind" guy right out the goddamn window.
Instead, he took possibly the deepest breath of his life, held it.... and let it slowly whoosh out, his anger now reduced to annoyance.
"Look, Rotmoore. There's no cursed idols, whatever those are, no shamans - just a really suspect-lookin' guy who's stomping all over my electronic shards."
What Damien failed to notice was the (admittedly creepy) statue of a monkey on the dilapidated coffee table, partly covered by notes.
"Now, what in the hell are you doing in my apartment, Rotmoore?"

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"Honestly" said Charlie, looking around the room "I haven't the foggiest. I have some ideas: number one: a trickster god doesn't particularly like me. Number two: i have an extradimentional portal under my sofa. Number three: cursed items."

Charlie started scanning the slightly dilapidated room. He hoped the rent was cheap. He wouldn't be caught dead here.

"I mean, I think you have something slightly wierd in this house, apart from myself. It's an odd house." Charlie put the empty mug down on the table, and began picking up items

"You've got loads of forks, an abnormal amount of technology, two salt shakers but no pepper, a creepy monkey statue..." and as he picked it up, a cold wind blew through the house, and an ear piercing shreak filled the room. Several of the forks clattered off the table, and charlie quickly picked his mug up to stop it doing the same. He liked that mug.

"I think... it might be this" said Charlie, shaking the monkey statue, then, in a slightly chastizing voice "has someone been raiding aztec temples?"

"Then i wonder what happened to it's guardian..." Charlie blinked with realization "Ah. That makes sense. These idols had powerful undead guardians. This one doesn't. Did you kill it?" He questioned briefly, before continuing "anyway, it decided to drag the most powerful undead it could find, i.e. me, to be it's new guardian. Which i don't want to be. For one, it doesn't fit in my pockets. Do you happen to know what happened to it's previous guardian?"

((Sorry for the lack of replies, my muse has basically been dead))

@Ashes
 

Ashes

WELP THIS JUST GOT INTERESTING.
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"Cursed items."
For god's sake. Really - a cursed object? Magic. Yeah, sure, it existed here, probably (although he was sure it had science behind it that he was eventually going to uncover), but really. A cursed object. Really, it was kind of stupid. Rotmoore must have assumed he was dead-blind to the situation.
"For fuck's sake," he whispered under his breath, then continued in a louder tone, "Nothing about my apartment is weird, except for the fact that it's a disappointment to architecture. It's dilapidated, and tech-devoid, and it doesn't even have many outlets. The wiring's going to bring the whole place down anyway, far as I'm concerned." He wasn't even planning on staying long here - only as long as was needed to fix up his machine to get the hell out of here. What was this hack even doing? Was he taking inventory or something?
"Big surprise. I have forks. I have technology. This is - ugh - 2017. This stuff is becoming essential in this era. Not modern, but it at least does its job, I guess." Rotmoore... somehow... got someone to shriek and a cold breeze swept through the apartment, knocking over a lot of his forks and almost the mug too, until the man picked it up.
Damien rolled his eyes.
Rotmoore picked up the monkey statue he'd found in one of the closets of the place. Damien had had nothing to do with it, nor did he want anything to do with it - so he'd used it as a paperweight or something. He'd even been half-considering whittling it down into a pencil-holder. To him, it was useless, essentially.
"...No. I found it one of the closets, much like a lot of things in my home. I don't know shit about it." Take it, for all I care, he thought.
 
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