Amy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kitchen_maid) wrote2012-08-11 09:14 pm
kitchen_maid) wrote2012-08-11 09:14 pm
Who You Gonna Call?
Despite all the time they lost in the woods, their party still reaches the edge of the woods just in time to see Amy stepping into a small boat. The boat's other occupant is somewhat hidden from view by a large hat with an even large plume, pulled low over his face. The moment Amy is settled in the boat, he begins rowing her across the lake.
The water is dark, and utterly still, save for the ripples caused by the boat and the oars. It's not a large lake, and on the far side, a second dock waits in front of a castle.
The castle is made of dark stone, and its windows glow with an almost thick, heavy golden light. It rises, all jumbled towers and jagged parapets, toward the dark "sky" above them, and it's impossible to tell just where the castle leaves off and the sky begins.
But that is a problem for later. First, they must get across the lake.
There are a dozen other little boats moored at the dock before them, each with a pair of oars, and room for a rower and a passenger.
There's a small structure next to the dock, one which looks like it cannot contain more than a single room. Unlike everything else they've encountered, it looks . . . aged. Neglected. The windows are dusty, the wooden sides are dingy, here and there shingles are missing. No smoke rises from its small chimney.
The water is dark, and utterly still, save for the ripples caused by the boat and the oars. It's not a large lake, and on the far side, a second dock waits in front of a castle.
The castle is made of dark stone, and its windows glow with an almost thick, heavy golden light. It rises, all jumbled towers and jagged parapets, toward the dark "sky" above them, and it's impossible to tell just where the castle leaves off and the sky begins.
But that is a problem for later. First, they must get across the lake.
There are a dozen other little boats moored at the dock before them, each with a pair of oars, and room for a rower and a passenger.
There's a small structure next to the dock, one which looks like it cannot contain more than a single room. Unlike everything else they've encountered, it looks . . . aged. Neglected. The windows are dusty, the wooden sides are dingy, here and there shingles are missing. No smoke rises from its small chimney.
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And on the boats there.
"I think we can fit three," she offers, taking the first few steps toward the dock. "In one boat. Two in another. I will go with Scorpius."
She does not ask if that is okay.
Debates are more useful when there is time.
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The voice is crotchety and a little absent-minded.
It's also coming from a hazy figure that fades into view just three steps in front of X.
"I'm terribly sorry, really I am, it's all a dreadful bother, but I'm afraid you're not . . . allowed . . . . "
The bearded, shadowy man trails off, squinting and floating a few meters closer to everyone behind X, including Bruce.
"Are you -- no. No, there are definitely no princesses here. Hmmph. You'll have to turn around and go back the way you came. Or -- "
Oh, this is all going to go terribly.
" -- Or I shall have to be very cross with you."
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"Of ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties..." she mutters under her breath.
She isn't even sure why she knows that old saying. But it sure is fitting in this case.
"Um. Excuse me? Sir?"
Parker steps up closer to the ghost.
"I know this is all kind of....irregular. But, you see, we're the Que--the princess's entourage. You know, ladies and gentlemen in waiting? We need to go with her to do the waiting...thing."
She gives him her most winning smile. It works on old men. It could possibly work on a dead one.
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"Oh no, no, that will never do. You're supposed to be waiting up above. Asleep."
He starts to float back and forth, sweeping a figure-eight around the ladies and gentlemen.
"Such irregularities are beyond the pale. I won't have it. I can't."
The ghost makes a shooing motion with his hands.
"Do please be obliging and be on your way. I'm sure the birds would love to see you again. They're very friendly."
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They really can't afford to let her out of their sight again. That castle looks way too creepy to be safe. So he lowers his voice, hoping the thing won't hear.
'We have to keep going. I don't think ghosts can hurt us.'
He doesn't like to underestimate an opponent, but it's either turn back, or put their foot down with this creature. Or fight it. And turning back isn't an option.
'Just start walking.'
And that's exactly what he starts to do.
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Then he looks horrified.
"Oh no. No. I mean. I don't want to hurt you. I simply need for you to turn around and -- "
He sighs, long and tired and a little miserable.
"Oh, bother."
The air begins to glow with eldritch blue fire.
"Halt!"
Hopefully no one is planning on going anywhere anytime soon. But at least they can still breathe!
And blink!
And speak.
The ghostly watchman is not unreasonable.
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Granted, blinking and speaking and breathing very much beat the alternatives to blinking and speaking and breathing, but it's still not an especially comfortable range of options to find yourself limited to.
Especially as Meg cannot turn her head to address the ghost properly, and is left making her remarks to the back of Scorpius' head.
"We're very sorry," Meg says. "We didn't mean to upset you, um . . .
"I'm sorry, what's your name?"
She doesn't remember any mention of anyone at the edge of the lake, but then, he's not really dressed like a guard, which means he was likely there to tend to the boats. Which means he was likely a servant of some description, and servants never get mentioned in fairy tales unless they're secretly royalty.
Apparently he's not.
Presumably.
"I'm Meg Ford," she offers.
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The ghost sounds both harried and lost, still wringing his hands even if he's no longer floating in circles.
"Do you -- "
"I'm afraid I don't remember. It was never very important."
His tone becomes more brisk, even as his shoulders remain hunched.
"But really, it will be much nicer for you if you simply agree to turn around and go."
Nicer for him, too. He does not particularly like being stern. Or threatening.
And he is not very good at it.
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"You, um, you do realize that we can't leave if we can't move, don't you?"
Neither can they go on.
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He wrings his hands some more, floating several additional inches above the ground in his uncertainty and vexation.
"But I suppose if you promise -- "
His voice trails off, even as the eldritch blue light begins to fade.
It's entirely possible that he forgot to actually ask for said promise.
Oops?
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"There are spells that you know?"
She keeps a wary eye on the obviously unhappy spirit.
"That will work against ghosts?"
X could try to harm it as she would a bodiless demon, but --
There are other, better options.
Hopefully.
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Not like X is asking, anyway.
"Huh? What, no," he replies just as quietly, remaining absolutely still.
"I mean, Peeves works on them, but I don't carry a poltergeist in my pockets, sorry."
Besides - Meg's doing nicely? Trying to reason with him.
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The disembodied spirit begins to look very nervous indeed.
"Oh dear, why didn't someone say? I'm sure I wouldn't have stayed here this long if I knew it was haunted."
He seems quite put out, and more than a little distraught.
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"If you want."
She does not mind.
And she does not think anyone else does, either.
And if he fled in panic, it would be a simple solution.
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If possible, the ghost looks even more horrified.
"No one deserts their post. But I'm sure none of you like ghosts, either."
He might be wishing for something in the forest to make loud woooooo noises right about now.
Sadly, that does not occur.
"So you ought to run along now. Shoo. Off with you."
The air flickers with eldritch blue light again.
Apparently he really means it this time.
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She can just barely make out a desk, looking through the (incredibly dirty) window.
At least, she assumes there's a desk under the stacks and stacks of paper.
It would appear that ghosts to not keep up with their filing.
Or window washing.
Or sweeping.
Or, well, general housekeeping.
"You may have a point," Meg says to the ghost.
"And we understand, of course, that you have a job to do and you're not supposed to let us go to the castle.
"But since we're here . . . do you need help with anything before we leave?"
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The ghost almost looks on the verge of brightening, then his expression falls again.
"No, no. It's very kind of you to offer, and there is a dreadful lot of things to be boxed up and sent off, but -- "
Surely it would be improper.
"Only I'm sure there used to be a staff here. I'm sure they'll come back any time. In time for tea, even."
He only sounds a little wistful.
"No. No, I couldn't possibly."
Could he?
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"And I'm actually very good at organizing things," Meg says.
"You can ask anyone."
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"She really, really is," she says. "There's nothing in the world Meg can't organize."
She gives Meg a look that says Are you sure about this?
"She's very neat. And has good penmanship, too. You should see her lists. They're amazing."
Okay, so she's laying it on a bit thick. They need to get across that lake.
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She shifts her attention to the ghost.
"I do not think you will be disappointed."
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"That would be lovely. Only I haven't got anything for tea, and I'm sure it will be thirsty work . . . "
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But she catches Parker's and Laura's eyes just long enough to barely nod.
She's got this.
She thinks.
"It's all right. I had tea just before we got here.
"Do you want to show me what needs to be done?"
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The ghost gives a beaming, relieved smile, and his hand-wringing moves to something anticipatory rather than nervous.
"I'm sure it won't take so long as all that. First we'll start with the requisition forms . . . "
And, making his way through a long, long list of unfinished tasks, the ghost leads Meg into the dingy little building.
They will likely be there for quite some time.
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That's the whole point, after all.
She pauses in the doorway to wave one hand go on, to her friends and toward the boats.
And then she follows the ghost to start on the list of chores.
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They need to take advantage of Meg's ploy and catch up to Amy.
Fast.
And with only two people in each boat, that should be fairly easily accomplished.
X hopes.