Private Tales Home No More [Salak]

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
"Really, forgive me Miss Grey. The hour is late, I must, I must be getting student records mixed up in my head."
He let out a yawn and tried to stretch the sleepiness from his muscles.
The tea he poured into the wooden ornate cup then held it between his fingers enjoying the way it burn-warmed his hands.
The smell was rich and slightly sweet. Perfect.
The taste was welcoming as dawn.
"Your taste in tea is impeccable Miss Grey. You are to be congratulated on it."
Then it came time to address the elephant. Though it brought him no joy.
"You say you are fond of the Academy but, to be blunt, you died here did you not?"
He meant no offense merely yo understand.
 
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The ghost did not seem to take offense. Her vague smile persisted, as though the wandering thought of her thinking of the Academy as anything other than home were simply too illogical to grasp.

"Oh not me, no. Miranda made that blend. She works in the kitchens because her son is dead." A nod, she shifted, she sighed, her appearance seemed to fade just a bit.

"Die here?" Chasmine queried curiously, seeming to think on this notion, "I do not think so, though it is difficult to say given the nature of my curse. The last time I could touch, I was far away from here with Azzerin."
 
He ignored the tea. Chasmine had let slip a golden egg. He sensed the tapestry again, the woven threats of incidents that created all truth.
*Azzerin? *
The name meant nothing to him. The location as well left him puzzled. If Chasmine died "far away" then why was she here at the Academy?
A link existed, some thread that he could not yet see.
"Who is Azzerin?"
He needed to be cautious. Memories were powerful in the living. A ghost was living memory. If he rushed his questions or was careless then it could hurt Chasmine in one of the few ways that was still possible.
He didn't want that.
 
It was a name that brought a wealth of mixed feelings. Though her experience and time spent in Azzerin's company had been rather short, all things considered, much had happened. Chasmine took on a weary expression, "He's ..." a friend? Lover? Mentor? Guardian? Captive? Abductor? Abuser?

"...a demon."
 
He almost choked on his tea when she said it.
*God's blood, a demon! *
Despite his shock Salak kept his composure, just about.
What to do? Think.
As with most problems, it was the situation that often provided solutions.
Chasmine. She looked so unhappy, conflicted, tired. Can ghosts get tired? Regardless, his duty was clear. A student needed him.
He set down the tea and went to take a seat beside her. Very surprised at how much the old bed sank under his weight, leaving Chasmine floating some inches over the covers.
He desperately hoped that he could be a comforting and reassuring presence at this time while looking up at her from the bed that was slowly eating him.
"Take you time. Tell me what happened."
 
She did not notice the bed sinking below her or really even that Salak was slowly becoming shorter than her. Chasmine stared listlessly out at her bedroom, "No," she replied gently.

All her life she had learned to live by pushing the negative things deep below. It'd served her well up to a point, but she'd never expected to be left behind again. Not after all the promises that were made. Thinking about it made her ill with foul emotions and Chas, ever practiced and skilled at it, buried them deep down.

"There are some herbs there for pain," she said insightfully after several moments, an easy smile returning, "add them to your tea. They can help with your leg."
 
He had to smile a bit at that. Deflection was expected in mortals but Salak did not expect it from one already dead. It reassured him somehow. It meant there was something there. The crux of this mystery.
He had not even thought of the pain in his leg since the demon was mentioned. Now reminded he dreaded the awkward ordeal it would be to stand again but he could take a hint and so gave Chasmine her space by grunting his way to a stand and dutifully rifled through the herbs till he found it.
*Dried mandrake, potent stuff. Strictly speaking not allowed by Initiates. *
He ignored this breach of the rules. In part because he did not see the point in punishing ingenuity.
He tore a leaf corner off and crumbled it into his drink. The taste was bittered slightly but the effect was immediate.
All while he did this he didn't speak thinking to give Chasmine a moment of peace.
"You have a grand collection of books. Have you read them all?"
Bring interest back to her death later, for now, earn trust, built respect.
 
"Yes," Chasmine replied, but did not expand on it as her gaze listlessly shifted from Salak to the books, to somewhere else across the room.

The ghostly girl fell silent as her gaze shifted back to her window, the raven's nest just beyond the glass, and the forest just beyond that. Somewhere in that dark and nightmarish would perhaps Dandy was hunting. Perhaps he'd gone to visit Proctor Basmarc at his grave.

Perhaps that was where she would look next.

"Thank you so much for the tea, Sir," Chasmine said reflexively as she rose from her bed, "but I'm afraid I must be going now. Please help yourself to more."
 
He was not worried for her safety. Not exactly but he had learned that troubling truths lay within the past of Chasmine Grey.
"Shall I join you? My leg hasn't felt this better in years. Seems a shame to simply go back to bed now."
He tried to play it off as aloof, even shaking out his bad leg to emphasis the (*Wow that worked wonders!*) point but in truth he was greatly concerned. He had a feeling that Chasmine would go somewhere important, that's what ghosts did wasn't it? They haunted the places they knew in life. Places of power and meaning. This room had meaning, these objects. All held meaning and so did this Cat, Dandy. He suspected that if he was patient then she would lead him where she died whether she knew where that was or not.
 
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"No," again, gently. Chasmine offered the older mage an expression of tethered fragility, "Dandy does not like strangers. I must find him on my own."

A glance down to his leg and a wary smile followed, "But I am glad your leg is feeling better. Perhaps it might enjoy a sunrise stroll," she drifted past him, toward her door, "the grounds are quite lovely when it's quiet. If you can avoid the other souls about."

Though she was, so far as she knew, the only person to ever have that issue with souls.

"Good morning," she bid him, and turned to exit through her door. Should Salak open it after her he would find the stairwell empty and dark.
 
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