Haunted House 2

Who: Katrina Crane (Open)
Where: Sleepy Hollow 1800/The House: Ballroom
When: Night Fall
Rating: PG
Status: Complete

Night was falling as Katrina walked around their home. She lights the lamps one by one in the hall has she makes her way to study. She knocks on the door before entering.

"Ichabod?" she calls softly as she enters the dark room. Her face falls in deep concern when she finds him not there. She walks to his desk and lights his desk lamp and promptly begins to go through the letters and things on his desk. Why? Because they were his.

It was there that she found a letter. It was opened already, so with a quick glance to the slightly opened door, she pulled out the letter and begins to read.

It was than she left ill. Her hand goes to her stomach and than to her head. "Oh." she says softly before stumbling back and she remembers no more.

When she wakes up, her head was on fire as she slowly sits up. "Ichabod?" she calls with a groan as her eyes open and she finally realizes she wasn't home. She gasps and stares around. "Oh...oh my.." she gasps as she moves back towards the wall of the ballroom. "Ichabod!?" she calls loudly, praying he would hear her.

Who: The Headless Horseman and Open.
Where: Sleepy Hollow 1799/The House: Particularly the Forest.
When: Night Fall.
Rating: TBD (bound to be gory).

( ...the Hessian reattached his head and stared around, panting like a hungry wolf. )

Who: Will Turner (Open)
Where: Middle of the Pacific Ocean, New York/The Mansion
When: Mid Afternoon
Rating: PG

The wind said something different today as he stirred his ship casually. It whispered to him of something coming as it passed past his head and into the sails. He opens his eyes and watches the sails breathe in and out and he tilts his head in curiousity.

"Smith! Take the helm." he orders one of his men and hands it off to the old man before moving to walk down the stairs and over to the edge of his ship. He leans over and looks at the water. It wasn't the call of the souls that was different. He straightens up again and closes his eyes to relisten to the wind. Something was different.

He opens his eyes and heads for his quarters. Once there, the door is shut behind him as he makes his way to his desk. Head tilt again. There was a letter there that wasn't there that morning. He walks around his desk and sits down to pick up the letter to read. He reads the letter and blinks. Reads it again and chuckles before folding it back up and putting it back in its envelope. A prank from one of his crew. He should have known.

Though, when he stood to go back outside to question the men about who left the letter, he felt sick to his stomach. He sways a bit and holds onto his desk for support. This was weird. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. He was- Woah. He blinks and takes a step away from his desk and prompty does a face planet to the floor.

When he wakes, dear William was in a house. He sits up slowly as he rubs his head. "Where? Where am I?" he asks outloud as he looks around. So, this was the something different.

Who: Ichabod Crane, Hannibal Lecter and Sarai Temedia
Where: New York (1800), the House
When: Early evening
Rating: PG
Status: Complete

( Ichabod paused, knowing that the postman would already have made his delivery )

Who: Sara and anyone else
Where: Room
When: Mid Afternoon
Rating: PG

Sara let her body sink onto the less than cozy floorboards with a distinct sigh. With her back against a semi charred section of the wall she set a tentative hand upon the envelope containing the macabre letter she’d read no less than twenty three times. It didn't make sense. Nothing made any sense. One moment she was being held to ransom for Vannacutt’s diary, the next she was in a large room filled with quaint pieces of olden day furniture. Whatever captor had left her for dead in that room was still in the house; she could hear them, footsteps, whispers, and every now and then a preternatural groan of steel below.

Sara wondered fit was all her imagination. Maybe she had lost her mind completely and everything she had woken too was a brief sentiment in her life time come to taunt her. But… on the other hand, maybe it was real. Maybe the people downstairs were real. Maybe she was in some serious danger.

Then out of her brief mental escapade she snapped, multiple creaky footsteps originating from outside the door came ever so closer, clearer and clearer. Without moments hesitation Sara took hold a large bedside oil lamp, taking a stand a few feet next to the door.

Who: John Constantine, Rain Ocampo
Where: Second Floor Bathroom
When: Around 5:00pm
Rating: R (unavoidable swearing, possible adult situations)

John woke up coughing, as usual. He still ached everywhere, the sting of the small and not so small cuts igniting with each tentative movement. Muddily, he managed to drag himself out of bed without waking Chas, without tripping or hurting himself worse. Scratching fingers up through hair that stuck up at odd angles, the shirtless exorcist crept away from his sleeping apprentice. More than the ache and the dizzying lack of blood in his body, the man was cold--oh so very cold. Despite the warm covers he'd left, he hadn't been able to get himself warm enough. But while leaving the bed wasn't helping, and the rough pain behind his eyes on top of the persistent burn of his wounds, he only wanted to crawl back in almost immediately.

He didn't, though. He needed to clean and redress the cuts. The one on his stomach had only recently stopped, and the gauze over it was soaked.

John slid outside of the door, and, closing it after, pulled himself down the hall and to the bathroom. He let himself in and closed the door all but a crack behind him, because...really, he didn't know what to expect of this place anymore. There had been birds, and some...woman with elongated fangs that wasn't altogether right and... Well he didn't know.

For now, John focused on taking down the supplies and carefully peeling off the bandages Rain and the kid had covered him with. He did it one by one, until the only thing left was the dried blood to clean off his pallid skin. Probably, John looked like hell. On that thought, he glanced up and closed the medicine cabinet so he could see himself in the mirror.

"Yup. Like hell."

Who: Hannibal Lecter, Sarai
Where: The grounds of John Hopkins Hospital/The House
When: Sept 5 12:30pm EST
Rating: R (possible drug use)

It was a beautiful brisk September afternoon as Dr. Hannibal Lecter made his way across the grounds of John Hopkin's hospital, where he had started interning earlier this week, to a quiet little corner he had found where he now took his lunches. He had sat down on the bench, a gentle breeze blowing through tree limbs behind him sending the last leaves of fall to the ground, as an older looking gentleman began to make his way towards him. This was not unusual to him as most of the doctors here had already begun consulting him hearing and seeing of the prodigy he was. "Excuse me Count Lecter" The man said clearing his throat "A letter for you". Immediately Hannibal's mind went to the defensive, there were few people who actually knew his heritage and after all he had gone through even less that should recognize him. Against his better judgment he takes the letter from the man. "May I ask whom you represent?" no sooner had he finished the sentence than he felt the drug kicking in, his vision began to blur and he felt woozy as his body began to lurch forward. Quickly he ran to the hall of memory inside of his mind making sure that the painting of the man's face was as complete as possible before the darkness took him.

His mind as always awoke before his body and he found himself once more in the marble lined halls of the manor of his mind. He walked around taking in some of the sights, the mona lisa, michelangelo's david, the ceiling of the Sisteen chapel, all things he had seen so far in his life he stored he to enjoy till the day he died. After some brief wandering he makes his way to the library. A pair of thick oak double doors barred entrance to this room from anyone else, but the doors opened easily to the lightest touch from him. He entered the room the floors made of hand cut cherry, the walls white with jeffersonian trim and the ceiling covered in copper tile. The room smelled of rich pipe tobacco and that musty yet wonderful smell of old books. It was a completely accurate recreation of the library he spent many an hour learning in as a child in his ancestral castle back in Lithuania, and it was here he hoped to learn of the drug used to incapacitate him. He sat down in a high backed oak chair that was upholstered in red silk with gold trim, and began to open book after book looking for the answer. After about an hour of tireless searching he came across the most likely culprit, a liquid cyanide that could be absorbed by the skin. Quickly he got up and leaving the library made his way down to the hall of memory. He looked around and found his painting of the man, he did indeed have gloves on. Why would anyone want to incapacitate him, no one here knew his exploits and would have no reason to hate him or wish him harm. Perhaps it was some mentally disturbed person wishing to play games with him, if that was the case they would be in for the surprise of there lives.

The sound of a door handle jiggling brought him to in both mind and body. He opened his eyes quickly surveying the room. It appeared he was in a bedroom done in louis the 14th styling with rich and over the top accoutrement. He was on a raised four poster bed with what felt like silk sheets. As the door began to open he quickly layed back down slowing his breathing and heart rate to appear still unconscious. He was unsure of where he was or why he was there let alone who was coming in. He would play it safe for now feel out this newcomer before "awakening".

The man's eyes opened, though the darkness did not lessen at all. He blinked, and still the darkness remained. His face curled into a grimace. He reached forward, and through that act, he learned two things. First, that he was in some sort of box. Second, he was already in a standing position. His gloved hands found solid resistance, and as he reached towards the other directions, he felt things brushing against his arm. The other walls of his temporary prison were just as solid as the first. Where the hell was he?

He narrowed his eyes, though they saw nothing, and pushed against the surface that was on front of him. He reached out with his other hand and pushed, and suddenly, the barrier gave way. Out tumbled the Joker, landing in a push-up position, snarling slightly. He had landed on dusty, plush carpet. It smelled odd. The man turned around, and found that his momentary resting place had been a wardrobe. There were clothes hanging in it.

A rush of questions circulated through his mind, as he recalled his last memories. He had been walking through the streets of Gotham late at night, with a hood pulled around his head to conceal his scarred visage. It had been a sudden move, a man whose face he had not seen was stuffing an envelope into his hand. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in a fucking wardrobe.

The man pushed himself up off of the ground, and he dusted off the front of his eccentric purple attire. Perhaps someone thought that they would lure him into a game of their own..But that was a very bad plan on their part. When it came time to play..you couldn't outplay the Joker. He grinned at that thought, and found himself a mirror. He smiled again to himself and straightened out his clothes. It was then that he heard a voice in the hallway. Taking the mirror, he used it to peer around the corner, and he saw a girl. Very delectable.

The Joker strolled out into the hallway, hands in his pockets, slowly walking with his back to the other person.

Who:Mina Harker and open.
Where: Her room.
When: The sun is still up.
Rating: PG-13, might be some mild violence.

---

The aroma of blood filled her senses...and then nothing. An envelope was dropped into her black leather gloved hand. That was the last thing she remembered, that damn envelope. Mina Murray, as her maiden name was, no longer Harker due to her ex-husbands denial of her as a blood sucking creature of the night; had awoken on a small bed. It was comfortable...too comfortable. Instantly she bolted upright into a sitting position. No smell of blood lingered to her senses anymore, and no blood was anywhere around. Mina was starving and frowned.

"What kind of... joke is this?" she thought out loud. Last thing the young red head remembered ...was a man. But he wasn't a man, but a monster. She had showed him his painting and down he went, once again...to hell, or back to his painting, she couldn't decide which or both. Taking a deep breath had the young woman began to get off of the bed and now examined around her room. Belongings; none, quite a few paintings, a rug... it looked like an old fashioned estate.

However... she had curiosity in her eyes.

Who: Jack Ferriman, Maureen Epps & open
Where: Near the groundkeeper's house
When: Sometime around 1 p.m.
Rating: PG
Note: Thread continued from the original HH.

“So, anymore questions for me?”

For the flicker of a second, one eyebrow shot up, then Jack’s expression returned to being perfectly blank, disinterested at best. “None.” Whatever entity the old man worked for, it wasn’t the management and therefore for the biggest part of no interest to Jack.

There was no use asking anymore questions, as far as he was concerned: For one did the old man not seem to plan telling anything of use, and, albeit clearly protected by some ‘supernatural’ force, judging by the fact that he’d easily given away some information already, Jack figured that no one of at least mediocre intelligence would have disclosed important information to such a fool in the first place.

Teeth clenched, Jack still looked nothing but calm on the outside, and without as much as another word to either of the parties involved, he turned around. He didn’t have the patience to deal with the stubborn groundskeeper now, not after everything that had happened already, after all, he had a job to do. And unless this place offered a pond at least the size of the Bering Sea, Jack could hardly fulfil it here.

When it came down to it, the fact that he found himself in some unbeknownst backyard in the middle of wherever was less bothersome than the fact that it meant that things were not going as planned: he was not in total control of the situation, and that? He didn’t like, and his stride was a little more stiff than usual.

Who: Sarai Temeida Where: Brooklyn/The House When: Afternoon Rating: R for language

Saraiyu, better known as Sarai, Temedia was wandering the back alley's in Brooklyn, looking to score. She was illing for a fix, the demon screaming in her head. She had found one of her usual dealers and blew all her cash getting a nice take. She found herself and out of the way corner, cooking the smack and shooting up. Laying back against the brick wall, she closed her eyes and shuddered in ecstacy as the drug burned through her veins.

She heard something and opened her eyes. She let out a startled cry seeing an old man in front of her. She grabbed her stash, shoving it in her jacket picket quickly. "W-What do you want?" she snapped angrily. Silently, she was handed an envelope. Confused she took it. All of a sudden she felt severely ill. Marco had to have given her some tanited shit cause she felt herself slipping into blackness...

When she woke, she was not in the dank alley. In factr, she was laying on a plush bed in a candlelit room. Sitting up, she blinked several times, looking around in confusion. Last thing she remembered was getting handed that envelope by that creepy old guy. She shook her head and hauled herself off the bed. Her head spun for a moment and she waited, used to it. ONce she was settled, she wandered over to the door. She didn't know where she was, but waking up anywhere after shooting up she didn't recognize was never good and she needed to get the hell out of here.

She gripped the knob and turned, partially surprised it was unlocked. She pushed the door open and stepped out into the hall cautiously. "Hello?" she called, shivering from the errie silence of...well, wherever the hell she was.