Who: Dexter Castel and Irei Arakaki
When: Early morning February 12
Where: Sascha and Irei's bungalow
What: The ghost goes to see the necromancer to plead for help.

The bastard had taken her away. Dexter had stood in the floor and tried to hold back the sense of fear that enveloped him. Dante would kill Dione. He would, there was nothing that could possibly stop him. Certainly not Dexter himself. He was just a ghost, incorporeal, incapable. He'd let her down.

Maybe he hadn't yet. Going after Dione wouldn't do any good at this point. Wherever the pair was going, he couldn't do anything there. He had to find someone who could do something. Only one person came to mind.

Irei, he remarked to himself. Dexter walked out of the bungalow he shared with his sister and started down the path to the bungalow he knew the necromancer shared with Sascha. The bungalow was dark, he'd expected that. It was far too late for most people to be awake. Yet it didn't bother his sight, he wasn't seeing much anyway. If ghosts could cry he was doing exactly that.

IREI! Though Dexter rarely found it necessary to yell at anyone, he was yelling now. The panic he had done so well to keep a lid on was coming out in spades. I need your help.

Who: Sascha and Dione
When: Wednesday, November 21, 2007- Late Morning
Where: The Wine Bar
What: Sometimes music is the best therapy

Sascha could feel the strings vibrating beneath his calloused fingertips as he strummed at his guitar. He wasn't familiar with musical notation or any of the more technical aspects of playing; if asked to read a sheet of music or take melodic dictation, he'd likely end up staring blankly into space or doodling randomly on the page. No, he was mainly self-taught, so everything he knew, he'd learned through trial and error. He was surprisingly skilled if you took that fact into account, and he'd picked up on an astonishing number of musical pieces simply playing by ear.

It was unusual for Sascha to be in the Wine Bar at this time of day- actually, it was rare for him to ever be in the Wine Bar given the fact that he didn't really drink alcohol anymore- but his library shift wasn't slated to begin until later in the afternoon, so he had time to spare. He'd gotten it on good authority that Dione liked to spend her time playing here most days, and he'd been in a bit of a mood for the last few weeks. There was always something about this time of year, right around Thanksgiving, when the melancholy really started to sink in; it was bad enough having to manage the cycles of grief that washed over him every September around the anniversary of his family's death, but holidays were always difficult. He wasn't even really in mourning anymore, but there was still that vague, lingering ache that just refused to go away.
( Sascha usually found his solace in writing, or reading, or- sometimes- in music )

He started at the beginning again, and as he played out the notes, he began to lightly sing along. The song resonated with him enough that by the last verse he was strumming almost desperately, eyes shut tight as he belted out the words.

Who: Dione Castel
When: July 20, 1998
Where: Atlanta, GA hospital
What: Dione in the aftermath of the accident that changed her life.

As soon as the hospital room door shut, Dione began to cry in earnest. Outside, her doctor, Dr. Kimble, conferred with her parents.

"She's just having a hard time adjusting," he assured with them with a pleasant smile. "I'm sure once a few months pass, she'll be ready to accept what's happened. Until then, we should consider a bit of chemical therapy along with her rehab."

Of course, her parents simply held hands and nodded. There wasn't anything they could do. Dione was simply not accepting the truth, Dexter was dead, he'd died in the accident. They were going to bury him. Their son was dead and their daughter had apparently had a psychotic break.

Two days earlier, they had tried to tell her the truth. Tried desperately to make her understand, but she wouldn't budge.

( Dexter's not dead. He's right here. Can't you see him? )

*italics*=french, Dexter doesn't use quotations when he speaks.