Halcyon Halls

Who: Fisher and Ita
What: Clothes Shopping
Where: Downtown
When: Afternoonish
Why: Emo boy needs some color!


What the hell was he getting himself into? Ita was coing over pretty soon so they could go out clothes shopping. She was also bringing him some good luck cookies for his... thing. It was absolutely not a date. He wasn't even letting that word invade his thinking space, let alone make itself comfortable. Still...

Shaking the notion from his head, Fisher pulled on a clean pair of pants and an ironic pink shirt that said "See Emo Cry". And also didn't reek like armpits. He pulled his hair back into a ponytail, admiring himself in the mirror. He looked semidecent at the moment. A little weird, but then again he always looked weird. He'd told Ita he needed color in his wardrobe. It was unlikely he would start wearing color right away, but it was still good to have.

As the minutes ticked on, Fisher got more and more antsy. Ita was... unusual. Not the type of person he normally befriended, but then again, he didn't have many friends. And maybe she'd be good for him. Put a little color in his life, so to speak. And get him used to being hugged. Ita made him nervous, though. He didn't know why. She was perfectly pleasant. Maybe it was her bright eyed naivate that shoved in his face how much good there was in the world, and that he really had no right to be so damn emo.

"Thank God," he breathed, a sigh of relief rushing from his lips as he heard the knock at the door. "Come on in, Ita!" he called.

Who: James and Fisher
What: Drinking until we can't feel feelings anymore
Where: The Local Dive
When: Night


It was Thirsty Thursday, and Fisher felt he deserved a little numbness. He had agreed not to imbibe alcohol as part of his condition for being at Halcyon, all expenses paid, but... fuck that. The old man (who Fisher did not even know) had no clue what life was like in Fisher's shoes. He didn't deal with random dead people asking favors of him, or with the strange looks received when Fisher told said needy spirits to shut up. There were students here who had it worse, that was true. But it didn't make Fisher's situation suck any less. Besides, he wasn't drinking to get totally smashed. He just needed to relax. That and find something to do. He'd come in too late in the semester, so he didn't have classes yet to occupy his time.

The bartender set down a shotglass in front of Fisher, tossed in three ice cubes and poured in two ounces of straight scotch from one of those tiny portion-nozzled bottles. Fisher nodded a thanks, then sipped. He could've gulped it down, but rehab had benefitted him enough for him to know that yes, he had had a drinking problem and it hadn't solved anything. So it was best not to try and drown yourself.

Fisher's garb was subdued tonight, decked out in his Gears of War hoodie and downplayed zipper pants. Fisher liked emo clothing- the style was far too ridiculous to resist, and before living like a hobo he had access to a lot of money. Coming from a wealthy family had its advantages. Luckily he'd managed to keep most of his clothing, despite having nowhere to live for months at a time. He'd decided not to get all decked out tonight, just in case the locals at the bar did not approve of rich boys who dressed like they knew a damn thing about hardship. (It didn't matter that this former rich boy actually did know hardship- when you wear clothing that costs more than some people make in a week, you lose the right to complain about anything.) So tonight there were no hanging chains on his pants, not eyeliner around his eyes and his long, unruly hair was at the very least pushed behind his ears.

As he took another sip of his poison, he sighed contentedly and readied himself for a peaceful night alone.

Who: Fisher and Sasha
What: Discovering ghostly secrets
Where: On the front lawn to begin with
WHen: Night, around 8pm


"See the phantoms filling the sky around you. They astound you, I can tell..."

Fisher stared in awestruck horror at the scene before him. It was Friday night, which meant on Palatine Hill the Mundus stone was now open for business. Having seen ghosts all his life, and really having been like a lightning rod to them, Fisher had absolutely no desire to go out into town where there were sure to be plenty. However, morbid curiousity had led him out onto the front steps of the school in the hopes that, while safe from their reach, he could see if maybe Hades had indeed spewed forth its inhabitants. He was not at all prepared for the sheer multitude of spirits he saw now.

They floated along ther streets in crowds, like one might expect at a holiday parade. Some spoke, some screamed, some simply wandered. But there were just so many. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyes wide. Before he could register his actions, his feet began to carry him down the dry lawn, closer to the edge of the safety boundary. The world almost glowed from the ghosts, the way the night is lit up by fallen snow in moonlight. He could hear voices talking about everything and nothing. It seemed to be filling his head.

No, wait. One of the voices was in his head. "Come here," it told him. Fisher's head snapped around, trying to find out where it was coming from. "Do you dress in black to mourn the dead?" This was starting to get freaky. Fisher had seen plenty of strange things in his life, but no one had ever entered his head before. Walking faster toward the edge of the school's property line, he tried to determine who was talking to him. The most important things to figure out: Were they alive or dead?

Finally, he spotted a man who was staring intently at him. He was a European man, most likely Spanish, or maybe Italian. Dark hair, dark skin, bold eyes. He looked to be in his 30s and very severe. Most noticeable about him, though, was the angry raw hole in his throat. Most ghosts, no matter how they died, will revert back to the way they remember themselves looking. But some, especially those with a grudge, never let go of their deaths. This seemed to be a case of extreme grudge-holding.

Fisher walked up to the man, though not close enough to cross that invisible safety line. The dead couldn't hurt him, but he wanted to be able to run away if he needed to. "Hello?" Fisher asked, feeling like an idiot. The man didn't speak (didn't seem like he could), but that strange voice popped into Fisher's head again. "What on Earth do you wear?" he asked, his eyes scanning Fisher's Tim Butonesque shirt and pants. Fisher pushed his long hair off of his face. "Why are you talking in my head?" he asked.

The man made a face. "Because I have no vocal chords," he explained, as though Fisher were an idiot for asking. "I need you to find someone for me. I know she is here. Tell me where Sasha is."

"Sasha?" Fisher said dubiously. "I'm pretty sure I don't know a Sasha. Unless... wait, I think I know a girl with a dog named Sasha. She's small, really well dressed?" Okay, so Fisher's goal for the night had been not to help anyone floating around outside. But come on! This guy went through the trouble of invading his head! How could he just walk away from that?

Who: James and Fisher
What: Creepy shit
Where: Random Hallway
When: Mid-Afternoon

This woman he was following was someone's mom. He knew she was, because she had said so. She looked frail, and tired, like she had given up fighting and just let herself cross over. Unfortunately, she apparently wasn't done talking yet. She'd scared the crap out of Fisher that morning by standing at ther foot of his bed, paitently waiting for him to get up. He did not appreciate this, as he was sleeping in only a pair of boxer shorts. Still, she wasn't as pushy as a lot of spirits were. She mostly looked helpless, like she needed Fisher more than anything. So begrudgingly, he'd decided to follow her and see where she led him.

And so far he'd been following her all damn day. She only ever said one word as they walked- James- and then she'd start down another hallway. Sometimes the dead got lost, especially in unfamiliar ground. So he patiently followed, trying to remember if he even knew of a James at Halcyon. If James looked like his mother, then the face wasn't ringing any bells.

It was starting to look hopeless, until the woman halted along the corridor leadoing to the House of Fire. Her finger stretched out, pointing to a clean young man who seemed distracted. He was well shaped and cut like a boy should be, and Fisher felt a lump in his throat. This guy was way out of his league, one of the snobby assholes that probably wouldn't think to speak to someone like Fisher, what with his dark clothing and "guy-liner" (thank you, Jax). Still, this lady looked so sad he couldn't help but at least try.

"James," he said weakly, then cleared his throat. "James," he said again, with authority. "Your mother wants to talk to you."

Who: Fisher and Ita
What: Stirring up memories from the ashes
Where: The Caf
When: Dinner
Rating: PG 13

Fisher couldn't finish the salisbury steak, despite its deliciousness. He was too busy ignoring people. Halcyon Halls was actually a lot less crowded than Fisher had anticipated, as far as ghosts were concerned. He had expected... well actually he hadn't know what to expect, but the lack of scary peoples was a nice break. It was so strange to be in a place where he was knowingly protected from harm. Right now, though, he couldn't finish his meal because someone (a dead someone) was bothering the crap out of him. He didn't feel like being a messenger boy, but he had promised the old guy who'd paid his tuition that he would work on his abilities, maybe learn to control them.

Sighing moodily, Fisher got up from his table and brought his tray to the dish chute. He was trying to subtly get a look at whoever he had to bring news to. She was a very pretty girl, younger than him, although her eyes held much experience. Well, that wasn't surprising, considering the circumstances. Her brilliant blonde hair was swept over her shoulder. She was chatting happily with a few people. Fisher was a little jealous how comfortable she looked with them. It wasn't fair what he was about to do, but it had to be done. Apparently.

He walked up behind her, trying to make some noise so she would hear him coming. He cleared his throat. "Um, are you Ita?" he asked, his voice on the borderline between nervous and inconvenienced. He waited for the girl to face him before adding,"Can I talk to you? Like... over there?" He gestured vaguely toward the door. He'd done this a few times- delivered messages- and no one ever took it well. No sense in making a scene in front of these people. He could at least give her that dignity.