(2018-04-19) ydneW rooP ,salA
ydneW rooP ,salA
Summary: Eddie uses the Dead Mirror to talk to Wendy.
Date: ????
Related: None
Player Characters: Eddie, Ida, EmmahSue as ST

One lonely morgue attendant in the wee hours of the morning is no match for a PI and his Lovely Receptionist with a heart of proverbial gold and a pocket full of contracts (who has which is up for debate). Honestly, it's a bit creepy in here when the fellow is in his office eating his 'lunch' of ham and cheese sammich, leaving the lights on and nobody else home. Nobody but for Eddie and Ida, that is.

Jane Doe nee' Wendy is likely in the back, tucked in the freezer with all the other Janes Doe. They'll be stacked like cordwood (if there are plenty of them) or laid out sad and alone on a shelf (if there are not).

So in creeps Eddie to the place with all the corpses, trying not to think of the place like a buffet and only getting halfway there. All the refridgeration helps, at least. He listens around a while, his ears pretty sharp even if they're not on the level with his nose, and when he's sure it's just the one guy around he points to his eyes and then at the door to the office for Ida's benefit, eyes-on-the-door. Into the back he goes, to browse through all the unclaimed corpses back on the discount racks.

Mmm, morgue smell. That lovely mixture of freezer burn, putrefication and chemical delights. Ida nods to Eddie's gesture, leaning against the wall, keeping an eye and ear out for Assistant Cheddar. Her fingers are a little twitchy with the desire to smoke, she's got a lovely new pack of those tarry Galouises in her pocket, but instead she focuses on playing guard.

There are, in fact, a medium number of Janes Doe present in the back freezer (read: closet). Everyone has their very own shelf but for an older (in presence, not years) few, who have been tucked together in a startlingly sweet pose of nose-to-nose and hands on each other's hips. Did we say sweet? Try additionally creepy. Someone's playing dolly with the forgotten. Uncool, yo.

Given he met her a few times and followed her up a mountain at least once, it's not difficult to find Wendy. She's two down, on the left. Not even a body-bag to preserve any claim to modesty, not when they're in such high demand for the corpses out front. She has a toe-tag, and she's clean, and someone did close her eyes, so she's got that much going for her. In the absence of the wind that so defined her nature, she looks… smaller. Lesser.

Weston Argylestitcher the Third — the nametag on his lab-coat on the coatrack outside the office door proclaims as much — is enjoying his sandwich. Lots of mmmms and smacking mouth sounds inside that closed room. The blinds are drawn on the tiny windows, but surely he's just eating. He did take his sammich out of his bag before he disappeared inside, that was visible through the outer windows to this section of the basement.

Eddie averts his eyes out of an uncomfortable gentlemanly instinct when he finds Wendy. It's not his first time in a morgue, he knew what to expect, but it's still strange seeing her like this. They weren't exactly pals or anything, but… he shakes his head and sets his mind to business, ducking his head out of the freezer closet and waving Ida over. Time to keep eyes on him, for this part. He doesn't know exactly how this mirror is supposed to work, but there's always a price with these things. He comes out of his pocket with the thing, a handheld mirror a little bigger than a compact, then crouches down by the table and holds it out to catch his reflection along with Wendy's, like he was taking a selfie.

He takes in a breath, holds it for a while out of hesitation, then breathes out onto the surface of the mirror, sending a little charge of glamour out with the breath.

Ida moves over closer to Eddie, and she's pulling out a bowie knife from the depths of her trench. It helps with the cigarette jitters, and at least if something happens where she has to stab something she's ready. Otherwise she's just there for questionable moral support for the P.I.

With that breath exhaled, with the brush of glamour carried with it, so goes Eddie's vision: zooming inwards and then outwards again. Along extended arm, past clutching fingers, through the reflection of himself and outwards again. He's crouching next to Wendy: two down, on the right. The world is jittery here, a shivery constant motion, never quite as still as it ought to be. Perhaps that's why Wendy's eyes open. It may explain why the pair in the corner, just barely visible in his mirror when the glamour struck it, also open their eyes.

In the real freezer, Eddie is staring into the mirror. His hand is trembling ever-so slightly, a faint tremor of strain? of nerves? He doesn't acknowledge or appear to notice Ida and her Crocodile Dundee of a knife. Clearly he trusts her implicitly!

Eddie wobbles on his feet, counter-clockwise this time, disoriented. He shakes it off pretty quickly, all things considered. He's been on the wrong side of a mirror once before, after all. He looks around, taking stock of the situation, of the weird shifting jittering nature of the place and the collateral corpses back off in the corner. No Ida, but he wasn't really expecting her here anyway. He heaves a little sigh and looks down at the body he came here ot talk to, into those open eyes she's got now. "Hello, Wendy," he says, almost conversational. He's not sure about the ettiquette in these situations.

Ida watches, considering that trembling hand with slightly narrowed eyes. But she's patient, she waits and splits her attention between tripping P.I and the lunching attendant. At least she's not thinking of getting a smoke any more.

Wendy sits up. Well. The reflection of Wendy sits up and faces the reflection of Eddie; her now-open eyes widen. "!kcolF eht si erehW !ereh er'uoY !eiddE" Behind him, the collateral pair also sit up, though they don't do much talking. Instead they crawl out from their shelf and stand, hands still on hips. A few steps? the shaking of the mirror? brings them over to loom over the chatty duo, though for now they just stand there, watching. Nobody here is breathing but for Eddie himself; it makes for a very subdued air. Flat 2D, no depth of field.

Did something move behind Eddie? No. No, of course not. Only dead people and Lost in here. Nobody's moving but for the Lost, abso-positively. The mouthy sounds from the office are getting breathy around the edges. That must be some sammich. So ham. So chedda.

She's talking backwards? Of course she is. Eddie furrows his brow and tries to decipher whatever the hell Wendy just said, a little thankful for the puzzle of it taking his mind off the looming corpses and the land of the dead and all of that. "Where is the…?" He makes a kind of disgusted face when he figures it out. "They're through the looking glass, kid. You don't need to worry about that kind of thing anymore. What's the last thing you remember?"

Ida will take a closer look at the space behind the sleuth just in case. When you're a Lost, paranoia's not a drawback, it's a feature. And she's going to assume it's just sandwiches happening behind those curtains. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

One hand slides past Eddie - no attempt to sneak - to set fingertips lightly against the glass hovering in place. The dead woman gives it a little… push. The glass ripples.

Wendy has no attention for that bit of fun. She's too busy staring at Eddie with slowly dawning horror. "…neht dna …neht dna ykS thgiN eht fo neeuQ ta playing saw I, ria eht ni erew ew ,kcolF eht htiw saw I" As dead girls remembering their last moments goes, this one appears to be along the lines of a heart shattering to a million tiny pieces in slow motion. No tears gather, but that only makes it worse. There's no release to be found from the growing pressure of the oncoming and all too clear killer.

The glass ripples. Light flickers in the corner where Ida is peering so suspiciously. How the light managed to bounce around back there when there's no new source is anyone's guess. Maybe it was her knife catching a stray beam from outside? Yes, that's probably it.

Eddie considers trying to slap those fingers away, but only for a moment. He's the only member of the Heartbeat Club around this place, and he's pretty solidly outnumbered. "Yeah," he says to Wendy, not unsympathetically, "I wish things were different, but those are the kind of games they yalp. Play," he corrects himself immediately, swallowing a little bit of terror. "Why'd they do it? Have you got any idea?"

Inside Ida's head, an internal countdown's started. It's the 'seconds until we try to shake Eddie out of it because things are getting Really Weird' clock. She doesn't believe in coincidences. She waves the knife gingerly at that flickering light, seeing if the flat of the blade catches any resistance. With the occasional glance back in case Westham Cheddarmuncher has decided it's time to go back to work and play with the dolls more.

Flat features with all the depth of a pencil sketch twist and writhe across Wendy's face. She so desperately wants to cry; nothing escapes. The corners of Eddie's own eyes feel itchy, as if her tears were trying to find a way through the only outlet possible. "!t'nerew uoy neht dna su htiw ereht erew ouY !Eddie ,ouy *dlouc* woH !kcofF eht tfel ouY !mih failed I"

That pushing hand pushes harder, and starts to sink through. Slowly, unhurried, the dead woman begins to move through the mirror's surface, ripples getting heavier with each passing moment. Her companion waits for her turn, neither of them paying the slightest concern for the President of the Living Society and his conversation.

A pale, feminine hand slides past Eddie's head. From. the. wrong. side. The flickering light gets more strobe-like, unbothered by the waving of Ida's knife.

Night of the Mirrored Dead. One step at a time, though: Ida first grabs hold of Eddie's hand so that they're both holding the mirror steady. Breaking it while he's on the other side seems like a bad idea. While doing that she moves up right behind him, chest to his back like she's about to lead him in a reverse waltz - but instead she grabs hold of his opposite shoulder and physically starts shaking his whole body. Jump in the line, rock your body in time, shake shake shake…

"This was a dab aedi," Eddie mutters, watching the… ghost? Corpse? Reflection? making its escape through the mirror with growing dread. "Look, kid, I haven't got much time here. You didn't fail that thing, it used you up and it threw you away. It dropped you in the dirt, and it would have done the same with me. It's going to do the same with all of them, if we don't stop it," he says with sudden urgency. "You can help us do that, I know you can. You must know something, there's got to be something you can tell us."

In the mirror, it's possible to see Eddie talking to a seated Wendy; the pair are deep in conversation. But only barely possible to see, because there's a dead woman in the way. Her arm is through the mirror as if it were no more than a bit of curtain, and a beaded one at that. That pale hand brushes against Ida's cheek, cool and misty, barely there at all. Whatever she is, she's not solid. Then again, her body is on a shelf behind them right now, what does she have to be solid in?

"…" Silence stretches for a long moment. An eternity while the dead woman is moving past him. When Wendy bursts into voice again, the words escape fast and fierce and rushed: "!meht fo rehtie tsurt t'nac ouY !srehtorb er'yeht tuB !enemies er'yehT !mih setah Mirror Smoking"

Anything more she might share is cut off rather abruptly when Eddie begins to jerk back and forth. It's like he's got a huge invisible hand on his shoulder shoving him in place, helter-skelter willy-nilly. Whatever's got hold, it's nobody on this side of the reflection.

The countdown's done. In its place in Ida's head is a steady shrill all-hands-on-deck intruder intruder alarm, alongside a cool, steady third person commentary of how to best shake Eddie back into his body without actually breaking anything, and in the back of her mind is a sincere longing for some nice lye and steel brush. She doesn't need the outer layer of skin on her face after all, really. To the outside world, her mouth is thin, eyes narrowed, she's got her feet planted firmly on the morgue floor, and if there was a bone stuck in Eddie's throat it would have bounced against the opposite wall long ago now. Shake shake shake. Shake shake shake.

"I had my suspic—" Eddie begins, and then he's getting shook around. He panics for a moment, but when he doesn't get pinned to the ceiling or have his wings pulled off, he kind of guesses what's going on. "That's my cue to leave. Thanks, kid. i'm sorry" he says, still getting buffeted around. ".dnuorg eht ni uoy tup meht tel t'now I" And with that he tries to make his escape. He's not a hundred percent on how to do that, exactly, but he figures it must be something to do with the mirror, so makes to pull it away from the escaping corpse and slap his own hand against the glass.

Why on earth is Ida shaking him so violently? And with a knife in one of her hands, at that? That first full breath of morgue air is one of the proverbially sweetest things Eddie's ever tasted in his live-long-life, and that's the truth. There are dead women in the reflection of the mirror on this side, but they're properly still and stiff. Everything is calm, everything is okay.

Okay is relative. There's a distinct moaning sound coming from behind the office door down thataway.

"I'm back," Eddie says, "I'm fine, you can stop, before my arms come off, please." He doesn't seem too surprised or concerned by the knife. Of course she has a knife. She's Ida. He looks around to make sure all the bodies are where they ought to be, and frowns again at the noise coming out of that office. "We're going to have to have a chat with him, soon. But first I've got to do something. I made somebody a promise." He pockets the mirror and turns out look down at Wendy, and his gaze carries the weight of ages, all the years and decades and more that he can pay the Wyrd for.

The shaking stops, and Ida steps back. "Yes. He's having a bit too much fun at work, I do believe." She gives a nod at the mention of a promise, putting her knife back away into the depths of the coat. There's a gleam of more blades within, maybe. She watches the process of sped up corpse to dust, with the occasional glance back at the office.

It takes a while. It's a good thing the attendant is so busy with his… lunch. So it is that Wendy's corpse decays in fits and starts, sinking in on itself, internal bits exposed and then drying away, bones cracking as time twists them into shards, until finally, finally, there's nothing on the shelf but the dust, and a toe-tag fluttering down to the ground.

It's a pretty gruesome display, but Eddie never looks away. To his credit, he never even looks hungry, not even once things get to his favorite stage of decay. Once the job is done he reaches into his coat and comes out with a rolled up plastic bag, like you might use for evidence, and he gathers up as much dust as he can and then seals it. The rest he'll just have to leave here; there's nothing else for it. "Come on," he says, "let's get out of here."

As a good assistant, Ida presents Eddie with a small brush to help gather up more of the matter than he might otherwise be able to get, so that instead of streaks of grey there's only what can hide in the corners of what-was-Wendy's shelf. "Quite, it is time to leave." She gives the door to that office a look, "We should make some calls after. Perhaps a friendly detective or two should pay someone a call." Exit, stage right.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License