revivalproject | Shadowplay

Entry tags:

Shadowplay

WHO: Celty and you
WHERE: Various locations
WHAT: What's a ~~dullahan~~ girl gotta do to relax around here?
WHEN: Mid to end of June
WARNINGS: Headless women.

I. Soaking in the Sun

The beach isn't a place she's come out to very often, and the few times she has, it's been to slip into the hot springs deep in the nearby caves for a soak. Today is different.

Vacations aren't a thing she's particularly done, mostly because of her personal circumstances. It's one thing to become an urban legend, it's another to actually be seen as she is and not cause people to scream and overreact in panic, usually with blunt weapons or a vehicle.

She's done some thinking since being stuck surrounded by white walls that were on occasion slathered in peanut butter to spell inane things. There are stranger people than she, and if she can accept that, then perhaps they can accept her. That decision alone has lifted some strange weight she'd never realized had been on her shoulders. It's kind of like when she decided to follow Shinra's suggestion and give up her search, back home.

And now she's here. She can only imagine Shinra pouting at missing out at seeing her at the beach. The thought is cute, although it also brings the ache of homesickness. Sighing, Celty sets the shadowy kickstand on her motorcycle before turning to the sun-dappled shade of the space she's chosen, near the edge of the treeline down the purple-sanded shores. With a flick of her wrist she forms a chair entirely of blackness, shadows twisting and shaping there on the sand. In another swirl, her black bodysuit shifts and resituates itself around her as a modest one-piece swimsuit. Lastly she removes her helmet, setting it beside the chair as she settles into it with a sigh before forming a big black 'straw' hat to drape over where one's head would have been.

This...isn't so bad, she thinks.

II. Drop-offs & Deliveries

Maybe you see the black motorcycle around Temba's streets, weaving expertly along to avoid less smooth or uncleared roads, or taking a chance on some of the more uneven ones. Regardless, it's clear that the Black Rider's been learning her way around the city, getting to know its roads. There's no rumble of an engine that accompanies these outings, nothing save the crunch of gravel under wheels or the occasional screech. Sometimes the sound of- what one might swear- a ghostly whinny, but surely it's something of the imagination, the wind, perhaps.

Celty makes good on her offer from a couple months prior, willing to help carry loads for people if they need assistance transporting something, or just want a lift from one end of the city to the other. They can either contact her on the network or flag her down if they see her.

III. Something Else?

(Got any ideas in particular? Choose your own adventure!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

When Dustin walks onto the strange, purple beach, Celty has already been camped out there for some time. This is really too bad; if he'd seen her setting up, that probably would have given him many questions and concerns, but also would have addressed several others.

But he didn't. So as he catches sight of the figure about a hundred yards down the way languidly sunbathing on a solid black beach chair, in a solid black swimsuit, with a solid black floppy sun hat sitting on top of the base of her neck instead of a head, his first thoughts go straight to--

There's been a murder.

Collecting sand and water samples would have been terribly unexciting, anyway. Dustin abandons those projects immediately and starts scuttling his way over to Celty's position, keeping his footsteps quiet and his figure low in case the killer is still around. They must be, right? Why else would you pose a body like this unless you wanted to watch someone discover it? Dustin's brow furrows and his mouth creases into a thin line. Disgusting. Hopefully their sick sense of vanity will give him enough time to get close and gather some clues, even if they've already spotted him approaching.

First goal: ID the deceased. This part is easy, as Celty's motorcycle and distinctive helmet are still at the scene of the crime. Perhaps they were left there intentionally? Either way, Dustin feels a pang of regret. He's seen Celty riding her motorcycle through Temba before, through the broken windows of old shops that he's hidden in to stay out of her way. It's a slick ride. He'd hoped to ask her about it someday. Sure, now he could theoretically just look at it himself without having to get up the nerve to talk to her, but even Dustin can't bring himself to be excited about tuning up a dead woman's bike.

Second goal: Identify cause of death. 'Decapitation' seems like the obvious, though that could have happened post-mortem. The only way to know for sure is to check the body. If Celty lets him get that close, Dustin will roll up to the foot of her beach chair, take a quick glance over her for outward signs of trauma, then duck to her side and - visibly wincing at the thought of what he's going to find underneath - lift up the brim of her hat.

She'd dozed off. The warmth was nicely tempered here in the shade and with the coastal breeze, and the sound of the waves against the shore had been a strangely lulling one. With Dustin being as careful as he is, she doesn't notice at all how close someone's come.

Dustin's treated to a strangely clean decapitation. There's no blood, no onset of necrosis. Instead, there's...a blackness that seems to seep out from the neck's stump like smoke. It flows languidly out from under the hat as the teenager lifts the brim. But then it begins to shift, clumping up slightly before it dissipates like a shadowy mist, still ever flowing from her neck- and yet that's not the strangest part as the corpse moves.

You'd move too if someone let the sun get in your eyes. Not that she has any, but her senses still operate somehow, and in that moment she sits bolt upright, the hat drifting to the sand beside the chair.

Edited (ugh tenses) 2022-06-22 05:19 (UTC)

Whatever Dustin was expecting to see, it definitely was not this. He just stands there for a few moments in dull shock and watches the odd black smoke wisp from the formless hole in this woman's neck.

...Did a Shade do this? Might not be the first thought most people would have if they saw this, but to Dustin it's about as plausible an idea as anything else. Weird smoke garbage is kind of their thing. I didn't see anyone in the 'Dictionary' that would fit the description. Disguised? Likely. I wonder how many other universes have them? Or is it from fuck shit what the fuck

Dustin's too startled by the apparent corpse suddenly moving to even vocalize his internal stream of curses. Instead he manages a yell of surprise, dropping the hat and stumbling backwards. Yet still the thought of Celty being alive (in a sense) is not the first theory that he grasps onto. Why would it be? There must be some rational explanation for this.

The smoke! Someone must be animating her. Again Dustin feels disgust well up in his chest, eyes rapidly scanning the treeline for figures, then locking back on the flow of smoke from the corpse's neck to see if it's leading anywhere telling. Kill someone, then dance her body around like a puppet? One of these fuckers is wrong in the head.

What might strike Dustin as strange is that the 'corpse' reacts in almost the exact same way once she realizes someone's there. She jerks back with a start, enough that the chair she sits on jolts along with the force of it, however not enough to topple.

-who?? Ah... I don't recognize this boy. On dear, I hope I haven't scared him too badly. Wait, what's with that look...?

The swirling of the black mistlike substance from her neck calms again with her thoughts and then wisps more cautiously, almost. It doesn't stretch anywhere further, tapering off into nothingness not terribly far from her body. She shifts where she sits, turning slightly as though to look around, not that she needs to do so by much- her peripheral vision's always been much broader than a human's.

Right, my tablet...

She reaches under her beach chair to find it.

Dustin's expression shifts gradually from abject revulsion to befuddlement. The corpse's reactions seem too...natural. Like the separation he's expecting between body and host doesn't exist. Or like the body wasn't expecting him to be here. This is compounded by how the black smoke-like mist doesn't look like it's going anywhere, no matter how hard Dustin studies the trailing end of it.

No obvious source. Is there...is she the source?

It's a weird idea, but not impossible. Shades manifest really bizarre abilities apparently. Possession is not outside of that realm, and if it could be done, this is how Dustin imagines it would look.

...Which means I could be looking at the murderer, right now.

His paranoia is amplified as Celty starts reaching for something under her chair. Having stood stock-still so far, Dustin suddenly takes another couple of steps back towards the water, eyes narrowed. "The fuck are you doing?" he barks, voice wavering. "You gonna take me out like you took her out? Don't think I'm not on to you!"

This sounds like a threat, but it's all bluster. The closest things Dustin has to weapons on him are a lighter and some pointy sticks in the sling of sweaters on his back. If Celty (or in his mind, whoever is possessing Celty's lifeless body) attacks him, he's fucked and he kind of knows that.

Celty practically jumps when he suddenly shouts at her. She flails a hand at him, the other still, reaching under the chair, fingers feeling about the sand. She does pause for a second, staring, as it were, as she hears what he says.

Took who out? What??

The black mists waft and twist almost anxiously now, but the headless woman resumes her grasping until she pulls out the tablet. She dusts it off from the sand, pulling up the note program to...type? Her fingers are quick as they tap across the screen, and once she's done she turns the tablet out towards the teenager.

[What are you talking about? Who took someone out???]

This situation is rapidly approaching a point where Dustin can't keep rationalizing it the way he has been. Celty seems just as surprised as he is by everything happening here. Not having a face makes reading her intentions a little more difficult, but her body language speaks well enough.

Still, Dustin doesn't want to believe it. A good actor? Or... He squints at the text on her offered tablet, lip curling in flustered disbelief. The fact that this she can't speak is, somehow, the least surprising part of this encounter so far. ...I mean, I guess Celty herself could be the Shade, and this is how her powers have manifested. As a...being that's had her head replaced with void smoke? No, that can't be right. What the actual fuck am I looking at right now?

Dustin shakes himself out of his confusion just enough to get some words out. "--I'm talking about you," he stammers - presented like a challenge, but the steam is clearly going out of him at this point. He swipes a hand through his hair, agitated. "You're--fuck, I can't believe I have to ask this--you're aware that you don't have a head?"

The woman sits rigid at first with the question, and then her shoulders sag, the black mist almost mimicking a sudden dejected air as it uncurls in more languid, unenthusiastic wisps. Again her fingers move across her screen.

[Well aware. I'm sorry if I startled you. I didn't think anyone had noticed me come out here.]

There's no breath but her body still follows the motions of a sigh, well, save for her lack of a functional pair of lungs anyway. She can't relax with an antsy teenager here, certainly. Swinging her feet to one side of the chair, she stands, shadows swirling about her body to recreate her riding suit, covering her pale skin from neck to toe.

With the initial shock out of the way, Dustin is now in a position to be petulant. He vigorously shakes his head and puts out a hand to signal Celty to stop.

"--No, no no no," he says loudly. "We are not gonna just walk away from this and pretend it didn't happen. I'm not playing that game today."

A part of Dustin recognizes that this line of questioning is probably pretty tedious for Celty; it's obvious in the way her body sags, goes through the motions of exasperation and disappointment. The rest of him, though, sees it as an admission that she's used to it. She's not normal where she came from, either. Which means he's absolutely justified in freaking out about her right now.

He continues, eyes widening slightly as her suit materializes around her. There's some recognition, there - enough that Dustin would have had further rationalization for Celty being a Shade from his world, perhaps. But not when she's got the look of a headless corpse. That ain't right.

"How long? Whole life? Two minutes ago? When did it happen?"

She stoops over to pick up er helmet, setting it into place where it somehow stays. Even if she's been found out, she feels a little better having something to hide behind.

[I've always been like this.]

Well, not exactly. She used to have a head to carry around while she flung buckets of blood at people who saw her. But she doesn't exactly feel like getting into her personal story right now, especially not with this boy looking about to have a meltdown.

The helmet is suddenly starting to make a lot more sense. This whole time. Dustin's never even met Celty properly before now (and could we even call this a 'proper meeting?') and he still feels kind of betrayed.

"So this is normal life for you?" Stated like he hasn't quite accepted it fully yet, although his body language has shifted from 'confused terror' to 'interrogative' by this point. "What even are you? Astral being? Occult? Alien?"

Her shoulders shift in what might have been a silent laugh. This place is anything but normal, but she knows what he means. At least the kid doesn't look ready to scream again, but Celty's not sure she likes being questioned like this either. Is this how normal people react? No...she supposes normal people were the ones who ran off or even ran her over with a car in their terror. What was this, an odd middle-ground then?

She shudders at being called an alien. Is it strange being someone like her yet creeped out by aliens?

[Fairy, so I guess occult might be closest. I'm a dullahan.]

Celty doesn't have to try very hard to be the strangest person Dustin has run into so far (at least, strangest to his knowledge). Everything about this situation has caught him off-guard - yet somehow, the fact that she's not some weird extradimensional being that he couldn't possibly find an analogue for is what throws Dustin the furthest.

His eyes glimmer first in surprised recognition, then with an odd, random sort of shimmy, like he's quickly reading something. He blinks a couple of times.

"...Oh." Dustin's shoulders slump as, finally, some of the tension leaves them. He tilts his head in honest curiosity. "That makes a lot of sense, actually. Irish, right?"

It's...difficult to digest this reaction. Celty looks almost concerned if not awkward as she stands there, clutching her tablet in both hands as she tries not to fidget there, waiting. For what, she isn't sure. Dustin's slump almost seems like disappointment, but he doesn't really sound like he is once he speaks up again.

That he knows what a dullahan is puts her oddly at ease, perhaps because his response isn't to freak out even more so. Her helmet nods.

[Yes. I'm originally from Ireland, but I've since moved to Japan. It's been a long time since I've been home.]

"Fascinating," Dustin breathes, mostly to himself. Any kind of apprehension he had just a minute ago is rapidly melting away as he focuses on connecting the dots. Internally, he's kicking himself a little bit for not seeing the parallels sooner. Detachable helmet head, corpse-like appearance, shadowy manifestations, motorcycle instead of a horse or carriage. The only things missing are the mythos - which are, frankly, the things he should actually be concerned about.

"...Seems like a long way to travel to collect the souls of the dead," Dustin says, quirking a heavy eyebrow. "Unless your universe's version of a dullahan doesn't do that. I mean, I guess the Agrii could have brought you here as a fucked up way to tell us we're all going to die, but I feel like there would've been more chatter about you if that was the case."

She looks like she's sighing again, although not necessarily in exasperation for Dustin's interests so much as how complicated her life had become.

[I don't know my purpose anymore. I came to Japan to look for my head. It was taken from me, and I only know it's somewhere there. ...but that was twenty years ago, and I still haven't found it. I was advised to give up.]

Celty sat back down at the edge of her beach chair, and after a moment she conjured up one beside Dustin in case he wanted to sit too. It seems only polite to offer, anyway.

[These days I've been working as a courier. I guess it's not so bad, the life I've found. But then all this happened.]

Dustin does not sit down in the chair. Fine effort, but it is still made of shadows, and Celty is still an inscrutable fae corpse. Curiosity does not equate to trust. Instead he gives her a look and quietly steps out of the sunlight. The boy looks like he could do with some shade; several days of exploring the abandoned summer city without sunscreen has left his sickly pale skin a uniform pink.

"I mean...that's not the career progression I would've expected. But I guess it makes a kind of sense." Dustin scratches the back of his neck, looking awkward. I am not prepared to deal with an alternate universe headless horsewoman's existential crisis. "You're right though - doesn't matter anymore anyway. We're all the Agrii's bitches now. Our jobs are what they say they are."

Is he bitter? No. Perish the thought.

It shows how much she's become influenced by humans. Her mannerisms, even her way of thinking. She looks a little awkward as the boy declines to sit, but the gesture had been made and she supposes that's all she can really do about it. She pulls up her feet onto the edge of the chair, hugging her arms around her knees.

No, Celty doesn't blame Dustin in the least for that bitterness. She wants to go home. Back to Ikebukurou, back to Shinra. Not be stuck in some alien world without much of a lead on how to even help them, even if they don't look like the creepy ones she's seen in fictional portrayals.

[Not only the Agrii.]

She pauses after tapping out this out, turning the tablet back towards herself to continue.

[I was told there's another party involved. The ones who drove the Agrii out. The ones who have been here longer, they know more about it. I can't explain too much as I barely understand it myself.]

Well this is new. Dustin cocks his head in clear interest as he reads what Celty's written for him...before his expression falters and scrunches into one of annoyance. What good are you then? is what the teen barely keeps himself from blurting out, though the thought is written plain on his face. Having the promise of new information dangled in front of him like this is terribly frustrating.

"Great. Spectacular," Dustin huffs in exasperation. "I guess I'll look into that more myself. Do you at least remember who told you about this?"

Not because he's going to ask them himself - more like, he's going to search every instance of their name on the network to see if they're full of shit. Validating primary sources is important.

She stares at him, noting the changes of expression and really not able to blame him for it. But she feels it's better that he get the information from a more direct source than from herself and end up with something very paraphrased. After waiting a moment until he finally gets his words out, she nods, typing again.

[Tony Stark.]

Dustin's eyes flash briefly in recognition. The guy with the fancy armor. He hasn't run into the man personally, but his reputation precedes him as someone who is, apparently, quite intelligent. Or an asshole. Or both? Either way, Tony's drifting further up Dustin's list of people he eventually needs to bite the bullet on and talk to.

"Noted."

There's a long pause as he just kind of...stands there, shuffling his feet slightly in the sand. This would normally be the part in a conversation where Dustin, having recognized a failed lead, would leave. But Celty is not a normal conversation partner - she's a motherfucking headless Irish fairy. He's got so many questions and is completely flummoxed about how to broach any of them without being hideously awkward about it.

Eventually Dustin gives up, and the dam breaks. "--Can I see your motorcycle?" he blurts.

Given all the earlier scrutiny and wariness, the sudden request completely catches Celty off guard. She straightens with a start, staring a moment before her shoulders shake a little in a silent chuckle. Everyone's always drawn to her motorcycle, so she supposes she shouldn't be surprised.

She nods then, gesturing for Dustin to go ahead as she gets up from her chair.

He moves over to the motorcycle immediately, scuttling past Celty and her weird conjured beach chairs with the same sort of manic energy he had when first approaching her. Some of that initial paranoia is still there, even, as Dustin pauses to look over his shoulders before kneeling down at the bike's side. But mostly the teenager just looks excited.

"This is part of the ensemble, right?" he asks, though considering how he immediately follows that up with more rapid-fire questions it's more of a statement, or perhaps a launching-off point. "A development on the horse or carriage from the myths I'm assuming. Was it always a motorcycle, or did it change over time as global technology advanced? Or did you change it intentionally?"

The chairs are banished with a sweep of her hand, black mist evaporating in the blink of an eye. Trailing after Dustin, Celty follows after him, stepping around to the side. She lifts a hand to set on the handlebars, and the teenager would hear the ghostly echo of a horse's nicker.

[I couldn't smuggle a horse and carriage aboard a ship. But I didn't want to leave him. Fortunately, I found an old motorcycle abandoned by the docks. It was foreign to me at the time, but obvious enough as a method of transportation.]

She offers the explanation once she finishes her typing.

Dustin has a hand out, gently running his fingers over the motorcycle's chassis, but flinches away quickly as it...makes a horse noise at him? Probably should have expected something weird like that. The interruption gets him to look up and read Celty's new message, at least, which answers a couple questions.

"So it's a...sort of transformation. A soul transfer?" Dustin resumes observing the motorcycle - with just his eyes this time - taking particular interest in the engine. "Is it--sorry. Is he sentient?"

I. (i'm so sorry)

ded XD

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