Logs:The Haunting of Pan pt 4 (or: Failure is always an option)

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The Haunting of Pan pt 4 (or: Failure is always an option)


Characters: Pan, with Lysander as Storyteller
Date: 2019-11-03
Summary: In which Pan is not quite the undead badass they expected to be.
Disclaimers: {{{disclaimers}}}

They wait. And they wait. But the hands on the watch shift and wander, and eventually point directly towards the lone figure walking a motorcycle up the docks. Dr. Jonas is a tall man, mundane enough when he's not in scrubs; he dresses in khakis and a bomber jacket. He's walking because it's night and people are asleep and he has consideration for his neighbors, unlike some. The man parks his bike there on the dock in front of his boat and starts for it at a deliberately quiet pace.

That's a nice jacket. Pan is already trying to decide what size Dr. Jonas is, and whether that jacket will fit them. Here's a question: if you kill someone in their jacket and get blood on it, will it -always- smell like blood? Will that be good or bad, for a vampire. And a nice bike to get away on. This could work out. Pan, still under the cloak of Obfuscate, pushes away from where they're standing and slowly, stealthily glides through the night to follow the good doctor to his boat. They -definitely- don't want to have to pick that damned door again - being within arm's reach so they can reach out and catch it as it closes to slip in would be ideal.

Really, it depends on the company one keeps - the vampires might find it crass, or just rub all up on Pan and get excited or something, if they're that sort. Or it might attract attention of another sort - probably better not to get blood on the jacket.

From inside his jacket, Dr. Jonas pulls out a light pistol. He slides to one side, opens the door as quietly as he can, and then peeks into the room, braced, ready. The hesitation gives Pan a little extra time to get there and then slip in right after him while he's stepping into his sanctuary, which has clearly been violated. The lights flick on with a touch, and the man growls under his breath at the missing gaming gear.

Oh no, he's been robbed, this is surely the worst thing that will happen to Jonas all night. Pan slips around Jonas, and moves to head toward the bedroom. He's -paranoid-, and that's fun. Pan, from inside the bedroom, removes Malik's watch from their wrist. And gently tosses it, underhanded, so it will land just outside the bedroom door with a quiet 'thump'.

Instantly the gun comes up. Dr. Jonas weighs his options for a moment, staring at the stairs which lead down to the bedroom and the watch that just landed there. A moment of silence, then he speaks with cold, hard authority. "I know you're in there. I have a gun and I will shoot to defend my life and property. Put your hands up and come out slowly and we can resolve this without calling the police." He's not coming any closer.

Malik, however, has other ideas. The lights flicker slightly.

The Obfuscate drops. Pan reclines on the bed, facing the door. They prop themselves up on their elbows, and cross their ankles oh-so-demurely. "Aaaaabe," they call out in their best I'm-Just-A-Pretty-Girl voice, "Aren't you even going to come say hello? You've got a gun. I promise I'm unarmed. I went to all this effort to meet you."

What in the... hell? Dr. Abraham Jonas lowers the gun for a moment, then steps towards the bedroom, bringing it back up. There are stairs, and a watch to step over. He stops to pick up the watch and tuck it carefully into his pocket. Pan's phone buzzes with an ominous litany of 'oh shit oh shit ohshitohshitohshit'.

There's a creak as the door leading downwards is forced open and Dr. Jonas begins to step down the stairs one at a time, the gun still raised, his head lowered to duck down and see who exactly is lying on his fucking bed. He's too damn tall - it's an awkward angle.

"Who are you?" There's no emotion in his voice. It sounds like a friendly question, but there's a gun pointed at Pan.

That's the thing about guns and vampires. Humans -think- they're threatening assault with a deadly weapon when really they're armed with the violence equivalent of a pillow case filled with sand. Not fun to be hit with, but ultimately just an inconvenience that can be solved.

And in the end, why should Pan be afraid? They're absolutely convinced they're in control, here.

"I'm called Conquista del Pan. I've been following your work, Abe. Ever since I met Malik Miles." Pan holds up a hand, waggles fingers as if to say 'hey, look, I'm gonna grab something real obvious, if I was going for a gun I'd be sneaky' and reaches back to dump out their courier bag full of watches onto the bedspread. "But you've got so -many- friends like Malik, don't you, Abe."

The doctor blanches. "Those belong in their cases." His voice has gone careful, gentle, soothing. The lights flicker again. His attention has locked on the watches. "Get out and I won't shoot you," he says, low-voiced, his attention still fixed on the watches, his shoulders shifting the way one braces when one is suddenly concerned about a tiger in the room. One hand comes off the gun and he reaches into his collar.

"If you don't put both hands back on your gun, I will tear your fucking throat out and dance in your arterial spray," Pan says, simply, calmly, coolly. "I trust the gun, Abe. I don't trust you reaching for other things. And I want to have a conversation with you. I want to hear an explanation from your own mouth before we make any rash decisions. But I -will- decide things very rashly if I think you're going to reach for something I trust less than guns."

The doctor is not stopping. He raises the gun in Pan's direction, in fact, and just keeps right on grabbing for whatever's under his shirt, lips already forming the muttered words of some other language.

One moment, Pan is on the bed. The next, Pan has the wrist of Jonas's gun hand in their left hand, the wrist of the one going for his neck in the right, and their elbow slammed into the surgeon's throat. They don't -appear- to cross the intervening distance, and they're...wow, -stronger- than they look, by a lot. Jonas's back is shoved against the wall, and Pan leans in close. "Is it time for my dance routine, Abe? Or are we going to start paying attention to instructions?" They lean back, just enough to make sure Abe can talk unobstructed.

There is, perhaps, an instant of fear. Is the surgeon even capable of fear? "You don't know what you're doing," he hisses. "You're intruding in things you don't understand!" The gun does /not/ go off, though he could squeeze the trigger - in fact, he flips the safety on and just... lets it go. Clearly it's pointless against this monster that is Pan. The fear is gone, the surgeon's eyes cold as a dead fish, and he begins to let out a word of some other language, sibilant and strange.

The lights snap abruptly /off/. A heartbeat later, a wave of /sickness/ washes through the room. Pan hasn't felt sick since they were mortal. Mortality seems momentarily /close/ - the urge to vomit, the crippling sense of weakness in one's bones - and then it's forced back by sheer will.

Dr. Jonas looks briefly ill - just briefly green around the gills, his vocalization interrupted for a faint gagging noise. When he catches his breath: "You have to let me calm them," he growls, "or this whole place will burn!"

There is the sense of a presence behind Pan, watching them. Looming. Glance even a little to the right and they'll see a figure in the mirror that is the closet door.

"Oh, you wanna calm down the ghosts of all the people you've murdered because they have fancy watches, Abe?" Burning -is- scary, actually. That makes Pan -think- for a second. "Maybe this is the right choice, Abe. Maybe letting -them- come for you is better than me doing it. Maybe my only role here is facilitator. Agitator. Breaker of the machinery that kept them fucking imprisoned. I'm your mother-fucking Walter Peck and your psychopath ectoplasmic containment unit -needs- to suffer a catastrophic breach because as much as we love our childhood heroes, Ghostbusting is a fucking Libertarian nightmare and the EPA were actually the good guys."

For most of that, Dr. Jonas was right there understanding, recognizing. The last of it, though, causes his eyes to visibly flicker into 'what the fuck?' and his brow to furrow. He begins to struggle, to actually fight back. "You're insane!" That's the safest possible thing to say here. "Let me go!" He /should/ be able to fight Pan's slight figure, but he's... not having much luck. His strength is only average, and Pan is an undead monster. "NOW!"

Okay, Jonas has dropped the gun. There's ghosty shit going on in the background, but Pan trusts the ghosts not to go full-on poltergeist as long as they're working on restraining the murderer. Pan twists Abe around, shoving him face-first now against the wall. They go up on one foot and shove a knee into the small of his back, and gather both his wrists in one hand. The other goes fishing in the courier bag. There is a variety of things that could be used for this purpose: handcuffs, rope - but Dr. Murder here has earned a little lost arm hair. When Pan's hand comes back out, it's holding a roll of duct tape. If the doc sees that he can probably guess what's coming if he doesn't escape soon.

Panic sets in - well, not panic, exactly. Tightly controlled... concern. The doctor's struggles get more violent, more vicious. He's /kicking/ at Pan. They'd better hurry - if it takes more than a few seconds, they're not going to be able to keep hold of him.

-Does- Pan have balls? Does it matter if vampires have balls? Or does it just hurt no matter what you've got between your legs when someone panics -that- hard kicking you? Jonas's leg comes up and his foot impacts Pan -right- in the least convenient place to get kicked. Pan woofs out air they'd been holding for -talking with-, damnit, and their grip loosens just enough for the panicked surgeon to fight free.

The surgeon swings, kicks, spins out from around the entrapping Pan, and snatches something out of his shirt - some kind of symbol on a chain, and begins to chant. His tone is calm, commanding, compelling. The lights do not come back on. However, in very short order, there /is/ light.

Fireghost.jpg

The young woman manifests as a half-burned, half burning victim of fire. Her face is half melted, her skin clearly peeling at the edges. One side of her, particularly her right arm, is literally on fire, burning with ghostly flame. She's transparent, but real enough that flames light the room even though they're not burning anything - yet.

So when you're a vampire as young as Pan, it's easy to be overconfident. It's easy to think you're in control and be very wrong. It's easy to assume that 'they'll burn us alive' is an exageration. And it's easy to underestimate how fucking terrifying the sudden appearance of a flaming ghost is. And so...fuck this shit. Pan is -out-. Sorry, Malik. Sorry other ghosts. One frame of the security camera will show Pan is there. The next does not show Pan. Pan is gone. Pan is an ex-participant in this scene. Pan is two hundred and sixteen feet away in the space between blinking and reopening a human eye and does not stop moving at the end of that period.

Fuckthisshit.gif

The chanting, behind Pan, continues, but fades away. Dr. Jonas has his ghosts, his watches. His gun. The only thing he's really missing is his Oculus Rift, and he can buy another one of those. The bike is still on the dock, and the houseboat does not go up in flames, at least not immediately.

The next evening, the house boat is gone.