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The Chronicles of Hannah Flynn, Ghost (continued) [17 Jul 2008|11:41pm] Captain's Log Stardate 07.17.2012 In the spirit of Revelation 2012 (ghosties are real!), I have decided to embark on a part-time gig as a serial prank artist. I shall use my invisibility as an ally! Because I'm the jumble-headed sort, I've decided to compile a list of entry-level 'prank jobs' for the week. My chosen target? The Stanley-Ballard Office Building, where I shall become known as the Mischievous Spirit of Stanley-Ballard! Monday- The Copy Machine Job Infiltrate the office building. Locate the copy room. Wait for an employee to approach alone. Watch them start a huge batch of copies. While their back is turned, quickly remove original document, go visible, and press my face against the screen. Make 'silent scream' expression for a few copies, then retreat before they notice. Follow them back to the desk. Watch as the chips fall where they may. Tuesday- The Lobby Job Lay in the middle of the first floor lobby, preferably in front of the elevators. Let people trip over me. Scream in agony (maybe legitimately). Wednesday- The Helpful Spirit Job Go to the company gym. Sneak into the men's locker room. Find the showers. Wait for a victim. Start handing him things, like the shampoo, conditioner, or bar of soap. If he runs screaming, offer him his towel. Edit: Can I make a camera go invisible with me? Thursday- The Car Job Materialize in Mr. Ballard's passenger seat. Once he's driving, begin to mess with things. For example: a) repeatedly change the station to Rump-Shakin' Classics, b) flick on the windshield wipers, c) turn on the hazards, d) while he's at a stoplight, engage the parking brake, e) use electric button to roll down his windows, f) reach over and honk the horn. Friday- The Porn Job Infiltrate Mr. Stanley's personal office. While he's in a meeting, sneak onto his computer. Begin downloading pornographic photos. Send them as attachments on business emails! Include captions like, 'Let's DO lunch!' ***** As you can see, faithful log, I am settling into my existence as a spirit. It doesn't have the zing-badda-bing of life, but it's got some perks! If I hadn't died, Whistler wouldn't be around, and I never would've met Oliver. Plus I am helping people! I've gotta chance now to do more than serve cherry pie and meatloaf. I still haven't given up my dreams of being a Real Girl again. It's funny how being ordinary never seemed that great, 'til I got to be extraordinary.The above experiment is to see how the PTBs handle a little misappropriation of talents. Fingers crossed! But I guess I wanna say, if this is what the world's got in store for me, I can take it. Not only that, I can have a fun time doin' it. So don't you worry about me. Hannah Flynn's gonna be alright. I think my earth HQ's are about to change. Oliver's thinking about leaving Nevada, once his legs are healed up. If he goes someplace else, that's probably where I'll be, when I get time off 'the job'. So maybe sandy old Searchlight's not the long-haul for me, after all. Goodbye Verlie Doing, I'll miss getting knocked upside the head for using the 'H' word. Goodbye Natasha Rockwell, I hope you find some bodyguards to love in California! Goodbye town where I loved Devon O'Connell, who kissed me in the middle of the street with a sun-halo behind his head. Goodbye Sonya Ramius, I'll miss our road trips to pick up ketchup packets and demons dressed like Liberace! Goodbye Creepy British Goth Chick, who made me sell my soul for Tom Jones tickets and nearly shoot my foot off. Goodbye Mrs. Abernathy, and your casseroles. Goodbye Searchlight Ladies' League, BINGO was a blast and a half, especially when I ran off with all your trolls like a looter in a riot. Goodbye Mallory Quinn, my great friend, save the turtles... clip your soda rings! Goodbye Julie Sanchez, who taught me Spanish cuss words, I just know you'll find what you're looking for! As for Victoria, Whistler, Connor, Deanna, and all the rest: I don't know why, but I've got this feeling I'll see you on the flip side! This is Hannah, signing off. Humph!

Oliver and Hannah [14 Jul 2008|03:34pm] Oliver's sleep was surprisingly peaceful, but that might just have been the sedatives. He woke up slowly, feeling a heaviness in his bladder, and the call button brought a nurse bustling into the room with a bedpan. There was a television bolted to the wall, the remote on the bedside table, but he didn't reach for it. The casts on his legs were a stark white, and he glowered down at them. He'd never broken a bone before, much less two at once. He hoped the doctors had been able to set them properly. A limp was a souvenir he didn't want. He sagged back against the pillows, looking at the silent television. He wondered how the wreck was being explained, the presence of those decidedly not human bodies at the scene. He hoped Homeland Security fucking choked on the bad publicity. Hannah’s ethereal presence filtered into the hospital room. She arrived tentatively; she was a little unsure of herself, because she hadn’t been Oliver’s knight in shining armor after all. In fact, if it weren’t for a terrible wreck, he might still be holed up someplace secret. When she came into solidity, Hannah was over by the window. She was nothing more than dust particulates floating in a shaft of sunlight. Slowly those specks became girl-shaped. She gnawed on her lip. “Oliver?” She looked at his leg casts. Ouch! Perhaps it was that he was getting used to her appearances, as if the way she materialized had a sound like the wind picking up, her petite frame slowly becoming solid to allow him to touch her. Maybe it was simply because he was in love with her. Oliver's head turned towards on the pillow so that he faced the window, and a weary smile touched the corners of his mouth. From heaven, all things really are possible. "Hello, love," he said quietly. "Please excuse me if I don't get up. I'm rather indisposed at the moment." ( The 'We Hate Hospitals' Club ) ( A Booster Shot of Sorts ) Humph!

On the Dusty Road [09 Jul 2008|07:15pm] Hannah Flynn grieved. Gone were the good old days of Searchlight, when the Nugget was full of familiar people, and the Lighthouse was a fun place to go for a drink, and her best friends were only a few trailers away. Hannah had passed away, but as long as the faces of her old life remained, she had a 'home' on the earth plane. They kept her memories alive. They made it seem like nothing had changed. Now, as she watched them part ways, leaving one another behind, her best and last years slipped away, too. Soon, nobody who ate at the dinner would remember Hannah Flynn. Thinking that way made Hannah feel downright selfish! But she couldn't help it. She had wanted them to stay forever, just the same. But people had to move on. People like Julie. It wasn't too fun to admit, but it was a good idea. That musty old town couldn't love Julie the werewolf, like it loved Julie the cute bartender. Hannah's official business was the spirit world, but she wasn't above pulling strings. After she became a ghost, Hannah used it to spy on Devon O'Connell, former boyfriend, forever friend. Now Julie was on a quest to find Devon, because she believed he was the only person who could help her. Hannah didn't know how true it was, but if Julie believed it, she wanted to make her wish come true. Dropping in on the living was a shock-inducing thing; She had the decency to wait until Julie pulled the car over to pump gas. "Wow... Six-fifty a gallon?! Cripes, am I glad I'm not driving a station wagon these days!" Whomever bought her old Gremlin at the auction must've been doing a happy dance. That thing could go for light-years on fumes. Thread: Julie and Hannah 1 Stomp |Humph!

Dazed and Confused [17 Jun 2008|09:54pm] http://asylums.insanejournal.com/free_form2/43930.html Humph!

Shining Armour [04 Jun 2008|09:12pm] It started slowly, after a couple of days. He'd started mumbling to himself when the guard came in to bring him his meal trays, looking off at nothing with his lips moving, the words barely audible. He could feel time passing despite the absence of his watch, knew that days must have gone by since they'd stuffed him into that truck, and the more time he felt pass, the more he knew they were watching him. And so he let it progress, withdrawing further into himself as he looked through the bars of his cell at someone who wasn't there, occasionally raising his voice to a shout until another uniformed watchdog would come along and growl at him to sit down on his bunk. He usually responded by spitting on whoever it as, or at least cursing them in no uncertain terms. He'd taken off all of his clothes except for his underwear at the end of the fourth day, and the burns and razor cuts stood out in sharp evidence against his pale skin. His bed had gone unused since the third day, so he now slept on the floor, sometimes with his thumb in his mouth. They suspected he was faking. Suspected it but couldn't know for sure, not with his psychiatric history. In one of his more lucid periods, he suggested they call his mother and ask her about it. He didn't think they took him up on that. Oliver was currently sitting in the corner of his cell, his bare legs pulled up against his chest as the cold floor chilled his ass. He would have killed for a cigarette. He wrapped his arms tighter around his knees, fingers whitening from the grip. His unwashed hair fell into his face as he tucked further into himself, and his lips started moving as a mumble rose from the knot of limbs. If he'd learned nothing else, he learned they hated Patsy Cline songs. "I'm cra-zee... cra-zee for feelin' so lonely....." Loneliness had become familiar territory for Hannah. Four days in a row, she came to Oliver's hotel room and sat on his mattress. Hours passed but he never arrived. At first she merely bit her lip and worried she'd mixed up the date. That progressed into a terrible, gnawing fear that Oliver no longer wanted to see her. After all, theirs was an unlikely match. Perhaps he'd met another girl... No, a woman who could spend nights and go to martini lounges and see art exhibits. As badly as that settled on her guts, nothing was worse than noticing how, over several days, Oliver's shoes didn't move. Not once. An awful thing must've happened. One thing Hannah did know? He wasn't dead. For that, she thanked her lucky stars. Begging and pleading weren't effective ways of getting the goods from the Powers That Be. What eventually worked was nagging. Lots and lots of it. Hannah got her way. Oliver had been stolen. The headquarters of Project Integration were locked up tight. Nothing short of a hydrogen bomb would knock those walls down. It was nearly impossible to infiltrate by spellwork. The one thing they didn't count on was a ghost. She slipped into the ether in increments, at first resembling nothing more than dust particles illuminated by sunlight. Gradually she coalesced into the shape of a girl. 'Cra-zee... cra-zee for feelin' so blue...' By the time Hannah crouched down and touched his hair, she was solid. "Oliver?" ( A Fairy Tale Rescue? ) "Keep safe, pixie," he said, loudly enough that anyone lurking outside might simply think he was rambling again. "I'll save an extra slice of cake for you tonight." Once she was gone, he sank back against the wall, his skull making muted contact with the unforgiving concrete blocks. She would save him, she and the vampire. He believed it at the bottom of his soul. Humph!

Good Timing [06 May 2008|03:31pm] Mallory had become very careful with her schedule. Up early to go running just after the sun came up, then back to the trailer for a quick breakfast before cleaning up the dishes and taking Tuffy for a long walk. After that she'd usually go down to the diner to drink a couple of cups of coffee while sitting at the counter and watching Verlie give the evil eye to the truckers who talked too loud when they straggled in from the highway. The trailer was too quiet. She'd unplugged the phone to keep herself from weakening and using it to call Victoria, relying on the cell phone Agent Markowitz had issued her when she'd gotten her badge because the vampire didn't have the number. She'd done the right thing. Made the mature decision, the only decision. She'd also woken up crying for the past three mornings. If there was nothing DHS needed her to do, she stayed to herself and didn't seek out company because she couldn't stand being near anybody. Not even Julie, who she loved like a sister, but she knew Julie wouldn't be able to be honest and say she was sorry it was over between her and Vicky. She wouldn't ask Julie to lie for the sake of their friendship, so it was better to keep away from her. She hurt, hurt worse than she'd ever hurt. And she was so Goddamned lonely that she kept the television on all the time just so she could hear another voice. She cried a lot, randomly, bursting into tears while she was cooking dinner or cleaning the bathroom or carrying the garbage out. Mrs Abnernathy caught her bawling while leaning on the rearview mirror of the truck, a bag of groceries sitting at her feet, and the old lady had offered her a glass of too-sweet tea to make her feel better. That just made her cry harder. She'd done the right thing. She had to stick to it. Even if it made her feel like she was dying. Of all the gifts Hannah Flynn had been entrusted with upon her death and rebirth, being empathic wasn’t one of them. Her appearance at Mallory’s trailer was coincidental. It was no longer strictly necessary to materialize in the middle of someone’s living room. Nowadays, the ghostly Agent could access her solid body and follow traditional habits, such as knocking at the door. This she did now, frowning at certain signs that all wasn’t right in Mallory’s world. Scrubby grass poked up around the front steps and begged to be cut back. A couple of newspapers hadn’t been brought inside the trailer. Hannah held an electronic bill in hand, which she’d found below the mailbox, coated in desert dust, as if the redhead had dropped it and hadn’t even noticed. This was her old neighborhood, too. Certain precautions had to be taken upon appearing there, lest a nosy person take note of Hannah’s post-mortem visit. She wore nondescript jeans and flip-flops, topped off with a yellow hoodie, which she pulled tight around her face. Hannah rapped her knuckles against the door a second time. “Mallory?” she called, attempting to project her voice through the door, but nowhere else. “Um… don’t freak out… just an old friend.” ( Heart to Heart ) Humph!

The Family Tree [27 Apr 2008|11:21pm] One, two, three... sliiiiiide. One, two, three... sliiiiide. It was ten o'clock and the lights in Searchlight's tiny bowling alley had gone dim. The only staff member left behind was Whistler, entrusted with closing up shop. He was in a back room, probably locking cash in a safe; She didn't really know. Hannah was too busy fulfilling a childhood dream. Using the polished, wooden lane as a slip-n-slide for her socked feet. New and improved control over her solid form allowed her this childish joy. It also supplied a heapin' helpin' of pain when she lost her balance. "Whoa-- shiiit!" Thunk. "Oww... my ass." Hannah rubbed her posterior and waited for the sensation to subside. She wondered if she could bruise. One, two, three, four, five... "Ugh." Why anyone would pay for their shoe rental in pennies was a mystery. They were intrinsically evil. 'Give a penny, get a penny' wasn't for anyone's benefit. And the mix of more nickel than actual copper meant it held residual energies. Get enough of them together and they could disrupt electronics. Batch 'em up in a plastic thingee beside a cash register, and no one's cash out was safe. It could bring down governments. Evil. Six, seven, eight, whoa shiiit! Whistler ran out of the back office after the thunk and couldn't help but laugh as he spied the spirtely Hannah rubbing her backside. Served her right. He'd just waxed the alleys. If she'd asked, he would've recommended waiting another hour. The Agent learned the hard way the first time he tried it. "Hurts like a sunovabitch, doesn't it pixie?" "Uuuughhh." She flopped like a fish, limbs akimbo. "All these months, I've been pursuing the feel-goods. Now I remember why I avoided pain." Hannah propped herself up on her elbows. "Still, I'm proud of myself. Doing pretty well with the old body, if you ask me. Now if I could just convince them to give me my mortality back..." Her face was a comical mixture of hopeful and smirking. It was highly unlikely. "How's tricks?" she asked her hatted friend. ( Meg and Aaron Melone ) Humph!

Conversation w/ the Dead [28 Mar 2008|09:32am] http://asylums.insanejournal.com/free_form2/24654.html Humph!

Sentimental Journey [29 Feb 2008|04:56am] Gonna take a Sentimental Journey, Gonna set my heart at ease. Gonna make a Sentimental Journey, to renew old memories. Got my bags, got my reservations, Spent each dime I could afford. Like a child in wild anticipation, I Long to hear that, "All aboard!" There was something about the old '45s that Whistler enjoyed. The crackle through the speaker, the scratch from wear and tear. It gave the music gravitas, meaning. It wasn't pristine, but it was timeless. And no one could croon that song like Doris Day. Since coming down from the roof at the Rock 'n Bowl, the Agent had restrung the patio lanterns outside his double-wide, and replaced the folding, rickety slats of death with proper wooden deck chairs. Even Gerald was feeling the mood, surrounded as he was with Hannah's knick-knacks that were appropriated after the blonde began her new life as a Higher Being. If he closed his eyes, Whistler could imagine he was on a secluded lake, a slight breeze caressing his face. Seven...that's the time we leave at seven. I'll be waitin' up at heaven, Countin' every mile of railroad track, that takes me back. Never thought my heart could be so yearny. Why did I decide to roam? Gotta take that Sentimental Journey, Sentimental Journey home. Sentimental Journey. "That's a pretty song," said the ghost of Hannah, called there by him thinking of her. Perhaps there was a greater purpose behind it, some reason the Powers would send her, but at times the blonde found herself simply arriving places without instructions. Her surroundings would come into focus like a signal on an old television, and it would be her task to adapt quickly and make herself useful. With Whistler, at least there was no reason to pretend anything. He had known she'd be an Agent longer than Hannah had. The girl's slight weight settled onto the second chair. She gazed into the yard at Gerald, her chin resting in her palm. The music lulled her into nostalgia. The desert scents came back to her, as did all the soft night sounds of her old neighborhood. Instead of a dress, Hannah wore a uniform. The waitress apron was a dreaded accessory in life, but now it was a long lost friend. "Women used to be a whole other thing, didn't they?" she asked, letting old Doris caress her ears. ( The Old Mystique ) ( Soul-Baring Deep Dish ) Humph!

An Artist and His Muse [28 Feb 2008|07:41pm] It had come to him in a burst of inspiration, the kind of thing he only got when he hadn't slept in a couple of days and was smoking too many cigarettes. He supposed that it was different from magic, since he likely couldn't summon Hannah at will, but perhaps...perhaps if he thought of her loudly enough, she'd recieve the message through some sort of sonar. Oliver tucked his hands into his pockets and stared out the window, feeling as if he could run a marathon. Hope. What a curious feeling to have. He'd filled three sketchbooks so far, working from memory, drawing the blonde in every way he could think of. He supposed he was obsessed, but what of it? He loved her. He'd been uncertain about offering possible creature comforts, not knowing if the dead appreciated them, but he'd had lunch sent up just in case. If she didn't want it, maybe he'd eat it. The skyline was bright and clear today, the buildings of Las Vegas standing out in sharp relief against the achingly blue shell of the sky. Would she hear him? The spellcaster rubbed at his chest, scratching lightly at the skin through the fabric of his shirt. He felt something rumbling around in the confines of his torso, something so strange that it almost felt like it was happening to someone else and he was only catching the echoes of it. His other hand flattened against the cool glass of the plate glass window, obscuring part of his view. He was... He was... Fuck. He was happy. Whereas Oliver had always found that emotion elusive, fleeting at best, happiness had been an integral part of Hannah's life. No matter where she was or what her situation, joy radiated from her, and she gravitated toward people who made her feel it the most. In life, they were her friends-- cheerful people, wacky people, even mischievous people, as long as they kept the good times rolling. Not even the ornery dispositions of the customers in the diner could take the sunshine out of her. The blonde's temper fits resembled the tiny, temporary growls of an aggravated puppy tugging on a sock. Since her death and passing into the spirit realm, Hannah had gained a kind of peace that was absent before. She accepted death easier than most. Being sick when she was younger had prepared her for the possibility that her life might be short. But there was regret, too. A feeling of loss, of never getting to do certain things. Because there was no choice and it didn't do any good to dwell, she made the best of it. She reached out to people. With Oliver, she got more than she bargained for. He was someone Hannah never would've approached alive; he probably would've scared the bejesus out of her. But now, her role allowed her to straddle the line between good and evil. To see balance, the necessity for both. To see Oliver as beautiful instead of frightening. Oh, he was so beautiful. Truly her opposite, but she craved him. What's more, she could sense him. Slipping into the air, it took her a moment to settle into human form. The moment Hannah did, she came up behind the spellcaster and put her hands on his shoulders. "You have loud thoughts," she said, standing on tiptoe to reach his ear. She scooped up Oliver's hair and tucked it behind his lobe. ( Loud on the Inside ) Humph!

New Year's Eve [07 Jan 2008|10:11pm] [Continued from The Masquerade] He felt ridiculous. He'd never socialized on New Year's Eve before, not among a large crowd like this, and the fact that it was a costume ball, of all things, was not helping his sense of humor. He had a drink in his hand, at least. Oliver skulked through the doors, the purple mask he'd gotten for the occasion shielding his face from view. He'd at least take one turn around the place, see what it was like. They'd done an impressive job on the decorations, he had to admit. The spellcaster watched the lights overhead as they twinkled, debating on how long he planned to stay. A brand new year was approaching at last. Maybe this one would be better than the last. The first time looking someone in the eye after spending a night together could be nerve-wracking. Though their memories would've had the tally slightly higher, history only recorded the night spent in Oliver's hotel room. It was certainly the time that mattered in Hannah's heart. Afterwards, there wasn't a chance for them to react. The PTBs had snatched her away to take care of Tristan. Since she promised him she'd stay, Hannah wasn't sure how Oliver would feel about that. Or her. Maybe he did have a date, or he was hoping he'd run into a particular person. There was no way he'd expect for Hannah to be out in public at a masquerade, but there he was, and he looked very handsome, and oh... She wrung her hand to keep from biting her nails. Wearing emerald green as she left Whistler's side, a curious thing happened as she approached Oliver from behind. She slipped out of phase and reappeared in bright blue. Hannah felt a pang of hope mixed with guilt that gnawed on her stomach. She knew there was a reason she shouldn't be doing this but... "Oliver? Will you dance with me?" It was like a soft breeze blowing across the back of his neck, and Oliver turned his head, the defensive posture of his body relaxing a few telltale notches when he spotted the blue dress and the girl in it. "I always find myself thinking you're a dream," he told Hannah a bit solemnly, but there was a hint of a gleam in his dark eyes as he looked at her. The hand not holding the glass reached out and grasped one of her delicate wrists when she drew close enough, and he lifted it to his mouth for a kiss, pressing his lips to where her pulse point once was. Solid. She felt so solid. "You mustn't disappear before midnight," he told the blonde, setting the half-finished drink aside because he'd lost interest in it. A lady had asked him to dance; how could he say no? The spellcaster lifted one finger to his lips in a 'shh' gesture. "If there's to be something to celebrate, I would like for you to be here to witness it." “You make my knees knock,” she admitted breathily, finding her fears allayed by the intimate kiss to her wrist. In some ways, it went farther than a more blatant gesture would have gone. Hannah found herself wanting to touch him in return. She went on tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his neck. It struck her anew how tall he was compared to her, at least twelve inches more. “I’ll try really hard to stay,” she said, her earnest expression telling him that she hadn’t meant to slip away the last time. Hannah laced her fingers into his and led him towards the dance floor. It was an intensely visible place to be, but beneath candlelight and a mask of glitter and feathers, she would not make much of an impression, other than that of a diminutive blonde in costume. In the center of it all, she let go of Oliver’s hand and faced him, surrendering her lead to follow his. Her lips were open and her cheeks had gone rosy with excitement. “I’ve never danced with a man before,” she confessed, never having gone to a school dance. “But I won’t stomp your toes.” ( Dancing ) ( Magic Trick ) ( Muse ) Humph!

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