Log:Evil Eye

2015/03/10 Frankie Grimm Porter

1

Alien District

The Alien District is long and thin, stretching north and south on either side of StarDancer Boulevard, but of great historical significance: here aliens made first contact with the superhero StarDancer herself. A bronze plaque in the middle of the boulevard, toward the southern end of the district, commemorates this momentous event, while as does a park further north, with a statue of StarDancer and the alien shaking hands.

The architecture and style of many of the businesses here shows profound alien influence, even ones built more recently than the initial alien craze, as if here the fashion never went away. This alien flare manifest in the products too, and if you are lucky you may even see some actual aliens here.

Lately Ghostfist has been on this odd case. Mystical robberies have been happening in the city, along with kidnappings. The items and people disappear. Where people are involved, there's signs of a struggle, and then...it's like they just vanished.

One thing Ghostfist noticed at the scenes of the thefts was the same scent at all of them. Flowering and perfumed, like scented conditioner and...cherry chapstick? The latest robbery was just hours ago, and she's followed the faint trail to the Alien District before losing it in the crowd of over scents covering it up.

It's a chilly evening in the alien district. Foot traffic is lower than usual given it's late on a weeknight. There's still the overspill of college students. One such student has stepped out of the Matrix with a build-your-own cup of yogurt in defiance of the cold. Ms. Gabrielle Grimm dabs at her yogurt and takes a bite.

With one lady out on patrol, and another spoiled 24/7 by a stuffed bear that is both self-cleaning and immortal, Porter is... at a loss? Free time, without either is... weird. He walks along, hands in his pockets and thoughts ...somewhere.

Frankie Ghostfist is stalking the streets of the Alien District, her attention clearly fixed on things other than the people around her. She shoulders through a crowd just ahead of Porter, hazel eyes scanning steadily around her as she moves with predatory purpose. Clad in her "hunting" attire, the gumshoe may or may not be in the middle of something as she angles generally for a point somewhere between Grimm and Porter.

Grimm enjoys her yogurt and people watches for a moment as she does, trying to figure out with her break. She's been hitting the books and catching up like crazy, but her brain was finally on meltdown and she needed some time off. Unfortunately Malcolm was still on duty when she finally took her break. But she does notice a familiar face. She waves over to the lost looking Porter. "Hey, Porter. What's with the 50 yard stare?" she asks. And then another familiar face prickles her senses and she glances towards Frankie and waves with her spoon. "Hey, Frankie! You hunting down that sonuva bee and his horse?"

Porter blinks and looks up and around several seconds after the call and wave. So it takes even longer before he spots Grimm. "Oh! Hey, Gabrielle. What's up? Fifty what?" Surprise, he didn't seem to catch al that she said.

"Fifty yard stare," growls Frankie in Porter's general direction. She abruptly straightens and twists, looking first Porter and then over at Grimm. There is a /VERY/ long pause as Ghostfist studies Grimm. One eyebrow arches slowly as Frankie inquires, "Where's your shadow?"

Grimm waves her hand in front of Porter as if he were blind. "Hellooo, earth to Porter? Guess your mind was somewhere else, huh?" she smirks. She looks back to Ghostfist and shrugs, rubbing the back of her head. "That's...kind of what I'd like to know. Long story that I don't really remember. If you run into it, you'll let me know, right?"

"Oh..." Porter nods. "Right, yeah. Sorry. And don't worry, I'm sure you'll find your shadow again soon. Or it'll find you." He startles at a sudden thought. "Wait, do you have to tell it it can come back? You sent it away. Maybe it doesn't know it can come back yet? And how many zeroes is a billion? Is it six? Or 12?"

There is a long pause from Ghostfist. She squints at Porter for several seconds before calmly replying, "A billion is a one followed by nine zeroes." Looking over at Grimm, Ghostfist quirks her eyebrow again and comments, "If I run into it, I'll drag it back and staple it back onto you. That's a lot of power to have just roaming around unsupervised."

"I'm told sewing works better," Grimm smirks at Frankie. But Porter's comments make her smirk fade. "I...did...?" she asks in surprise, then rubs her temple to try and get rid of a headache. "I don't really remember much...but if I did, I guess I would..." she mumbles distractedly. "12 zeroes is a trillion I think," she adds once she lowers her hand.

Porter nods to Grimm. "Yeah, you told it-" He stops in mid sentence, forming a frown as he looks around.

Approximately the same time that Porter pauses in mid-sentence, Ghostfist's nostrils flare and her head tilts back about twenty degrees. Eyes closed, the gumshoe inhales a few more times before starting to walk away from the small aglomeration of heroes, heading directly toward TransMat.

Porter blinks as Ghostfist walks off. "What is it? What's wrong? Pretty sure something's wrong..." Because Porter has a bit of a nose for trouble. Because it's there pretty much every time he inhales or exhales.

Grimm stares at Porter in anticipation. "I told it what?"

The nose knows. The scent leads through the crowd and gets stronger and stronger. It's definitely heading for the Transmat station. It takes some zeroing in, but it's narrowed down to...no, no, it can't be the tall suspicious looking man with the briefcase. It's the...tiny blonde girl in her late teens? The one in the worn capri jeans and shirt and wearing sunglasses.

Porter's questions go unanswered because Ghostfist is a task-oriented huntress. She moves back and forth through the crowd as she zeroes in on the source of the scent that has captured her attention, hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously as her gaze flickers between Briefcase and Blondie. One dark eyebrow slowly rises as her eyes fall upon Blondie with interest.

"You sent it away. So it'd be safe." Porter answers Grimm, sort of, as he moves to follow Ghostfist. "Sorry, hold on..."

Both Blondie and Briefcase are going the same way. Briefcase is looking around occasionally and checking his smartphone as he goes, but Blondie is focused straight for the Transmat entrance.

Eyes narrowed, Ghostfist regards the duo from several paces back. She gestures at the back of Briefcase's head, perhaps assuming that Grimm and/or Porter followed her. Ghostfist promptly steps to the left, her body momentarily limning with pale blue light before she sort of... Blends into the crowd. It's a strange effect, almost like someone walking behind a mirror image.

Grimm is standing around like a chump with her yogurt spoon in her mouth, trying to remember sending her shadow away. Where would it hang out after that? Hrmm.

Neither Briefcase nor Blonde notice they've picked up a shadow. They don't talk to each other. Don't even look at each other. Once they get into the Transmat terminal, they split off in directions. Briefcase is headed for the Northern terminal, while Blondie is heading for the West Coast terminal.

Porter nods as the suspicious guy is pointed out. He isn't a gumshoe, though he's had one stuck to the bottom of the other. But he tries to follow the suspicious one anyone. Hopefully without tripping over too many others.

Porter's steps are quiet. Until his shoe finds gum. Then his other foot the toes of a passerby. Then there's the mop bucket just after the cleanup from the stomach flu victim. He slips and trips, flailing until his hand finds the street vendor display of glass art. Right next to the hand-crafted finger cymbals. All of which comes crashing down.

That grabs some attention. From pretty much everyone in the terminal. Including Briefcase. But not Blondie.

Near the West Coast Terminal, Ghostfist thinks to herself .oO(Good ol' Porter. Working exactly as intended.)

The gumshoe continues to shadow Blondie, carefully observing her quarry from a comfortable distance. Ghostfist may even be sporting that predatory smile of hers, but it's hard to tell while she's mirrored.

Blondie, in fact, picks up her pace and starts to walk faster towards towards the Transmat Gate for Portland. She starts to fish out her transmat pass and gets in line behind the other travelers.

Porter is unsuccessful in being quiet, but maybe that was never the plan. All the more reason NOT to tell him the plan. He sighs and struggles to his feet.

With Blondie more or less stationary in line at the gate now, Ghostfist makes her approach. She's careful though, cautious to approach silently and subtly, moving into position to take a good, deep whiff of Blondie. It's only the start to confirming her suspicions.

That's the scent. The scent of flower-scented lilac conditioner and cherry chapstick. Frankie can also sense something magical, powerful, and small behind Blondie's glasses, right where her left eye is.

Blondie moves up a spot in the line as the transmat attendents process people's tickets, oblivious to the odd woman smelling her.

Porter picks himself up off the ground, still trying to save some semblance of stealth. Dignity is long since unsalvageable. He also apologizes alot to those whose wares he's toppled and/or destroyed.

Ghostfist does what she can to slide into line behind Blondie. The mirroring effect subtly fades away in the process, almost making it seem as if this tall woman was simply there the whole time. It's technically not untrue, perhaps not even impossible a thing to believe. She casually draws a TransMat pass of her own and makes a mental inventory of her gear - there's only ever one thing that might not making it through security, but that's why she has two licenses, isn't it?

"So where're you headed?" inquires Frankie, conversational as she can, of Blondie.

In his wake, there's the hobbling passerby whose foot he stepped on, the spilled water of the mopping bucket with a janitor slumping his shoulders while thinking of the mess he has to clean up again, oh, and the display of touristy glass animals and replicas of the Sandy Bottoms Bridge that lay shattered on the ground. A glass unicorn head spins off into the adjacent puddle of mop water. Porter Stealth Mode: Engaged.

Blondie's body stiffens in social unease as Frankie starts a conversation. She looks over her shoulder to check, and realizes that Frankie is talking to her. "M-me? I'm just on my way to visit friends. She sounds a little scared and unhappy.

"Sorry. Here, I'll pay for all the stuff I broke, Ok?" POrter hopes to appease the merchants by handing out money. A bit distractedly as he looks around for Frankie. Since he's her backup. Right? Just maybe others should backup a little further...

The merchant whose eyes were bugging out at the damages, now is bugging out at the amount of money Porter just handed to her. "Oh. Well! Feel free to come by any time, sir!" She says brightly as she walks away, counting the cash and her broken merchandise forgotten.

"MMmyes. It's always nice to visit with friends," replies Frankie. She bobs her head thoughtfully, doing her best to engage in the ancient dance of probing for information. "But friends aren't a destination. Me, I'm going some place I haven't been before. So much to explore, so much to learn. It'll be a great little trip, but the real treat will be the hunting. Reminds me of better days, hunting trips with my Dad and my brothers, the smell of the woods, the sounds of nature, the peace and quiet. Doesn't matter where I go, any time I'm hunting, I can still sometimes forget myself and be back in the Minnesota forest."

Blondie touches her glasses and adjusts them to push them back up further to cover her eyes. "Portland. And...I hate travelling," she murmurs uncomfortably. She's wearing a small, canvas purse and both hands are holding onto the strap, wringing it as she talks.

"Oooooo~oooooh. Portland's supposed to be a beautiful city," comes Frankie's enthusiastic response. She smiles brightly and bobs her head, cocking her head just a little bit as she regards that gesture with the glasses. Quirking a dark eyebrow, Ghostfist inquires, "Everything okay with your eyes, hon? Stress from travelling can make all sorts of medical conditions flare up, I'd bet your friends wouldn't want you ruining your eyes on their account."

Blondie's hand jerks up to cover her left eye, even though the sunglasses already cover them. The line moves up again and Blondie stammers, "My eyes are fine." She sounds even more scared. But not of Ghostfist. She turns away to face ahead and steps up in the line, still covering her eye.

This does sound a little familiar. Ghostfist knows by scent that this girl was at the scenes of the crimes she was investigating. But with the magic behind her glasses, she can connect it with some heard rumors about an arcane opponent nicknamed the Evil Eye in arcane circles. It's said that Evil Eye gathers materials for a plan a dead villainous wizard, Archimago, set in motion before his death some 70 years ago. He's been dead so long that no one knows what that plan is.

Dots start to connect in Frankie's head. She leans over slowly until her mouth is inches from Blondie's ear. In as pleasant a voice as she can manage, Ghostfist whispers, "So are you the Evil Eye or just one of his puppets? Inquiring minds want to know."

The Monster Hunter's whispered words make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The Blonde's face sets into a mask of terror as she looks back at Frankie. "P-please, just...go away," she whimpers, pressing her hand harder against her left eye. "I don't want it to get you, too!" The line has since moved, and she backs away slowly towards the transmat desk. So close to getting to her transport away from here. There's only two people in the line ahead of her waiting to go on the transmat platform to Portland.

"Can't do that, hon," replies Ghostfist. She straightens up, smile turning into a flat line, and plants her hands upon her hips. It's very unknowingly Linda Carter Wonder Woman... In a blood red alligator leather jacket. "It won't get me, kid. Especially not if you let me help you. All you have to do is let me help."

"You can't help me!" The blonde teen trembles and then drops her voice to a terror-filled whisper. "It won't let you."

A shimmering pale light emanates from behind the sunglasses, and Ghostfist's Hunter's Awareness sees an awakening of power. "Oh no! It's too late! You have to get away and let me go!" the girl pleads.

Well that was ever so slightly unexpected. Ghostfist takes a step back as light begins to pour out from behind Blondie's sunglasses. The gumshoe pulls out her own pair of sunglasses, sliding them on over her hazel eyes as she replies, "I can't do either of those things, kid. You're in trouble, I'm here to save you."

Someone in trouble, maybe trouble for others, but unwittingly? Warning others away. Nope. Porter has absolutely no idea what that's like. Is that why he doesn't listen, and now forgoes stealth (for all the good it did him) to try and catch up to Frankie and Blondie? Maybe. Or he could just be stubborn. And wants to help. "What's wrong with her eye?" He asks. Porter caught part of that, at least.

Blondie panics as Porter runs up to her as well. She's now clutching her eye with both her hands as if trying to keep something in. But whatever that is, it isn't her tears, which are now streaming down her face. "No, run! It's taken everyone that's tried to help me. Please!" As much as she tries to hold it back, suddenly her hands are flung away by crackling, lashing bolts of pale, blue-green lightning that's almost blinding. Her sunglasses skitter away on the tile floor of the Transmat terminal and people, sane people, start running away from her. Her left eye shimmers with malign power. It's a glass eye with an odd shimmer. The iris is a whirlpool of blue and green, and the pupil has a faint cold glow that seems to shine from the back of the eye. It looks close to her real right eye in color, except for that odd whirlpool and glowing affect.

Blueish-green grasping tendrils of energy pour out from the eye while the girl screams, "Don't hurt them! They're just innocent people! Please! I'll go! I'll go!" But even as she begs and backs away, the tendrils reach out for Frankie Ghostfist.

Ghostfist whistles appreciatively at the blue-green tendrils of power lashing out towards her. The gumshoe raises her right hand, murmuring some sort of arcane invocation as a nimbus of faint blue light forms around her outstretched hand. As fast as the nimbus appears, it transmutes into a spell circle around Ghostfist's wrist that spreads outward into a wall of faint, light blue energy between her and Blondie's eye tendrils.

The Tendril lashes and comes up short of the barrier. Pat is trying to cover her eye, but she can't. Not with the tendril in the way.

Porter frowns at glowing eyes and eye-tendrils. He didn't know eyes had tendrils. "It'll be Ok! And don't worry about me. If it takes me, it'll probably give me right back..." As soon as it realizes what it grabbed. "What can we do to help?!" He isn't exactly an expert on glowing eyes, but moves closer.

The girl looks around in a panic with her one Good eye. "Oh god...I can't stop it. Run! Get everyone away from her!" she begs in the crowded terminal. People are immediately attracted by the incident. Smartphones are starting to come out.

The Girl can't believe what Porter is asking. "It won't give you b-back," she sobs. "It never gives them back..."

Porter puts two and two together and hopefully gets four. If not, maybe five is closer enough? She seems to want to keep the eye closed, or covered or otherwise not doing ...eye things. He can help with that, maybe? Up above, someone peers out a window to see what's going on, and knocks over their freshly fretilized planter. Possibly dropping damp potting soil, manure, and vermiculite down onto the eye.

Dirt and fertilizer falls right into Pat's Good eye. But also her Evil eye. She coughs at the dirt and rubs at her good eye.

Ghostfist winces in sympathy for Blondie as she's covered in planter filler - why is there even a planter in the rafters of the TransMat station? - buries Blondie's face. The gumshoe jukes around the cover provided by her Spirit Barrier as she gathers magical energy in her right hand. Clenching her fingers tight, Ghostfist moves toward Blondie as she gently, helpfully intones, "I know you're scared. I know this is a lot to ask of you. All you need to do is hold still and let me help you."

'Blondie' is still rubbing at her eyes. But there's still energy pouring from her closed evil eye. "You don't understand. It -sees- everything." It's a warning. A terrified warning. She tries to hold still, but the tendril reforms and snakes towards Porter for trying to blind it.

The tendril wraps and winds around Porter, as if knowing exactly where he is, even though Blondie can't seem to see and is stumbling.

Porter gets her warning. "Ok, We'll-EEK!" He cuts off with a heroic squeak when he's grabbed. "Uh... Ok! I've got it distracted!" Frankie did need her to stay still. Maybe this helps? He doesn't want to hurt her and isn't sure what to do about the eye.

Blondie is staying still, rubbing at her eyes. She sounds scared. "Wh-what's happening?" she asks at the heroic squeak. The tendril winds around Porter more tightly and starts to drag him closer to Blondie.

Ghostfist seems to reconsider something as the energy tendrils ensnare Porter. She offers him an appreciative, sympathetic look as her fist unballs into a hand once more. The gumshoe gently replies to Blondie, "Little miscalculation. Don't worry. Just focus on my voice. This may hurt a little bit, but a little pain is better than letting this thing ruin your life, right?"

Frankie's hand comes up toward the muck covering Blondie's Evil Eye. To the initiated, the magical charge permeating her hand subtly shifts to something less intense than The Ghostfist. Everyone else, everyone who cannot see the magical world for what it is, sees no change at all in Ghostfist's striking hand as she reaches out to dig her fingers into the mud and mire on Blondie's face. Carefully, Ghostfist attempts to grab the Evil Eye and remove it with her Gentle Fist.

'Blondie' keeps holding still. "R-right," she murmurs. She flinches and prepares to get hit, because that's what she thinks is coming. Instead, Ghostfist just gently wipes off some dirt...?

Porter winces as the eye tentacles squeeze him. And not in a good way. Then he winces as Frankie misses, Maybe some that she's swinging to begin with. Hopefully she knows what she's doing. "Nnng. Be careful!!"

Another grasping tendril of bluish-green energy snakes out of 'Blondie's' left eye, threatening to snake around Frankie.

Daemon says, "It's not hard catch wind of the incident at the TransMat station. It's all over the news wire & all over his TwagFeed. Things like #CrazyEyes #DeadStare and #EvilEye are unmissable.

It's not long before Daemon makes his way from his roost in The Crimson Towers.

He swings into the location quips at the ready.

"Did someone not check their bags at customs?" He says as he lifts his gauntlet and activates his High Voltage Sticky Disc. "

The sticky disc hits Blondie and discharges. She lets out a pained yelp and shudders rigidly as she's electrocuted. The Evil Eye's energies keeps its hold on Frankie and Porter, waving them about as Blondie writhes.

Porter is still trying to heroically free himself from the energy eye tentacles (now he can cross that item off his to-do list? Then he's flailed around when Blondie is zapped. "Wa-aait! Don't hur-r-rt her!"

Blondie is panting from the pain. The magical energy tendrils manifesting from her eye are sluggish. The tendril around Frankie begins to squeeze as it pulls her closer.

"What do you mean DON'T hurt her?" Daemon says to Porter increduliously.

Ghostfist would rattle around, but for the fact that she is not, in fact, a maracca.

Maracca or not, Frankie Ghostfist is flailed wildly in the air as Evil Eye's host is subjected to intense electrical power. She jostles and bounces through the air like every female victim of a fan service inclined artist must, her expression going sour as she endures the indignity and turning of her stomach. Breathing deeply, Ghostfist draws upon the magical power flowing through her.

"He means the girl's not the threat, shickhead. Her left eye's what's possessed," calls Ghostfist.

Which is when Evil Eye decides to eliminate the threat that is Ghostfist. The gumshoe's face goes red and she gasps and wheezes as the energy around her midsection tightens powerfully. Her fingers claw at the air uselessly as she is squeezed to the very brink of her ability to resist. Ghostfist slumps uselessly in the grasp of the energy tendrils, blacking out for the moment as her ribs painfully remind her of every last indignity they've suffered in the past few years.

Daemon sticks to what works and will deal with Porter's complaints afterwards. "Ok Lady- what's your deal?!" He says, prepaing another serving of Papa Dae's High Voltage Night-Night Discs.

With another series of convulsions and pained whimper, 'Blondie', aka poor Pat Shorey, sinks to the ground, sprawling on her back. The dark energy streaming from her eye and winding about our two other heroes fades from existance, releasing them. And possibly dropping them a few meters to the ground.

"Ha!" Daemon shouts flipping up to teh ceiling. His jacket naturally obeys his sense of up and down orientation. He looks to the PI- Ghostfist and the unconscious Porter, "So what was that abbout?"

Unlike poor, poor Porter, Ghostfist is pretty god damn tall. As a result, she falls only a few inches when released from the dark power of the Evil Eye. Shuddering, the gumshoe drops to her knees as she sucks in sweet, free air again. Helligator Skin Coat or not, burning lungs and flaming ribs just seem to make it hard to breathe or recover.

Only slowly does Ghostfist direct her attention upward. A low, Predator-like growl escapes Ghostfist as she regards the nuisance on the ceiling. For now she'll overlook the fact that Daemon's saved the day, that's just the kind of friend she is.

"... magical threat... possessing girl's body... need to... exorcise the threat..."

Daemon straightens his jacket with a pompous flair. "Looks excised to me."

The jack appearantly gets jacket envy and grows and adjusts it's pattern to match Ghostfist's Helligator Skin Coat. Maybe that'll make her like him more!

Blondie Pat remains miserably unconscious, face covered in dirt, but at least both her eyes are closed.

Frankie forces herself back to her feet and she staggers toward Blondie's unconscious body. Wheezing sharply, Ghostfist tries to ignore Daemon and his fantastic Mirror Coat above her and the poor little host body. Looming over Blondie's body, Ghostfist roots around in her pockets to produce some chalk so she can start sketching out a proper spell circle for the exorcism.

Undetered Daemon continues his curious observation and pedantic yammering, "Oh right! Of course. Why didn't I think of that?" His tone is sarcastic.

He begins recording his vision to a file marked, "HippieMagic_WTF_Grimm".

It takes Ghostfist a few minutes to finish chalking out the circle. Her whole body aches from the Evil Eye's tendril hug of death. Daemon's synthetic voice grinds her auditory nerves as though he were shouting into her ears. Both of them. Simultaneously.

Sliding her chalk away again, Ghostfist straightens up and places her striking hand into the air over the spell circle. A faint luminescence the color of the noonday sky on a cloudless summer's day builds up in the air under her palm, rippling and rolling and roiling as Ghostfist begins murmuring the words of power to the beat of her heart and the dull, throbbing ache of her rib cage. It is, for reasons not entirely explicable even by Frankie Ghostfist, a pleasingly sonorous rhythm for chanting Latin, Enochian, and Toltec invocations.

As the power builds, Ghostfist leans in toward Blondie in an effort to get at that Evil Eye, both literally and metaphysically.

For once, Daemon takes the hin and holds his tongue & watches Frankie Ghostfist with his full attention.

Blondie remains blissfully unconscious. As Ghostfist pries open her eye to get at the Evil Eye, Ghostfist can see that it is, in fact, a glass eye. With the energy gone and up close, she can see the small scars and scratches where Blondie must have lost her real eye.

The glass eye carries an odd shimmer. The iris is a whirlpool of green and blue. And the pupil - surely it's just a trick of the light - has a faint cold glow that seems to shine from the back of the eye. These are all visible to the normal eye. But to Frankie Ghostfist's trained magical senses, she can see the dark arcane enchantment cast upon the evil eye artifact. Gazing into that pupil is like gazing into the void and coming through the other side to annother dimension.

In some ways, it's very much like staring into her young apprentice's eyes when they go ink blank upon channeling her powers in earnest.

Ghostfist slowly pulls the glass eye out of the scarred socket of Blondie's head. She lifts the Evil Eye up, bounded by a sphere of light blue luminescence that ripples and shimmers wherever the cursed orb comes into direct contact. Frankie's other hand comes down to gently close the lid of Blondie's vacant socket again, producing a pair of cheap sunglasses from somewhere within her voluminous long coat to cover the young woman's eyes.

Job accomplished, Frankie Ghostfist stands up again. She doesn't quite stand up straight, her ribs still sending pulses of pain and protest directly into the depths of her brain. Ghostfist's right hand holds up the damned crystalline orb to the light, examining it intensely for several long seconds before her free hand produces a small brown leather bag into which she places the Evil Eye. After a second, Frankie pulls the drawstring tight and ties the bag shut.

One cannot help but get the impression that the eye is looking back with malicious intent as it's examined, even with the lack of an eyebrow or eyelid to show such emotions. But it's there, in its depths.