Ghosts in Lamplight

[Morgan LaLuna]

Somewhere on the streets of Dragon's Gate, a lone figure walked down a sidewalk, largely ignored by the foot traffic of after midnight on a Thursday night... Friday morning? Not quite stumbling, or staggering, but certainly swaying and very deliberate in each step. A bag was slung over his shoulder, cloth and lumpy and surely filled with the sorts of things that are worn. A change of clothes, allowed by the designer for him to keep after a photo shoot.

Morgan slowed his step, and squinted, looking around him. He shouldn't be too far from his destination, right? Wait. Where was he? He'd let his mind wander. How long had he been walking? Why did this city feel so damn big when you were just trying to get home?
-

A familiar swagger, albeit more pronounced and swaggery, caught William’s eye on his sojourn from the alley to the streets. What happenstance- he stopped dead in his tracks, his cigarette was sucked down to a smolder and quietly burned and ashed his fingers as he stared. ‘Morgan?’ he called, his voice echoed through the chilly air to reach the redhead.
-

Once a redhead, now much darker in hair and even skin, tanned by the sun of days spent at sea... He paused, and looked around almost blearily, turning his body in a sway to face the one calling his name like out of some strange dream. His lips parted and spread into a smile, and his head tilted. "Will. Hi!" Woop. Take step to the left, Morgan. Your body is tipping that way. He shifted the bag over his shoulder, and tried to regain some amount of composure. "Good morning!" It had become his customary greeting for the other, no matter the time of day. "Are you going for a walk too?" His words were slurring, just a bit.
-

He approached the not-so-redhead slowly, drifting in a strange gait as well, not so careening as Morgan, but he moved like a ghost, more so than usual. His eyes, almost perpetually haunted, regained some clearness and sparkle as they tended to when he encountered this one. He pulled the zipper of his black coat up to his chin and dropped the remnant of the cigarette to squash out on the street beneath heel of white sneaker. ‘Good morning’ he said, fondly with a smile. ‘I am, fresh air and all, I hear it’s good for you.’ Maybe better than the pack and a half a day of Marlboro Reds he’d been sucking down lately. ‘Where are you walking to or from?’
-

Morgan gave a pleasant little hum as the other approached, and he waited for Will to catch up to him before he looked up and down the street. "I was at the Perch. I was gonna ask Mallory to do a reading for me, but it was really busy... Then I got into a drinking contest with some soldier Texas asshole guy and I won a hundred gold and I shared a drink with..." He trailed off, seemingly losing his train of thought. "I drank a lot. He passed out. I won. He thought he could outdrink me, Will. Ain't that some shit?" There was a high pitched giggle, and he tipped backward, nearly not catching himself. "And now I'm gonna go home where I can sneak back on the boat and climb into bed with Gwen and then we're gonna... Do... Sailing... stuff." Yep.


He watched and listened to Morgan intently, the words coming through in warm waves and easing the chill in his bones mildly, which was welcome. ‘Ah, Mallory.. I love her readings, I think I most definitely need another one soon, yes, some divination is in order.’ He yanked another cigarette from the soft pack in the pocket of his jeans and lit up once more, exhaling the plume with a heavy, relaxed sigh. ‘Sounds like you had an eventful day..’ he shifted his gaze away at the mention of Gwen, hard feelings of his absence from the group rang through his busy skull. ‘How is she? How is Rhodes? How are—‘ he stopped, taking another long drag. ‘I know how you are I think, happy.’ Exhale. ‘You seem happy..’
-

Morgan tipped toward William as he talked about Mallory, nodding along and leaning against the other as he nudged him to walk along to whatever ultimate destination they would reach. "Very eventful..." He started. "There was paparazzi and everything." It sounded like a joke, the way he said it, but any giggling was cut short with the mention of one name. "Gwen is good." He broke away by an inch from William then, not quite sober, but somewhat sobered. He bit at his pierced lip, and rubbed his face.

"I haven't seen Rhodes in a while. Last time we saw each other..." He grimaced. "It wasn't great. We hooked up at the club, and..." Well, he didn't have to explain what that meant. "We got into a fight, after." He didn't expand any further on it, tipping his face down and watching only the sidewalk as they walked.
-

‘And you’re happy?’ He persisted, appreciating the contact of shoulder and arm, a small bolster that he needed too, for different reasons, but he steadied himself when the other made a small gap— heel to toe— but he closed it again after a moment, despite the change in the tenor of the conversation, and slogged along with Morgan towards his destination. A pronounced frown stole over his visage when he heard the news about Rhodes, though he was happy to hear that Gwen was good — how he’d missed them all. He felt a painful nagging to fall to his knees and apologize for some reason, amidst heaving sobs..but that wouldn’t do, so he continued. ‘That is a shame.’ was all, he didn’t have the wherewithal at the moment to unpack that further, but ‘I’m glad Gwen is good, that’s good.’ He went silent for a frosty moment, then- ‘Hey! You looked good dueling the other night, and it was nice to meet Mart. I like Mart, seems a good and healthy choice for you..’
-

Morgan had hunched a little against the chill as they walked, but his free hand sought the warmth and comfort of another. He didn't answer for some time, seemingly lost in thought. Perhaps he was in the woods, carefree and dressed in leaves, stripping to nothing and dancing in the moonlight with other bodies that reveled in that same youthful way. Perhaps he was curled up in a pile with a joint between his lips, listening to a voice that sang ever so beautifully and lulled others into warmth and that relaxed state of true comfort. Finally, he spoke softly.

"I am happy." He said, simply. It was true, but somehow painful to hear, to say. It felt unfair. "Mart is..." he tried to think of the words to describe the Moon Elf. "He is very... kind. And thoughtful. He makes me want to be a better person, you know?" His hand squeezed William's and he tugged closer again, soaking in the warmth to ward off the chill. Really, he hung on a bit like a child, desperate to keep his imaginary friend by his side before the adult world killed him.
-

‘Yes, I know. And it’s those souls you want closest to you, but not to cling too tightly, for fearing that you might could squeeze them out of existence,’ he mused, rambled, as they rambled forward, his gaze steady on the darkness dead ahead of them. It was undoubtedly made brighter by Morgan, he felt like he could almost see a warm glow paces and paces in front of them, and he smiled. ‘You bring happiness, you light up the room with it, wherever you are. You make me happy.’ He flicked the end of his cigarette into the night and watched it spiral, leaving dots of luminous scarlet and orange in its wake, before hitting the ground noiselessly.

This imaginary friend next to Morgan wished he could stay in one place, instead of running in place in so many different directions.
-

Morgan didn't fault him for the times he was gone, but rather took as much advantage as he could of having the dreamer around. He'd once gone to desperate measures, tugging the other into his very bed, but found himself waking alone and unable to grasp the specter of a man he walked with even now. For a time, he simply walked in the silence, holding William's hand as if to keep him there. Buildings passed, Lamp post after lamp post, one light flickering in threat of going out completely, but hanging on desperately to that bit of light. There was a soft, thoughtful hum, and he tried his best to gather certain thoughts together to bundle up to give to William.

"Where do you go, really? When you leave. What makes it... happen? Is it some kind of..." He searched for the words. "Curse? Or..."
-

Then there were those questions. Caring questions, abundant with concern and compassion. Instinctively they felt threatening to him, and his instinct was to break away suddenly like he had so many other times, to disappear into the envelope of darkness, tucked away, far away, in a canopy or over an inferno, or in oblivion. It would be so easy, and he would, it would always happen, but instead of evaporating like an exhale in that moment, he anchored himself more tightly to the ground by squeezing the hand he was holding harder, a rare ruby. It took some time to speak, to choke out the words stuck in his pale throat, but eventually he did : ‘I don’t know where I go, I don’t know where. It’s a complication.. it’s a mixture of several things.. sometimes it’s by choice..’ he was slit open and started to spill, as he only could when Morgan pressed the hilt of his love knife between his tender ribs. ‘Choice.. I can’t bear being too near for too long, and I choose to leave when I want to, when I have a mind to, which is often. People in rooms, in bars, on isles, in... streets..’ he gestured wildly with his free hand to the path in front of them. ‘And other times..’ he laughed darkly, short and evil, shades of sickly green and bruised plum and grey. ‘Other times it is involuntary. I think in this case we are talking about good.. old fashioned..’ he trailed off and smiled, then finished ‘Possession.’ He went quiet and listened to the creaking of the night, the wind, their footfalls. ‘But where they.. all of them, come from, inside or outside of my head? Some of both, I don’t know.’ Speak of the devil and they shall appear, right. Was the shadow of that lamp post bending into the shape of something else ahead of them?

‘People..’ he spat out.., ‘I enjoy people, but when you can’t tell a person from a puppeteer it becomes quite trying at times, and i think it’s better to just go somewhere else.’ He knew none of this was particularly clarifying, he hardly understood the way the words formed and left his mouth to be given away, addled alphabet soup.
-

Morgan reciprocated the squeeze of hands, and shifted so their fingers entwined. Perhaps it was an attempt at strengthening the tied keeping Will there. There was a soft, shuddering breath outward, and he looked over, with a look almost like sadness in his eyes. Weren't they enough to keep him from wanting to leave? The admission that he left willingly tugged painfully at Morgan's heart, right beneath the ribs in a way that made his throat tighten up. He listened quietly as the other explained, his amber eyes settled squarely on the other, as focused as they could be under the heavy weight of enough whisky to drop a horse. He saw no shadows bending and curling around that meant anything to him. Just the shapes of night that lingered at the edges of halos cast by lamps that helpfully lit their way. He chewed at his lip, trying determinedly to understand.

"Possession...?" He started, and it was clear wheels were already starting to try to turn in the acrobat's head. "What do you mean, puppeteer? Is that what you call... them? The ghosts? They can look any way they want?" He was suddenly terrified that they used his form to hurt his friend, and again squeezed, stepping closer as they ambled down the sidewalk. "Will... Would you let me help? If I can find a way?"
-

Ghosts. It was a funny word, one of William’s favorite words. Maybe because it was a word that encompassed so many things, corporeal and incorporeal. The act of being haunted by the mind or by things outside the mind, and not knowing when the phantoms were in his head or standing right in front of him with a red feather poking out of a green hat, hands on hips and grinning at him with lamp-lit eyes, the same lights that illuminated Big Ben—except time was frozen solid in his world. The hour nearly struck each time, but the hand resisted and bent, thumping against the time piece, trying to get there but never quite making it.. William’s eyes flashed open and he came out of the cell in his brain. The shadow that began twisting from the lamp post started to take shape further, but he uttered no silently, resisted. Then he spoke. ‘I mean that I .. think I am a puppet being yanked around by awful puppeteers that are having fun using me and sending me places and sending me on little chases. Imagine me as a game piece where scary monsters roll the dice and move me around at their pleasure. The gods are laughing at me because I’m weak and my strings are easily pulled! Something... someone.. is taking advantage of my sensitivity, and I don’t LIKE it anymore.’ He heaved, gripping on to Morgan tighter, watching the lamp post creature snap away into nothing. After some heavy breaths he breathlessly said ‘yes, you can help, help me find a way to find some comfort.’ The last word stuck in him like a voodoo doll needle, and deja vu happened. ‘But for now.. for tonight, can you find me a place to sleep? I’m freezing to death out here.’ Ohhh little dramatic thing, he was happy to have Morgan at his side, and they could lean on each other to get where they needed to go for the night.
-

The acrobat's brow furrowed to hear a further explanation, and he hummed again. He paused just before a strange gate, turning to face William. It would look, at first like this would be where they parted ways. He seemed to think better of it though, and with another glance at the gate, shimmering and decorated beautifully, he pursed his lips at the request. "I think Gwen would be thrilled if we slipped into bed and she could get you all toasty warm. If you want something to sleep in..." The offer hung in the air. He tilted his head and that smile returned, gentle and so very loving in the familial way of those whose souls were interconnected in ways that could never be explained. "The Heathen can rock you to sleep." He gripped tighter, and tucked the bag between his knees as he fluttered fingers before him, seemingly drawing sigils into the frosty air around them, and murmuring words that made no sense at all... And they were gone, leaving behind only the faintest wisp of fog.