Ghosts and Demons
An RP by NekoLen and Tachigami

Paris sat against the back of the bench and stared passively at the blank slate in front of him. Everything was blank, really---black, unless the right tempo bounced back to him and he could see the outline of what was before him. His black eyes were only slightly filmed over along the pupils, which had been that way since the day he'd been born nearly twenty six years ago. He knew what was what, however, after realizing that sounds akin to a dog whistle allowed him to see the world, so very vaguely, and let him find his way. But still he carried a cane. It was a polished oak thing and hung in his hand as he stood, grasping the curved end and tapping along in front of him. Whatever was nearby gave off the sort of sound that allowed him to see the world in a vague neon glitter, tiny bursts of sight that let him understand where he was going. When he dodged a dog-walker with a silver whistle in his mouth, the world came into sheer focus for a fleeting instant. He could even see the movement of his long braid as it flew aside and slid over his shoulder. It was down past his waist, trimmed to be straight when allowed to be free, much like his distant father's. He didn't know enough about the Mohave blood in his veins to understand anything relating to tradition, but it didn't feel right to cut his hair. So he trimmed the dead and split ends and did little else, allowing it to grow out.

He crossed the road when he felt the others begin to move, going back to where he and Rose lived. It was cramped, had a few rooms, and was stacked a mile high with papers and folders that he couldn't read unless the handwriting was deep enough to feel the grooves. When he hit someone, the impact causing him to stumble slightly, Paris gasped, then his face became placid once more. "I apologize, sir." His thick European accent came out strong despite his apparent Native American appearance, and he could just imagine the confusion plastered on the man's face. He was indeed a man---the surprised grunt had betrayed that. But before he turned away he could see a faint glimmer following the impossibly dark shadow that crossed his lack of vision. He wanted to reach out and stop him, but thought better and turned back to his intended destination, counting his steps and coming to a door. "Allow me." He heard a young voice and mentally rolled his eyes. He knew precisely where the doors were, but someone entering or exiting had seen an obviously blind man approaching and decided to do a kindness, which he didn't bemoan. He smiled and looked directly at the young man. "Thank you." He said kindly, and as he passed, the smile slipped away to go back to the placid, flat expression he always seemed to have.

He went to the elevator and pressed the button, hearing a ding almost at once. Stepping in, his sensitive fingers slid over the buttons and pressed the one labeled '16', and the doors closed. The ride up was smooth, and again Paris counted his steps, coming to a stop outside a door and unlocking it. For some reason he and Rose were allowed to live in their office, which was at least outfitted with a full bathroom and kitchen. But their beds were crammed into consecutive corners, their desks at the foot of each like a college dorm room, and a few bookshelves were crowded around. He knew this because the dog whistle that hung beside the door like a spare set of keys let him see that, however briefly. He set his cane against the wall, closing the door. "Rose! Are you about?" He didn't know. But it was better to know if anyone were near to avoid a shock. Very, very little could get past his dog-like nose and cat-like hearing, but he hated taking chances. He sighed, going to a window and looking out. He could feel the warm sun on his face, but couldn't see it. At least he could imagine looking down upon the people and the smaller businesses, the roads and vehicles. He sighed. There were tiny tracks. Spirit tracks. People walked through them and spread them about, but eventually they would fade. Either these spirits were following their loved ones, or, more tragically, didn't even know they were dead.

Paris closed his eyes to the sight---however little of it there was for him---and sighed, leaning his warm forehead against the cool window.

Rose had awoken from a deep slumber to an empty room. He and his business partner, and good friend, had been sharing the mattress that barely fit in their small office on the 16th floor of a building, where such offices and businesses were kept. He wondered briefly where Pairs had gone off to, but had learned early not to worry too much about the blind man. Even though he couldn't see, he had other ways to find his way around the city. Rose hummed to himself as he went to the small bathroom, washing his face and staring at himself in the mirror.

Young with stylised bright pink hair and deep blue eyes, Rose loved his appearance. Whenever his eyes rested on his reflection, the smell of rose petals lingered in the air and various brightly coloured shapes came to mind. He straightened up and walked back into the office when he heard Paris' voice. He found the man staring out the window, even though he was blind and couldn't see the beautiful city they lived in. The taste of chocolate and liquorice made his tongue tingle slightly and he was sure he heard violins playing. He had learned to deal with these somewhat disorientating senses from a young age. He was only 5 when he was finally diagnosed with a rare medical condition called synaesthesia, even though it was a very rare strand of the condition. Most synesthetes simply saw colours in words and numbers, or during touch or hearing sounds. Rose could smell people, taste them, hear them as well as seeing colours and shapes when hearing noises. It was very confusing and some tasks caused him to grow dizzy. Despite this, he wanted nothing more in the world than to help people, to be a police man.

"Good morning, Paris~!" he almost sung, announcing his presence to his friend. Even though Paris would sense him nearby, he didn't want to give the man a fright. "Where have you been? I see a few red numbers around you..." That meant something, but Rose kept quiet.

Paris wasn't alone for long. He could almost feel the vibrations of Rose's light feet entering the room, then could hear his upbeat voice and almost smiled. He usually did when Rose was around, but his lips were a flat line, pursed slightly. "Numbers?" He sighed a little. "Hmm..." He closed his eyes, though it didn't do much. He needed to relieve the dry ache in his eyes, though. "Ah... I see the trails." He admitted. "I see them. Were I to carry a dog whistle in my lips and blow on it constantly, I would see the world in its shimmering tones. And perhaps I would see less of the spirits. A man bumped into me on the street before I arrived. I saw silver cling to him as he stepped away, Rose. Silver is pain. Acute." He didn't know why certain shimmers of spirits had different colors and tones, but they did. They were often metallic in tone, but some had a distinct greenish tone that he associated with wanting something that the living had. Life.

"I didn't stop him and I feel awful about it." He sighed, reaching back to undo the braid of his hair and then gave up on it. "A loved one... a friend... they wanted to say something." He didn't turn away---Rose knew Paris was speaking directly to him now. "I wish I could sew my eyes closed sometimes." His friend was understanding, if a bit odd, unpredictable, curious, and everything Paris wasn't. It balanced him, and he felt he balanced the oddball that was Rose.

"But that wouldn't achieve anything..." Rose stopped smiling, thinking about what Paris had told him. A spirit that was in pain...? He hadn't even thought that ghosts could feel anything other than sadness or anger. Or was the man in pain? He sighed a shook his head, moving closer to the man and lightly touching Paris' hand which gripped his walking cane. A strange pile of sensations riddled his body and he quickly let go, gasping and finding a place to sit before he fainted from the dizziness. Chocolate and liquorice was in his mouth, as though he had just eaten the sweets. It brought back memories.

"The amount of people with loved ones hanging around them... You can't stop them all. What if he didn't believe you? You are supposed to be the sane one." He laughed, remembering the way he had been shunned as he grew up. He saw things and heard things no one else did. Even though he had a known condition, it didn't stop his parents from trying to send him to an asylum. "Don't get down about it, OK? The blue circles always get me down. We just gotta focus on today, alright?" But what had they planned for the day? Business was slow for the paranormal investigators. It had been weeks since they had been called. As he finished talking, he smelt watermelon and dug into his pocket, pulling out his cellphone and answering the call. He always had it on silent because the loud ringing would make him see nothing but darkness and blood-red. Instead, he could smell when someone called him.

"Hello, you are speaking with Rose Pweter," he looked to Paris, hoping the man knew he was on the phone. The voice on the other side was that of a woman's, a young lady by the sound of her voice. Rose could smell clean linen as she talked. He agreed to a meeting and hung up the phone, glancing to Paris again. "Well, there we go! We have a job! She wants us to contact the ghost in her house and try to find out who it is, what it wants and help it move on." Standard stuff, nothing too risky or hard to do.

Paris rolled his eyes, glad to have felt the grip on his hand despite knowing what it did to Rose. Maybe he didn't mind that now. It was a bit of fun from time to time. He managed a real smile, though, as Rose spoke, and decided to let himself off the hook. But he couldn't help the thought of the man with the lingering spirit trail on him. He swallowed a sigh and perked up when he heard Rose speaking again, then lowered his head to grasp his cane and rub his finger along its wood as he tried not to overhear the conversation. But of course he could---the volume on the cell was up, and he could clearly understand the woman on the other end. He was glad to have a reason to be moving again---the little office that doubled as their home was cramped, even for a blind man.

"Splendid! I was hoping for a bit of work today---Ah, but I'd look forward to a bit more... action." He smiled a bit and shook his head. He'd encountered demonic beings before---he was sure they were, at least. The deep red of their trails and beings were disconcerting, but they never seemed to notice him. He always wondered why, but counted his blessings, since he didn't want that kind of fight on his hands. Especially not without Rose. He absently grasped the crescent moon pendant on his neck, then looked to where he could hear Rose breathing. "And it's such a lovely day, too. Wouldn't a nice walk be excellent?" He smiled a bit, tugging his braid and letting it loose of its tight bundle, letting his hair go. This sounded like a simple matter---he would be able to see the spirit easily, Rose would be able to smell and taste its presence even after the trail was gone.

"Shall we?" He stepped to the door---everything in the office-house he knew precisely, and asked Rose not to change anything lest he told Paris first---and opened it wide. "After you, my friend." He said with a flourish, enunciating his words deeply. Rose had never been terribly interested in why a full-blooded Native American would have an accent that, at best, hailed from England. Or so he seemed---he'd never asked before, and Paris was glad for that.

Rose bounced out of the room, glad to have an excuse to leave the cramped quarters. He didn't mind sharing a bed with his close friend, but it was a very small living space and sometimes he needed to be alone, away from anything that would make his disorientation stronger. He walked down the hall, seeing colours and shapes where others couldn't. That was one of the things he loved about Paris. Because he was blind, he wasn't entirely sure what the world looked like. So whenever he started to talk about colours, shapes or numbers, he didn't question like others would. Usually starting with, "Are you bonkers?"

They left the building via an elevator, stuck in the small space with several business types. The building was home to several companies, mostly stuff to do with computers and Internet. the types they saw that worked in the building with surprisingly stuffy and boring looking, with shades of black and grey and smells of boot polish and fresh paper. The workers always seemed conscious of Paris, and seeing the blind man's companion was a young man with bright pink hair, they always received stares. At least Paris couldn't see them.

Rose was happy to be out on the streets again, even if the various shapes and colours, and tastes and smells made him feel dizzy. He spun as he walked, ignoring the pedestrians who stared at the both of them. He slowed when he tasted something strange. It was an unknown taste, a sort of mix of sweet and bitter, almost like blood but not quite. He glanced at Paris. That was the taste of a spirit. But where was it? Who was it? He looked about them, as if expecting to see what Paris saw.

When he felt Rose bounce around, Paris picked up his dog whistle and put it around his neck, lifting his hair as he looped the chain over his head and buried the silver tube under his shirt. He had followed this path so many times he didn't even have to count his steps anymore, and if he did, Rose was making enough noise in front of him that Paris didn't need to wonder where he was. The elevator arrived and he reached out, grasping Rose so he could lead the way in case someone else was around or the elevator were crowded. And it was, somewhat, but he didn't focus on them. He didn't focus on any of them. He grasped his cane in front of him and stood tall and straight, listening to them as they shifted and moved and feeling their gaze drift from him to Rose and back again. Did they wonder how he and Rose were related? They certainly weren't siblings, that was for certain. They shared absolutely no blood and it was apparent from first glance. Because in a way, Paris had seen Rose. The dog whistle helped.

When they were on the street again, Paris had a little smile playing on his lips. The noises that surrounded him did disorient him from time to time but there were tones in the air that let him see pulses of the world. Bright bluish-gray images filled his vision lightly from time to time and he followed the swirling, twirling form that was Rose. Odd character that he was, Paris did adore him. He was an odd one, but at least he put up with Paris. If what Rose said was any indication, at least Paris smelled good enough to eat. His lips quirked up a bit more, then fell when he saw something odd.

Red was the color. Reddish. Reddish orange, like rust. "Rose." He said simply. "This one is... angry." He couldn't describe it as anything else. Anger. Some simmering rage. It felt like a spirit, but not. "Should we call the brothers?" He asked carefully, reaching out for Rose and pulling him near so they wouldn't be separated. Paris couldn't keep his eyes off the trail that had wrapped around them. It seemed to be coming from the location they were headed.

He glanced about them, noticing that the street they were about to walk down was where their client had called. "We should make sure, just in case... I don't want to bother them if it's just a ghost we can deal with." And he really didn't want to see Azrael, not just yet. It would be too awkward to see him again, especially after what had happened. The last time they had needed the brothers, Daniel and Azrael, Rose had spent the entire time trying to avoid Azrael's gaze.

He led Paris along slowly, starting to feel a bit apprehensive. What if it was a demon? They could be at risk of enraging it and making the household suffer more. He bit his lip, still tasting the weird sweet, metal taste that spirits made him taste. They came to the house and was greeted by a young woman, who seemed to be waiting for them to turn up. She held a baby, and looked as though she hadn't slept in weeks.

"Oh thank goodness you two are here... You can help me, right?" she asked, almost begging them. Rose felt sorry for her. He nodded in reply as she thanked him and lead the two into the house. The atmosphere inside was tense, and very eerie. He could hear piano playing, and see red letters. A demon...

Paris kept a hand on Rose's shoulder as he walked, the two feeling a bit more urgent this time. He was right, of course---they couldn't call the brothers out on a whim, no matter how dark the trail was to Paris. They needed good reason. Although he'd heard from Daniel that business was better for the paranormal investigator branch where they lived, he didn't want to bring up travel to Rose. Not yet. And asking him to move too near Azrael was cruel right now, Paris was sure. He felt the atmosphere change immediately and almost didn't need the dog whistle he absently grasped for. Everything was shimmering red. He blew on the whistle, nonetheless, and an explosion of gray-blue assaulted his vision. The woman held a baby, he knew that beforehand, but now he could see her. And he could feel the hatred in the air. An oppressive, heated, angry hatred.

"My dear, have you done any major renovations before this began?" He asked carefully, looking to where he knew the woman and her baby to be.

"Yes... The nursery. We gutted it, put up new walls and floors, windows, painted, and burned the old furniture. And... there was an electrical fire in the basement, so we renovated that too."

"I see." Paris nodded slowly. "I can see this being has been all over your house. The most recent trail... it leads up the stairs, but I'm unsure as to whether it's coming or going. It was probably spurred to action by the upset in the house. Spirits---though this feels more like a lesser demon---feel they own the dwelling they're haunting. If you do anything to upset them, like change something they don't want changed, you can anger them." He looked to where he could sense Rose. "Rose, this may be too strong for us. I can see the trail it's left and it's all over this house. Do you want to run to the office to get the things?" Neither of them had thought to get the case, and it seemed they needed it.

Luckily their office was only a few blocks away, and Rose was a fast runner. They had been given certain objects to help rid houses of any weak demons, so they didn't have to call for the brothers every time they ran into any evil spirit. He confirmed that he was leaving, and rushed down the street, glad to be away from the strange taste that the demon gave him. He hoped Paris wouldn't do anything too dangerous without his help. Nothing had yet to go wrong, but they were still very careful. The last thing they needed was a possession or something that could threaten their health.

As Rose ran down the street, the lady glanced at Paris with curiosity. She hadn't expected to see such an odd couple. For some reason she had pictured well dressed business types, or something like every detective in every crime movie, not a bubbly man with bright pink hair and a blind man. He baby started to cry and she hushed it, glancing at Paris again. "Whatever it is, it's not nice. It wakes George up during the nights and I find bruises and marks on his body... I can't imagine something is harming my baby. Something I can't see...." She sobbed slightly just thinking about it.

When he sensed he was without Rose, Paris turned to where he heard the young woman speaking. Then he grimaced. A child covered with bruises and marks? If they didn't get rid of this creature, they would surely be pegged as child abusers. No one would believe the 'my baby was hurt by demons' mantra. In fact, they'd lose their kid even faster. He shook his head stepping close and putting a hand out. "Reach for me, ma'am, please." He said gently. When she did, he moved his hand up to rest on her shoulder. "Now, you listen to me, alright? Rose and I will rid your home of this creature. And if we cannot do so alone, we will call friends of ours. This creature feels... weak. So we should be able to bless the house easily. But since it can escape, as I tracked its movement through the street outside your home, I must ask you if you have rock salt anywhere at all?"

"It's... in the basement... I don't know if you can---"

"Because I'm blind?"

"... Well... Yes..."

"Dear, I've been blind all my life. I can find my way." Paris smiled, removing his hand and putting the whistle to his mouth. As he stepped about, he blew on the whistle, finding his way through the home with the young mother directing him to the right door. Then he was down the stairs, in the absolute dark, and following her direction. A bag of rock salt sat against the wall, and he hefted it up onto his shoulder, finding his way back and upstairs. "We will use this on your doors and windows, any exists you know that can be breached. Then Rose and I will begin a cleansing of the house, the entire place, not just the affected rooms." He was met by silence, then a quick, "Erm, yes, I mean, yeah..." The baby she was holding religiously was making quiet noises of semi-contentment. "I'll do it, young lady, take care of your baby."

He was handed a cup, and began moving his way through the house, forming lines of salt on window sills and doors that led outside.

Rose had found the bag he needed tucked away under their bed. It was an old leather thing, worn and wrinkled like an elephant's skin. As he held onto it, he could smell smoke, and taste Az's taste in his mouth. It made his knees weak as he ran from the office, thinking about the man he once loved. But what had happened between them? They had simply drifted apart after Rose had given up his old job. Did Az still harbour feelings for him?

He found the place without much difficulty, smiling to the young woman who was outside with her baby. Rose glanced towards the house and found Paris inside with rock salts, sealing the house up. "I got our stuff," he said, but not suddenly so Paris would get a fright. "Where'd you find that?" he asked, enjoying the sound of harps playing at the sight and smell of the rock salt. It had a very cleansing feeling about it.