Who You Gonna Call, Bro?

May 02, 2018:

Hawkeye turns to Witchdoctor for some supernatural expertise when dealing with a potential poltergeist.

Clint's apartment building

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

LAST NIGHT:

Clint Barton stares at a refrigerator floating two feet off the ground in a small apartment, rubbing at his temple with one thumb. "Alright, Mrs. Dominguez. I'll see what I can do."

TODAY:

"Thank you /so much/ for coming out here," Clint says at the front doors of the apartment building. "Normally, I'd call this other guy, but, ah, I have the feeling he'd consider this too small an affair."

Clint coughs. "I hear that you've got an eye for the little details, though. So …" He pauses. "I hope that 'possessed refrigerator' sounds like a job that you're willing to take."

Behind Clint, a dozen random individuals - possibly the residents of the building? - stare silently, their eyes wide. A few clutch religious symbols close to their chests.

"It is…a new one, but it should be within my means" Alyse admits as she enters the appartments, she herself looking rather like a strange hire. The witch was in her 'practical' outfit, the skirt and blaze-like attire that blended in a little better than her sorceress attire, but only slightly. Hands folded, she follows the man lightly and tilts her head to the side. "Did Strange refer you to me, or did you speak with another?" Curiousity was in her nature after all, but then again her appointment to the league had taken her a little further from obscurity.

Of course, there was the question of how Clint himself found the 'Demon fridge', but she could ask later.

"In all honesty, it was Wong," Clint says. "He's always been the real networking pro. So," he adds, "like I said, there's a possessed fridge in Mrs. Dominguez's apartment. That's 2B," Clint continues, waving up the one flight of stairs in the central well of the building.

"Yes," a woman says - Mrs. Dominguez, most likely.

An aging man raises his hand. "Um, if it's not too much trouble, I wanted to mention … my toaster was talking to me this morning."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "For real, Harold? Or are you just dicking with me right now? You know I'm working on getting that plumber out here."

Harold shakes his head. "It told me it didn't like toast. I swear."

Mrs. Dominguez clears her throat. "My refrigerator is larger than a toaster. It's more important."

Sighing heavily, Clint shrugs. "You know what? You're the expert. We'll go where you think is best. Harold's in 3A."

"Perhaps we should start with an examination?" the Witch offers lightly, an amused smile on her face. Strange appliance behaviour wasn't likely to be multiple spirits with a taste for whitegoods as it was to be a symptom…or it could just be residents being crazy and have nothing supernatural at all. Alyse closes her eyes after a moment, swapping mundane senses for mystical as she 'feels' outwards, drawing in from sensing the city-wide levels to a clearer picture of the building itself. She'd find any supernatural entity much faster this way than she would going room to room.

There is definitely a paranormal entity moving about in the floors above. It seems … hungry.

"Alright," Clint says, "so what does an examination take? Like a seance or something? I might have some candles or something …"

At the mention of a seance, Mrs. Dominguez crosses herself.

The entity seems to move somewhat aimlessly, as if drawn in certain directions rather than specifically guiding itself in those ways.

A very, very faint voice can be heard, like the echo of an echo: "…ohhhhhhhhhhh…"

"Nothing quite so quaint," the woman speaks, chuckling a little. Her eyes open again, but she can feel the presence now, 'see' where it is. "Mrs Dominguez," she offers lightly, turning towards the woman with a polite smile. "Perhaps you would like to go out and get yourself a coffee, take some time to relax and rest? This must have been a stressful week for you." There's a glance towards Clint, but she nods her head.

There was -something- here, so people weren't just being superstitious.

Lingering for a moment, as if in protest, Mrs. Dominguez nods and heads off, mumbling a quiet prayer to herself.

Clint waits until he and Alyse are alone and then blinks expectantly, eyebrows rising. "Sooo … ?" he asks, holding his hands out before himself, palms up.

Just then, the invisible spirit speaks again from somewhere in the refrigerator. "… bbbbroooohhhhhhh …"

Clint looks around. "Was that the fridge again? Am I being punk'd right now?"

"… bbrrooohhhh … wwwwwanntttt … soooouvllllaakiiii …" the entity intones. It only sounds very generally like a creaking ice maker.

It certainly seemed like a practical joke, if Alyse couldn't feel a entity she almost would have suspected it so. "What in the world is 'punk'd'?" Witchdoctor questions before raising her hand, a faint glowing light dancing between her fingertips. "Restless spirit, I invoke and command you. Show your face and cease your disruption so that you might move on." Begging for Souvlaki? Well…it wasn't the worst food to desire, but it was certainly a strange hunger to bind a soul with.

"It's a …" Clint shakes his head, grimacing. "Doesn't matter. It's nothing. I—"

He stops talking as Alyse begins speaking to someone or something other than him, and he folds his arms across his chest.

Slowly, as though moving through a thick wall of viscous liquid, a figure becomes visible. Its shape is not entirely clear, but it becomes clear enough to see … that it's a floating, somewhat overweight and balding, white man in a tracksuit.

"… are you freaking kidding me?" Clint whispers angrily.

Just then, Mrs. Dominguez walks back into the room. She sees the floating spirit, shrieks, and drops her coffee mug. It spills all over the rug.

The spirit turns lazily toward the woman and exclaims, "… Brrooohhhhhh!"

The Witch? She sighs aloud. Damn convinience, she'd hoped the coffee-fetch would take a little longer and keep to poor resident away from witnessing this. Never does it go that smoothly. A snap of her fingers, Alyse's magic swells in a flicker of golden lights, dancing across the floor to inscribe themselves as a binding circle. Just incase this thing wasn't as harmless as they appeared.

A glance if given to Clint and she tilts her head to the side. "Do you recognize this man?" she questions lightly before addressing the spirit once more. "Your hunger will never be sated in this world, to move on to the next will see it cease."

The floating man suddenly freezes in place, its ectoplasmic form jittering as if trapped within some unseen container.

It attempts to speak, its mouth moving, but it says nothing audible.

Clint, meanwhile, shakes his head in disbelief. "Well, uh, I, man …" He pauses to collect himself. "I think we're being haunted by Russian mobsters - or at least one of them."

He sighs and grabs a towel, stepping toward Mrs. Dominguez. "They've been harrassing the tenants here - they want the building and everyone out on the street. I can't have that. But I haven't /killed/ anyone." Clint sops up the coffee with the towel. "Have I?" He stares off into the distance.

Mrs. Dominguez, meanwhile, finally manages to move - at which point she flees the room.

"Think you can ghostbust this guy, or whatever?" Clint asks, glancing at Alyse. "Figures they wouldn't stop screwing with this place even after death …"

"It's…not exactly the heaviest of bonds," the blonde sorceress chuckles. Sure she was looking at a dead man, but she was a Witch and this wasn't exactly unusually. Hell, it was refreshingly simple compared to recent events. "I can rid you of him." Her hands come together, glowing with that same eerie light before the lines of the containing circle seem to burst upwards, reshaped into what could only be described as a swarm of butterflies. Butterflies made out of golden light. Magic could be strange.

When the swarm clears? The spirit is simply nowhere to be found, its presence forced to move on. With the exorcisim done, Alyse actually gives a small giggle despite herself. "This was…entertaining." Hand to her mouth to hide her almost-laughter, she turns now towards Clint. "You said there were people of the living variety harrassing the people here?"

As the spirit disappears, Clint exhales, his body relaxing. "Oh, thank God," he mumbles, adding, "I was worried there that there'd be, like, slime everywhere. Mrs. Dominguez is already going to want me to fumigate this place now …"

A number of residents begin peeking into the room. "Is it gone?" "Are we ok?" "Can I eat toast again?"

Rolling his eyes, Clint turns to Alyse and stands back up. "Yeah. They do that from time to time. It's no big deal, really - except that I don't appear to be very intimidating to specters and spirits and the like."

Mrs. Dominguez, nearby, clears her throat. "Ahem. Mister Barton. I think I need a new refrigerator. That one is unclean."

"Aw, come on …!" Clint groans before looking at Alyse again. "Clean, right?" He leans toward her just a bit, whispering: "I will pay you double if you can get everyone to stop freaking out about this."

The Witch was trying not to laugh now, truely. Clint's whisper has her grinning before she clears her throat and lifts a hand to bring attention her way. "The entity is gone, your belongings and your homes are safe from it. Enjoy your toast." To Mrs. Dominguez? The blonde woman reaches out, offering her hands. "Your refrigerator is safe, I promise you that. But if you are worried, say a prayer over a sink full of water and use it to clean the inside as you normally would." Would that make any difference? Almost certainly not, but giving the clearly religious woman something to do would probably make her feel better.

"Keep your money Mr Barton," Alyse speaks as she turns to face the man before pausing with a purse of her lips. "I'll take a cup of tea instead, this has been a rather entertaining outing." That and noone had tried to murder her, which was more pleasent than the last time she'd encountered the supernatural.

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