The Love Of A Mortal (BayMickey)

Sad, desparing eyes stared out of the attic window. The figure was alone. As always. Long black hair fell over her shoulders, black silk dress swishing slightly. A single tear dripped from her eye, but as it fell, it evaporated imedietly, never even hitting the floor. The slim, desparing figure turned from the high, paned window, and stepped lightly down the stairs. Her bare feet didn't feel the rough wood. Her hand didn't feel the smooth banister rail. She reached the kitchen, then passed through the newly remodeled wall, her figure translucent and fading slightly out of sight. Everything was now different. The house was new, the smell of paint still heavy in the air. She tried to brush a bit of sawdust off of the mantle, but her hand passed right through it. She remembered once again. Imedietly, she floated upstairs again, resuming her post at the lonley attic window, waiting.

Dakota picked up a box and walked into the house, stomping up the stairs. "Finally, a home to myself." He came upon the master bedroom and set the bow down, going down to retrieve more. Once finished, he went to investigate the house. "No closets. Good. All drawers." Dakota walked up the creaking, lonely stairs up into the attic, slowly opening the door, expecting some monster to jump out. He laughed at himself. Suddenly, the prescence of something entered his mind. He looked all around the dark room, not seeing anything but darkness. He crept forward and held his hand out. Dakota sensed pain, then sadness. "I feel you..."

Whisper's eyes watched as the figure brought in a few boxes. She remained in her same spot, even as she felt him start up the attic stairs. He spoke. She turned, but she was invisible. Her eyes closed softly, and she stood, her translucent form graceful and upright. Her movment sent a cold, chill wind through the attic, and the door banged, flying forwards and slamming harshly.

Dakota shook his head and walked back down stairs when the door slammed shut. He retreated to his new bedroom and began unpacking, putting things here and there, getting organized, and grabbing a beer to watch the game down in the living room. He turned on the TV, and laid down, taking a sip of his beverage. As usual, he screamed at the quarterback and other players.

Whisper frowned. He had seemed so, uncaring that she was there. She passed through the door, following him down to the living room, wanting to know more about the stranger. She flinched as he shouted and cheered. No more quiet for her. In the back corner of the room, she stood, alone and invisable. Her presence could be sensed in the air. As she breathed, the air around her practically crackled with an unseen energy. For a half a second, she thought about maybe showing herself to him.

When the game ended, Dakota no longer had anything to do. Being bored he raised put his wrist up to the lamp beside him, examining how his scar reflected off the translucent tissue's surface, making it seemed pearlized. Dakota rubbed his pointer finger across the scar, flinching back once his finger hit the delicate skin.
The scar was from where he had slit his wrists, miracely surviving. It was when he was about 16, after he had been malested for the umpteenth time. Dakota drew his hand back to his side, and forgot about his injury, turning the TV channels past porn, cartoons, and drama shows. He landed on 'Toddlers and Tiaras'. "Whatever."

I'm gonna post later, g2g for a little while

Kk

Whisper lightly stepped across the living room, taking a seat in the armchair in the corner. She watched him with growing intrest, tilting her head slightly to get a better look. As the television flipped through the channels, she watched his face, not the tv. Slowly, very slowly, she crept closer, and she let one finger trail lightly across his jaw, puzzled. To him, it would only seem like a tingle, a whisper of air.

Dakota jumped as he felt something almost move across his jaw. He ignored it after it occured, but he was a little puzzled. Anyway, as he watched 5-year-olds become sluts on the TV, proppin gup his feet and decided to do an investigation of his new home that night. (Sorry so short It'll be longer next time)

(kk)

Whisper drew back her hand sharply, and flashed back to the attic, faster than a human eye could trace, even if she was visible. Looking out the grimey window, she could see the last rays of sunlight slipping behind the horizon, then dissapearing. Shadows darkened around her, and she felt more comfortable, alone in the dark.

(Cant post now. I'll be on later.)

The floor creaked as Dakota walked up the stairs, climbing to the attic. He opened the door, cold air meeting him at the entrance. "Hey, turn the immortal AC down." He laughed and walked forward, into the room. "Now, why are you here?" Dakota felt his way to the middle of the room.

Whisper whirled as the door flew open, the mortal standing in the doorway. She pressed herself quietly against the far wall, her eyes narrowed to slits, watching him with intrest, curiosity, and fear. The tension she was radiating could be felt in the air, prickling like electicity.

"Seriously, stop, it's cold." Dakota rubbed his hands along his arms, creating warm friction. He blew his breath out, expecting it to make a cloud of carbon dioxide and water vapor, but it didn't. It was always this cold in the closets, and in the bedrooms. Cold enough to temporarily perilize(sp?) him, and made him as vunerable as a little boy can be. Dakota hated that feeling. "You don't scare me. I won't run. You shouldn't be scared of me. I'm no Ghostbuster."

Whisper had had enough of this persistant male. She flashed into sight, her slim body leaning on the wall, her fingers playing with the ends of her long black hair. Her form was translucent, but could be seen. Imedietly, the room grew colder.

"What...."

Her soft voice bore pain, suffering, and deadly curiousity.

"Wow, um, okay. I'm Dakota. May I ask who you may be?" Dakota's voice was in a whisper. He rubbed his chin, which was covered in stubble. Dakotas eyes flicked up and down the figures body, surprised that it was so, so, attractive.....

Lets just say, that Whisper had a slight temper. Besides the stereotype that ghosts were supposed to be shy and evasive, Whisper slammed her fist against the wall, her eyes filled with pain.
"A GHOST!"
She spit out, then crossed her arms over her low cut dress.

Dakota rolled his eyes. *Well, I can see that...*

"Don't do that. Um. But I was hoping for a name..."

Dakota scratched his blonde hair, light blue eyes shining in the darkness.

"Look. I, kinda, know how you feel. I'm angry too."

Whisper glared at him, her anger making her flicker in and out of sight, before focusing once again. She uncrossed her arms, then crossed them once again, speechless.
"Uhu. Sure. Because you know what its like to be left to die, by who you thought were you're best friends."

"I do. but I was left to die by my parents. So I win. Ha." Dakota smiled, trying to break the tension. He couldn't believe he was talking to a ghost. Anyway, Dakota acted like it was no big deal, being regular Dakota.

Again, Whisper was without a smart comeback. She cast a deadly glare at him, keeping her arms crossed firmly over her chest.
"Whatever."
That was the best she could come up with, for the time being. Suddenly, she caught herself admiring his tousled blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and muscular build. Gosh, why was she thinking this way! She was a GHOST After all!

"So, why are you haunting me? And what's your real name?" Dakota tightened his muscles, getting frustrated. He wasn't going to put with some petty little girl games, ghost or not. Dakota crossed his arms, equally positioning himself with her. Whatever her name was.

"Hu. Haunting you? I dont think so."
Whisper said firmly. She didn't get why he wanted to know her name in the first place, but decided it wouldn't hurt anything, at least she hoped.
"My name is Whisper."

"Oh okay. So not haunting. Kay. Well." Dakota pursed his lips, getting bored with the situation. "Okay. Hello Whisper. I'm Dakota, again. Can I ask you a question?"