GET OUT!!

[Evane Devine]

It was just after Midnight on a rain filled night in Dukes Pub. Thunder was rolling across the sky outside, followed by a quick flash of Lightning. The song on the Jukebox was Korn's 'Love Song' which was playing rather loudly, as the bartender was hoping to keep Evane calm, since apparently they knew she loved this song. Evane shrugged and went to look out the window. The Restaurant that was now in Everlost stood across the street, as did the Dumpster her body was found in. Forever a reminder of how she died, as where the scars from the knife that killed her, the main one running across her neck, from where the guy slit her throat.

She was getting rather annoyed, the bar was picking up and someone had the nerve to talk about her haunting Dukes Pub and her Murder. "Yeah man, they say the girl that died in 2004 haunts this Pub. Shame she had to die so violently. Who would kill a child like..."She didn't let them finish as she screamed in rage and lifted the glass of beer he had sitting next to him, tossing it across the room at the Bartender, missing him by mere inches. This shut them up quickly but Evane wasn't through.

Her rage was building, she was upset, mad, angry, and hated the Living for not finding her killer. He would hurt another if they didn't catch him, and odds are he probably has. She hated him, hated the Living, her screams echoed among the walls, heard by the living who shuddered in fright. She grabbed a Chair, nearest the man talking, and flung it halfway across the room, causing it to hit a wall near the table. It didn't break, but merely hit with a loud BANG!

"GET OUT!" She shouted in rage, not sure of whether or not she was heard. Not even caring. She let out another scream and ran over to the bar, tossing a beer bottle right across the bar, causing it to shatter against the wall. She screamed again, unaware another Ghost had entered the pub, or perhaps not caring. "YOU'RE ALL FUCKING LAZY! NOT EVEN BOTHERING TO LOOK FOR THE ONE THAT KILLED ME! AND YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT ME!? FUCK OFF, THE LOT OF YOU!" She shouted in rage as she continued her violent outburst.

[Elizabeth Stride]

They say ghosts only haunt the place of death. Or is that nothing but a myth? The Dukes pub has a reputation for being heavily haunted, possibly one of the most haunted in the district. There had been numerous reports and sightings of a dark, shapeless shadow, described by some almost as a “black blur of some kind”, hovering around the pub, yet nobody has been able to gather any proof. There have been stories that the old Duke of Coventry, who had suffered from schizophrenia, had commited suicide inside the pub, and it was his ghost that haunted the pub. Others say no, they had seen the ghost, and it was that of a woman in her mid 20s, Elizabeth Stride, who had been murdered by Jack the Ripper in Whitechapel in the 1880s. Some people say that both these spirits haunt the pub, along with many others. And then of course there are those who say the whole idea’s the biggest load of rubbish they’ve ever heard.

And indeed, there in the darkest corner of the pub, the tall, inconspicuous shadow of a woman was poised absolutely motionlessly, placidly observing the scenario inside the building, which, at the moment, wasn’t very interesting. People arguing, chatting, being merry, shouting, laughing, dancing, getting drunk, whatever people of today generally did in pubs. The woman’s dark brown hair fell midway down her back, and her lanky figure was cloaked in a long black dress reaching down to the ground. A cigarette hang limply between her delicate fingers, her free arm crossed over her chest. Her cold brown eyes looked towards the stairwell that lead to the floor upstairs as a burly old man, somewhere around the age of 58 or 60, made his way gruffly down the stairs. He flashed a quick and uninterested glance at the woman, nodded, and went over the the pub. With a bit of effort, he took a seat on one of the chairs. The woman smirked, and took a puff at her cigarette. She and the old Duke had never quite gotten along very well, even when they both were still alive, which somehow was probably the reason they were so fond of each other. Not on courting terms, goodness no, but just as friends, or at least acquaintances.

Her mind began to wonder. It was quite dark outside, as thick heavy rainclouds loomed menacingly and unseen over London, blocking out any light from the moon or stars. It was 01:00 in the early morning of Sunday, September 30, 1888, to be exact. The morning, or indeed the very hour, she was murdered in the district of Whitechapel. Her hand subconciously went up to her neck and she ran a finger along the scar that snaked its way across her neck. She’d never forget that son of a bitch.

GET OUT!

The woman’s thoughts were interrupted as she heard a scream tear through the already noisy pub. She frowned. Her dark brown eyes, almost appearing to be black in colour, came to rest upon a young girl, who couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen. The girl picked up a bottle of beer and chucked it across the bar. The woman watched as the glass bottle struck the wall, and shattered into a million pieces. Her eyes then darted over to where the Duke had last been seen, and she cocked a brow. He wasn’t there? Now where’ the old fool got to? she thought to herself, shaking her head slightly, and turning her attention back to the girl throwing a fit. The woman had seen her around and inside the pub multiple times, but had never really paid much attention to her.

YOU'RE ALL FUCKING LAZY! NOT EVEN BOTHERING TO LOOK FOR THE ONE THAT KILLED ME! AND YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT ME!? FUCK OFF, THE LOT OF YOU!

This was, to some extent, amusing. The woman fished about for a feeling of sympathy for the poor girl, but failed miserably at finding any. She had always been like that, regrettably. Although she wasn’t entirely the cold, heartless, antagonist everybody made her out to be, but she wasn’t the best person to go to if one needed a shoulder to cry on, either. Instead of saying the woman felt sympathetic, which she didn’t, one could probably say she somewhat felt for her. The woman herself had been brutally murdered, so she knew exactly how awfully frustrating it was when this sort of thing happened, although she didn’t quite express her anger in the same way this young girl did. No, she was more the reserved type. The one you wouldn’t even notice when in conversation, the one whose name you forget within half an hour. Alright, well, maybe it wasn’t the case with her, as she had been one of those unfortunate souls who suddenly become famous as soon as they die, but when she was still alive she fit the profile perfectly.

Face it, lass. Those, they couldn’t care less how ye died. Tis the way the world works.

She spoke, cocking her head in the direction the chattering group of people were sitting. Alright, so the woman was a bit of a pessimist, and probably wasn’t helping the situation much. But still, she wasn’t going to pretend.

[Evane Devine]

"Well they should care about my death." Evane said as she hurled another glass across the bar, causing it to shatter on the floor before it even neared the far wall. "THEY HAVE NO RIGHT TALKING ABOUT ME! MY MURDERER IS STILL OUT THERE AND NO DOUBT KILLING!" She shouted now, a tear rolling down her face.

Finally Eve had turned around and saw the sorce of the voice, a lady with long black hair, no older than her 20's, wearing Victorian clothing. She looked back out the window and then to the new Ghost. "FUCKING LOT DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER FINDING MY KILLER!" She shouted, pounding her fist on the bar in anger, though she was calming a little.

"Why don't they care about us? They go on like nothing happened, just place your face in the paper and then do nothing." She sighed, looking at the new woman before her. This woman struck Eve as not that caring, the type that would rather be seen and not heard.

Sighing again she returned her gaze to the window now, wondering why everyone seemed to be so chatty now, shaken, but chatty. "Look at them, getting all shit faced and talking about rubbish that doesn't even make sense." Eve said, looking over at a group of young men, all drunk and nearly falling off there chair.

She had seen the other Bartender walk into the Pub, someone she had seen loads of times and who didn't fit in with Modern times, though she didn't bother asking if he was alive or dead, she guessed him to be dead. She also never thought of talking to him, he didn't strike her as the friendliest of Ghosts, so she obviously avoided this man, instead looking back to the Victorian lady. "Okay, two questions, who was the old Bloke that walked into the pub from upstairs and toward the bar, and two...how did you die?"

She was sure this woman wouldn't tell her about how she died, though she hoped to get more information about the old male spirit that she almost always saw. He went aout things like he was alive, she often noticed. She heard people talking about the Duke of Coventry, but didn't figure this man was actually him. A clap of thunder made her jump slightly but she was certain the living where more frightened than she, and not because of the Thunder.

[Elizabeth Stride]

Well they should care about my death. THEY HAVE NO RIGHT TALKING ABOUT ME! MY MURDERER IS STILL OUT THERE AND NO DOUBT KILLING!

The woman took a drag on her cigarette, pulled out a chair from one of the tables and took a seat, leaning back in it and crossing one leg over the other as she listened to the girl. A hand reached out to the middle of the table and pushed the little candle back a bit, before she crossed her arm over her chest again. “My murderer is still out there and no doubt killing!”…. that statement distracted her again, and she once more began to let her mind wander. She had never really thought about it that way before. Was Jack…. No, no he couldn’t possibly be. That’d make him over a hundred years old. Had he, like her, fallen out of the tunnel after his candle had burned out? Or perhaps he had found his way to the “light”. The hell he better had, for his own sake. She had a score to settle with him.

FUCKING LOT DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER FINDING MY KILLER!

All these vulgar modern terms, the woman could never quite understand how on earth it found its way into the English language. Had some sad little soul sat down at his desk and made a list of all the possible words that younger generations still to come would be able to put to use? Or was it just “one of those things, ya know?” which had suddenly decided to leap into action on a quiet summer evening? Nobody but the woman herself knew what had happened to her killer, so she couldn’t really share any sense of understanding of the girl’s frustration on that part.

Throughout most of the younger girl’s fit, the woman had uttered not as much as a word. She was more a listener, unless she felt really strong about something. She took another puff at the cigarette as she listened, letting her cold stare drift off to the pub again. A small smile formed in the corner of her mouth as she saw the old man was now back at his seat by the bar, drinking the night away. He was, in many ways, very similar to her, personality-wise. Like her, he was withdrawn, unsympathetic in certain regards, short-tempered, and liked his alcohol.

Why don't they care about us? They go on like nothing happened, just place your face in the paper and then do nothing.

The woman looked over to the girl. Well whot do ye suggest they do? Once yer dead, yer dead, doesn’t matter why. Can’t turn back time. She spoke her second sentence of the day, and took another drag from the cigarette. She had never understood time. In fact at times it frightened her. How would someone define time? There wasn’t really a way, was there? Her eyes stole a quick glance at the old grandfather clock standing idly against the wall. 2 AM, it said. Who was to say “ok, now it is 2 AM, and that is how the world works”? And again, define 2 AM for me. The woman had always found the whole ordeal over perplexing. What was time exactly?

Look at them, getting all shit faced and talking about rubbish that doesn't even make sense.

She looked up as the girl’s voice rang through her head again, and she followed her gaze to the group of young men getting hopelessly drunk. She hadn’t really been paying much attention, so whatever it was that they were saying wouldn’t have made any sense anyway, whether they were drunk or sober. The woman replied with a small sigh and a mere shrug of her slender shoulders. There really wasn’t much she could add to that sentence.

Okay, two questions, who was the old Bloke that walked into the pub from upstairs and toward the bar?

Ah, him. Tha’s the old Duke of Coventry, that is. The woman said matter-of-factly. Used to own the pub. They say he wos mad as a hatter. One day he grabbed a shotgun off the wall and, she paused, lifting her thumb and straightening her index and middle finger so her hand resembled a gun, and placed it under her chin, shot himself. She said, taking another puff on her cigarette. In front of everybody in the pub, they said.

and two...how did you die?

The woman turned back to the girl’s second question, and a smirk crept across her face. She leaned forward in her chair so she was closer to the girl. Ever heard of the Whitechapel Murderer, lassie?

[Evane Devine]

Eve continued watching the drunken men talk in there slurred, drunken, voices and then turned her head toward the old man drinking a beer. Her head jerked back to the Ghost now sitting across from her when she said "Well whot do ye suggest they do? Once yer dead, yer dead, doesn’t matter why. Can’t turn back time." Evane nodded, that was true, no one cared about who died, who lived, who got killed. The world always went on. "Unless you're famous and you die suddenly, the world doesn't stop." She responded, now calm.

The woman sat and listened to her rant before saying who the guy was, and how he died. "I've heard about that, thought it was nothin' more than a legend." She said matter of factly. "So he's the reason why this pub's called Dukes Pub? Never bloody thought the original owner to be the suicidal type." She said more to herself than anyone.

Evane couldn't help but crack a smile when she spotted the young Victorian lady puffing her ciggerate. Couldn't hurt her now, could it? At the mention of the Whitechapel Murders she nodded. "Me teacher back in 1st year taught us about the Whitechapel Murders. Said Jack could've been a Prince, in fact, she was certain he was a Prince. Dunno why really, he more or less struck me as a Doctor. What Prince would take time to...Wait...you're one of his victims, aren't you?" She asked, finally figuring out why she asked if Eve had ever heard of the Whitechapel Murders.

That shocked her, to be talking to one of his victims. A man sat down at a barstool beside Evane, and Eve smirked as a beer was placed in front of him. She turned to the Ghost lady and then back to the guy, her smirk growing wider as she moved her hand over to his glass and pushed it to the Bartender standing in front of the man, finally pushing the glass over the edge of the counter and causing it to shatter with a loud crash to the ground. "Never do get tired of doing that." She laughed.

[Tyler Ishikawa]

Tyler, who was a young teenage Japanese male with short, dyed teal, hair, had seen the whole outburst from this young female Phantom and felt sorry for her. Must be hard on a Ghost to have died so violently, and knowing there killer remains at large. Tyler felt sympathy for her, but at the same time, chose not to talk to the girl, for fear she'd toss something at him. He had his gaze fixed onto the girl and now the girl had company, a woman from the Victorian Period with beautiful black hair, had sat across from her and was now talking to her.

Another Ghost, the previous Owner of the Pub with whome the Pub was named after, the Duke of Coventry, sat drinking abeer, as if alive. This was why Tyler loved this Pub, and often came hear for some Fish N Chips, his favourite meal at the pub. He grabbed his Coke and his Fish N Chips and made his way closer to the two Ghosts, the more moderen one sitting at the bar, the other at a table, and sat at a stool to the girls left, looking at her every so often as he went to grab a Chip, which he popped into his mouth, watching her all the while as he ate.

[Elizabeth Stride]

[ooc: noohoo they be stealin' mah muse! D=]

I've heard about that, thought it was nothin' more than a legend. So he's the reason why this pub's called Dukes Pub? Never bloody thought the original owner to be the suicidal type.

The woman took another puff at her cigarette as she listened to the girl talk, her façade still carrying that placid and far-off expression. He’s not the original owner. This pub’s always been a family business. Old man inherited it, technically speaking. She took a small break from talking, and looked out the window as the rain cascaded down the glass panes. She turned back to the last statement. It sounded like the girl had more directed it at herself than anyone else, but the woman felt the need to comment anyway. It hit everybody like an eighty ton train. There’d always bin stories the old man was totally off his rocker, but I never expected him to blow his head off. He had a family, ye know. His wife, the Duchess of Coventry, and a little baby girl. Beautiful child, ‘twas. Her voice trailed off eventually, and her penetrating gaze lying quite still on a little spot in the far opposite corner of the pub. There was nothing there, she was just staring.

Me teacher back in 1st year taught us about the Whitechapel Murders. Said Jack could've been a Prince, in fact, she was certain he was a Prince. Dunno why really, he more or less struck me as a Doctor.

The woman laughed bitterly. Hah! Prince, my arse. she snapped, although it hadn’t been intentionally. It just sort of slipped out. That cretin was about as Royal as them local garbage collectors. She growled softly, and took another puff at her cigarette. The woman wasn’t in any way angry at the girl, she just had a bit of an issue keeping her temper under control whenever she’d somehow stumble onto the current topic. It would usually end up like one of those “my stupid ex did so and so and nananananna…..” rants if she was allowed her freedom of speech, but she had decided she’d spare the poor girl the agitation of having to listen to her honking on about her disasterous love-life, so she left it at that.

What Prince would take time to...Wait...you're one of his victims, aren't you?

She nodded at the girl’s question. Elizabeth Stride. the woman stated in a “to-the-point” manner, and flicked the cigarette away. This was done with a bit of regret, as she had no other cigarettes on her at the moment, but she figured she could just go and nick one from the Duke if she wanted another. A small smirk formed in the corner of the woman’s mouth as her eyes trailed after the girl’s hand, as it reached out and moved the glass of beer a bit, until it tipped over the edge and smashed to pieces on the ground.

Never do get tired of doing that.

Elizabeth allowed herself a small, airy laugh. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a young Japanese teenager taking a seat close to the girl. She smirked as he continuously stole a few glances at the girl. No, he definately wasn’t a ghost. Elizabeth turned her gaze back to the young girl in front of her, and cocked her head towards the boy.

Either he’s head over heels in love, or thinks you can’t see him.

[Evane Devine]

Eve couldn't help laugh as Elizabeth laughter when she pushed the beer glass off the table. She then shot a glance over to the Duke, then back to Elizabeth"You knew the Duke in life I take it?" Eve asked Elizabeth as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. "Does his family still run the pub?" She curiously asked before Elizabeth answered her question. "I knew Jack wasn't Royalty. I never bought into that Rubbish really, I always thought he was a Doctor."

She said matter of factly, smiling when Elizabeth introduced herself. "Elizabeth Stride. She also taught us about you in School, said you was his third victim. She pretty much left it at that though." She said before watching the Japanese guy move closer to her. "Names Evane but I go by Eve now." She said before laughing, having heard what Elizabeth said. "You know, I'm going with the second. The lad obviously doesn't think I can see him." She said with a dry laugh. "Wonder why he's looking at me? Is he scared of me or something? Bloody rich if he is, a man like him scared of a bloomin' 14 year old." She said before breaking into laughter.

[Tyler Ishikawa]

At there remarks Tyler laughed to himself. 'So they continue to be sarcastic, even in death.' He thought before eating a bite of fish and a choip and saying to the modern Ghost. "Of course I think you can see me, and no...I don't fancy either of you. I'd preffer a living girl to be honest." He said calmly. Looking at Elizabeth he nodded slightly. "Elizabeth Stride, Jack the Rippers 3rd Victim." He said more to himself than them. "I'm not at all surprised you still haunt the streets of London, the way he killed you I'd suspect you'd want revenge. Can't say I blame you really." He said to her now before turning to the modern Ghost.

"Do you remember what your killer looked like?" Even though he had asked the more modern Ghost he aimed the Question at Elizabeth as well, hoping to help them both by solving the Murders. Though he knew this to be a fat chance, he thought it couldn't hurt to offer to help either of them.