2025-03-23 - Mopping Up Trouble

The Fable Island Resort is a place of glamor, wealth, and luxury. The best that money can buy. Truly the most magical place on Earth. But below this paragon of perfection is the pumping heart that lets it remain so. Actually, it's more an intestinal system. For here, below the fantasy, are the industrial scale laundry machines that keep it so pristine. Sheets and towels cleaned and replaced 24/7. Guest clothes cleaned to a pristine state - both wet and dry cleaning. The huge throbbing, whirring machines rumble and swirl their meals almost non-stop, sending tremors through the earth. Though the rooms are so perfectly built that they don't disturb any of the guests above...just the staff who man them.

One such staff is Eunice Thielemann, who sits in a chair blocking the open doorway of one of the laundry rooms. Though hall might be a better description. As she waits for the machines to do their thing, Eunice lights up a joint, well away from any annoying smoke detectors. Her lavender uniform not as clean as when she started out this morning. Their has been some cleaning that needed to be done that left...stains. Her uniform will have to be cleaned tonight but that will be back at the staff residences, not here with the guest's clothes.

Uh oh. Footsteps approaching, coming down the stairs. A tourist snooping where they don't belong? A supervisor here to get on her case? Thankfully, no. It's just Carl, still dressed in his regular work outfit, a baggy gray jumpsuit with patches of blue and violet at the shoulders. Spellbound Island colors. He doesn't usually work Fable Island, but his secondary duties take him all over the park, and from the way his face is squinted up that's why he's here now - he's got his Ghost Eyes on. He startles back a step when he spots Eunice, and then he relaxes. She was alive last time he saw her, nothing to worry about.

"Oh. Hey, Eunice," he waves, looking all around. "Don't guess you've seen a guy around about... yea tall, kind of pale, see-through? Little hole in his head?" He taps his face right between the eyes by way of demonstration.

Fuck! Someone coming! Eunice pulls her joint into her mouth to hide it, eyes widening a little at the sudden heat and smoke that fills her puffed cheeks. Oh, it's Carl. She coughs out the joint, managing to catch it before it hits the ground, smoke billowing around her. "Carl!" she rasps. "You scared me to death." Inside joke there? A few more coughs as the state of the joint is determined. All good. Just needs relighting. A furrowed brow before she sticks her tongue out to check on it. Her words a little muffled in consequence. "Did I burn my dung?" Eunice presses her fingers around the suspected scorch but it seems okay.

What did Carl ask? Eunice figures it out and shakes her head. "Didn't notice a ghost. Hole in the head? I bet he didn't need that" she deadpans before gesturing him over. "Joint?"

Carl can't stop himself laughing at the state he finds Eunice in, and doesn't really seem to be trying. It's not mean spirited, he's been there. He gives her that squint-eyed ghost detecting look. "Not quite," he says, shaking his head sympathetically, "still stuck amongst the living. Not getting out of here that easy." He gives one last look around, over his shoulder and up at the ceiling, then decides to hell with it and lets his face relax as he approaches.

"Supposedly he floated in through one of the rooms, made the floor start bleeding. Pretty sure someone's fibbing, didn't want to admit spilling wine on the carpet. Sorry," he says. Either way, she's the one who's got to take care of that part. He eyes the joint, clearly a little tempted, then waves it off. "Better not. Y'know, you might consider getting into edibles."

"This joint was almost an edible" Eunice smirks before shrugging at Carl's refusal. "Might be a bit too damp to relight at the moment anyway." Into her pocket it goes as a frustrated glower appears on her face at the news of a 'blood' spill. "I hate wine stains. I have to rip up the whole carpet if it's set too long. Why do people come on holiday and think they can treat the place worse than their own? Though, to be fair, they probably all have cleaners where they live and regularly spill wine."

"So, you didn't see the ghost yourself? And the witness said they had a hole in their head? Pretty precise description for something 'horrifying'..." There are air quotes made with fingers. "...and pouring blood everywhere. Fuck, have they told reception? That's all we need. Ghost stories among the guests." A little snort of wicked amusement. "Maybe I should summon one?"

\"That's what makes it a holiday," Carl says. He winces a little at the thought of having to rip of the carpet, but then grins and holds his hands out palms up, entreating her to look at the bright side: "You never know, it might still be blood!" No? Well, he tried. "You really oughta put in for a transfer. Everyone knows housekeeping's the worst gig in Custodial. All the muckwork, and you've got to deal with tourists? No thanks." He makes a disgusted face.

"Anyway, I'll help out. I'm already here at least until the next ferry. Just don't summon anything, I'm the one gets stuck chasing it off if it doesn't want to leave."

Eunice nods in agreement to the bright side that it could be blood. "Easier to get out than wine. And it means we have a real ghost. Oh! Unless a guest murdered their partner and are trying to blame it on a ghost. Then we could be like eccentric private detectives or something. Wait, house detectives. That's what they are, right?" A snort at the thought of a transfer. "What, and give up all this?"

"I really should learn how to banish stuff. All I can do is cause trouble and not fix it." A wicked gleam to her eyes. "Cool, huh?" Eunice peers around. "We can go look for the ghost if you want." A jerk of her thumb towards the machines. "They've got half an hour to run and all I'm doing is stopping this chair from floating away. We could both...mop...up this problem." A beat. "If I had sunglasses on I would have lowered them a little before saying that."

\"I'll teach you how I do it," Carl offers, "as soon as I figure it out myself. At least yours is something you can show off." Which is to say, yes: cool, at least as far as he's concerned. He groans a little at her pun, but a twitch of his lip suggests he's more amused than he wants to let on. "Yeah, and if I had something to throw at you it'd be sailing through the air. Guess we're both unlucky. Not gonna say no to an extra set of eyes, though, especially ones that know their way around down here, thanks." He offers a hand up.

Eunice takes the offered hand with a nod of thanks and rises to her blistered feet. A stretch and yawn is then required to get her fully into action. As much action as she manages at least. "As if I would ever show off. And I'll teach you how to summon if you like...or can you do that already?" Down to business. "Okay, which room had the...incident?" She looks up at the ceiling. "If he came through the floor then we should check that location first. From your description, sounds like...hmm...mob hit? Christ, he might be buried in the foundations. That'll be fun getting him out." One last check on the washing machines before it is time to set off.

"A mob hit? Here?" Carl laughs. "This really is the land of imagination, they ought to put you to work on the lore." He looks up, points a finger in what may or may not be the right direction, hell if he knows down here. "8A, Family Suite. The one with all the mermaid shit and seashells and everything. The way I heard it, yeah, he came up through the floor, but it's all third-hand. Guest calls the desk, desk calls custodial, custodial sends me. They don't want me talking to the tourists. That's why I came down here, figured if he came up, maybe he went back down."

"There wasn't always a resort here, Carl. Once upon a time it was just an empty island. Perfect place to do some hits and bury the bodies. And since the mob owns all the construction companies, at least according to television, it all makes sense. 8A..." Eunice looks around before pointing down a hallway. "That way. Okay, I'm getting a bit confused now. The ghost came up through the floor, making it bloody, and the guest called the desk. Didn't come running out of the room. And you haven't actually been in the room yet? The guest didn't even say it came down yet. Sheesh, Carl, there could be paranormal conjugal events happening right now." Her voice deadpan throughout, as it often is.

There are a lot of hallways under the building. A lot of rooms too - laundry, storage, power, water. Eunice halts after a hundred yards or so, gets her bearings, and then points to a door marked 'Generator Room - Backup'. "In here. You got the key?" Carl's a janitor, he must have.

"Screaming is a type of calling," Carl observes with a superior air. "Anyway, I don't know the exact order of operations. I was scrubbing puke out from around the Spook-'o-Whirl when I got the call, then I was trying not to puke on the ferry, and now I'm here. Room was the first place I checked, guests weren't hanging around. Neither was our ghost, if there is one." He snorts at the question. Of course he's got keys, he's got all the keys. He unhooks a ring from his belt with what looks like a couple pounds of them. It's going to take a minute to find the right one.

"Screaming is a type of singing too" Eunice points out. "Have you ever heard me sing? One day I'll be a rock star. Go on tour. Rock out for a couple of hours. Clean up the arenas afterwards. Some things you can't let go. Like bubblegum in your hair. You just cannot let that go." She waits patiently for Carl to find the right key. "At least I can avoid the ride disasters. I just clean up puke in bathrooms. And the other things people do in bathrooms. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, they're so sick they do both at once. And, if I'm really lucky, they'll do each in the correct place." She sighs. "A girl can dream."

"Not one for water travel? Bouncing around. Bobbing and weaving. The highs of a wave to the depths between them. Up. Down. Up. Down. Rocking side to side." As she talks, Eunice sways slowly from side to side and round and round. "They say you should keep an eye on the horizon. Probably so you throw up overboard. How's that lock going?"

\"Very funny," Carl says, turning a little pale, "keep it up and you'll be cleaning up puke in the basement. You know my roommate's the captain of one of those floating emetics? Seems normal enough, but I dunno. It's got to take a sick mind, doing that all day. Anyway, think I've got it." He doesn't. Two keys later, though, and they're in. He opens the door and gestures inside with a flourish, ladies first.

"Some people like to go back and forth" Eunice shrugs, moving back and forth. "Back and forth. Back and forth. On the bobbing waves." A snort of amusement. "Okay, I'll stop." The door finally opens and there is much rejoicing. "Hurrah! I thought I was going to have to kick it in." Since this is the back-up generator room, it is in stand-by rather than fully operating. It still hums, ready to kick in to full power when needed, but the room is otherwise silent and even that noise becomes a gentle background buzz before too lonhg.

"Can you talk to ghosts, Carl? Maybe we should see if anyone's listening?" Eunice walks deeper into the room. The machinery on one side, a control panel on the other. Thick concrete supports holding up the building above. A couple of lockers in the back, opposite the front door, for the maintenance team to keep their gear. One of which has a calendar of half-naked female mechanics on it. "Seriously? Guys still use these calendars? Or is it ironic?"

"It's ironic if you ask us about it, sure," Carl says, glancing at the calendar for only a moment longer than strictly necessary. He looks around, up at the ceiling, into the corners, walking slowly with that ghost-finding squint on his face again. His voice is a little distracted, now. "Anyone can talk to ghosts. Hearing them's the trick," he says, making his way towards the other end of the room, "and I can. A little. I'm better at getting rid of 'em, though."

No ghosts around that he can see so far, but there, something leaking from under the door of one of the lockers. It doesn't look like blood, exactly, but it's something. He steps out ahead, motioning for her to keep behind him.

Eunice rolls her eyes at Carl's distracted staring. "Why don't you take a picture, it lasts longer. Oh...it is a picture already. Then why don't you...um...never mind." She too makes the rounds of the room. "We could try and communicate with them" she suggests half-heartedly but with as much enthusiams as usually summons. Not much. But it seems Carl has found something of interest and Eunice stands with him before furrowing her brow at his attempt to keep her 'safe'. "I'm a cleaner in a luxury resort, I don't think whatever that is could be any worse than what I normally deal with." She tilts her head studying the ichor. "I'm not cleaning that up. This is your area. I suppose you have the key to the locker."

"All the keys," Carl replies, lowering his voice. With exaggerated care he takes the ring back off his belt, holding it up, squinting between it and the lock. He seems to think he has a better idea which key is going to work. Same kind of lockers all over the park, same kind of lock, same kind of key. At least, that's his logic. He selects one and creeps forward, seeming more like someone trying to sneak up and trap and a possum under a laundry basket than someone getting ready to confront the living dead. He tries the lock, and gets it wrong the first time, cursing silently. He tries again with the next key, and again it doesn't work. All the while whatever it is keeps leaking out from under the door, a faint trickling sound audible now, this close to the locker.

Third time's the charm. The lock clicks. He swings open the door in one great motion and steps back, arms up.

There it is. The description was all off - it isn't yea tall. There's no hole in the middle of the head. There isn't any blood anywhere. But it's a ghost, alright, the ghost of a little fat man sunk halfway through the floor of the locker, chest and head sticking up through the bottom. His wispy hair drifts as if underwater, his gaudy hawaiian shirt clings to his body as if soaked. His eyes are closed. In his hands is the perfectly corporeal hipflask that somebody must have left in the locker, its contents passing straight through him and onto the ground as he does his best to drink from it.

Eunice gasps at the sight. Not from fear, far from it, but more the shock and, okay, hilarity of the vision that greets them. "Fuck me like I owe you some money" she mumbles under her breath, taking in the view. "Umm...that is not the ghost we were expecting" is pointed out helpfully. "Hey! Buddy! Wake up!" That's Eunice, making enough noise to wake up the dead. Again. "What are you doing in there?"

"We should probably find out whose locker that is" Eunice asides to Carl. "They've lost their drink...and may be related to this guy's death." She focuses her power to communicate with the spirit - assuming it wakes up. Make sure they both hear each other. "Maybe hold off banishment until we talk with it."

"Fuck's sake," Carl mutters, taking in the sight before him. He's already halfway through summoning up his mojo when Eunice suggests restraint, and he gives her a skeptical look out of the corner of his eye. He holds onto the power for a moment, then reluctantly lets it slip, shaking his head and stepping aside. "If you wanna, be my guest. Pretty sure now that's wine on the rug upstairs, though," he says, pointing up at where he assumes 8A must be at.

The ghost, meanwhile, turns its head vaguely in Eunice's direction, talking around the flask. Since its mouth passes straight through this doesn't pose the problem it usually might, but there are other obstacles to communication. "Wassis? Whooo's... askin'? Man, man's allowedta... can drink onniz ownn boat, officer, noo... jursdiction, s'maritime law, y'got... no right to..." his ghostly eyes, swollen and visibly bloodshot even trasparent, slowly open. He squints at Eunice, and the vision takes the slow train to what's left of his consciousness. "Whyy... hulloooo there b'eauful', y'wanna... ever been onna boat? M'captain yanno."

He waits for her to be impressed.

"Beautiful?" Eunice frowns at that before informing Carl, "He's obviously drunk. Can ghosts be drunk?" She crosses her arms and goes into eccentric detective mode. "Obviously fell off his boat and drowned. So, his body will be out in the water somewhere. Can't be too far away though." A shrug before directing her words back to the ghost. "What's your name? And what's the name of the boat? Is it a big boat? It has to be a yacht if you want to impress me...Captain. I don't ride on small masts." Very doubtful he's an actual captain. Just as much a captain as Eunice when she's hating being on one of those pedal boats in the resort lake.

"Yeah...wine. Still, odd that the guests ran off about that." A grunt. "Wonder if they paid their bill. Anyway, once he tells us who he is, Carl, you can banish away. And if you don't, then we're screwed, because I can't do it."

"Well, they either saw a ghost, or a bottle floating around drinking itself. Either way, would've freaked me out, once upon a time," Carl shrugs. He watches the ghost out of the corner of his eye, his fingers twitching with a hunger to banish, but he restrains himself for now.

"S'the... the biggest boat!" the ghostly sot says, really hitting the t's. "S'called..." he gestures expansively, hands passing through the sides of the locker, flask falling to the floor, "... THE SEA WORD. Y'gettit? Y'gettit? Y'gettit." He snickers, clearly proud of his great wit. As for his own name, that takes him a moment. "... Horse? No, nooo, tha'stupid. Hor...Horace. Horace Young. CAPTAIN Horsus Young. Sooo, y'wanna... wanna ride th' waves, sweetie?"

Carl's fingers twitch, again. He clears his throat and looks to Eunice for permission.

Permission? Eunice returns Carl's look and simply says, "Please do."

A shiver at the attempt at flirtation. She's pretty sure that's what it was, but she will make a mental note about Captain Horace Young of The Sea Word. Yeah, she got it, and is quite happy to take it back for a refund. "I guess I need to go clean up a wine spill in 8A" she sighs. "It was 8A, wasn't it?" Assuming that the banishment works. If it doesn't, she might have to agree to a boat ride to keep the ghost in check.

Carl cracks his knuckles and steps forward, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he summons his magic. There's no visual indication, though those attuned to the weird energies of the island might feel a certain tension in the air, if they're paying attention. He locks eyes on the ghost, and dropping his voice half an octave, he speaks his words of power:

"G'WAN! GIT! Fuck off outta here, y'little shit! Scram!" The Texas in his voice, usually quite subdued, comes out in force. His hands grip around an imaginary broom as he lunges forward in a great sweeping motion.

The ghost just has time to widen its eyes in surprise before it is launched with great speed up and back, out of the locker, out of the basement, out of the resort, to wherever the hell it is they go when he sends them away. Carl watches as it goes, waiting a moment to make sure it takes, then dusts off his hands. He bends down to pick up the mostly empty flask, gives the opening a sniff, then shrugs and offers it to Eunice.

Eunice purses her lips and nods slowly at Carl's ritual. "Some of the best magic words I've ever heard" she admits, impressed. "Love the sweeping motion at the end. Are you Canadian? Could have been a curler." It worked at least. The ghost is gone. Though the offer of the flask has her screwing up her face and shaking her head. "Ewww, no thanks. You don't know where it's been. And it's not the ghost germs I'm worried about, it's whoever owns this locker and likes women covered with grease. All yours, Carl."

"Good ghostbusting" Eunice smirks, offering her fist for a bump. "If I need to cut out some carpet, I'll let you know. Shit, and the sheets are probably done too. Fuck, no rest for the lazy."

Carl gives the flask another sniff, then shakes his head and screw the cap back on, tossing it back to the bottom of the locker and swinging it shut. "Thanks for the help," he says, bumping fists, "you're a pal. Just gimme a call if that one comes back." He checks his watch, and starts heading for the door, in no particular hurry. "C'mon, I got a little while 'til the next ferry, I'll give you a hand."