Difference between revisions of "07.05.2014: The Uninvited Guest"

Latest revision as of 13:24, 6 July 2014

• Name = The Uninvited Guest
• Cast= Emily and Castle
• Summary= Castle gets to know the gymnast, and what really haunts her.
• Icdate= July 5, 2014
• Ictime= 9:45 P.M.
• Location= Atheneum Suite Hotel, Detroit
• Prptp= N/A
• Spheres= World of Darkness: Mortal World of Darkness: Mortal+

There is an unexpected knock at the door. A simply triple rapt of firm knuckles. Odd considering the hours, and since the doorman didn't call up in advance.

Emily is in the kitchen area, cooking up a simple stir-fry. It appears she does have some skills. Once hearing the knock at the door, lovely hazel eyes shift, as it's unexpected. The doorman didn't beep anyone up. Taking the hot steel spatula in hand, she walks over to the door, looking cautiously through the peephole. "Who is it?" She calls out.

It's Lincoln Castle that she sees lingering there close to her door, not really looking at the peephole. "Detroit Police Department," the Detective replies in response. His tone of even, displaying nothing of his intentions.

She can clearly see the ebon-colored man while he makes his announcement. Soon, there are a few clicks of the locks, before she opens the door. "Detective. I wasn't expecting you." she says simply. "Is there something new with the case?"

Dressed like he just came from Sunday morning service, the dark skinned Detective leans in the doorway with a certain swagger to his stance tonight. With a forearm pressed to the molding, the other hand hangs low with a single long-stem white rose, swishing it back and forth languidly. He smiles that charming smile of his, ankle are crossed, designer shoes highly polished. "It occurs to me Ms. French, that if indeed you are a stalker, I've played right into your hands. We spent our last meeting talking about me almost all night. I thought it high time I turn the tables," Castle says casually as he lifts the rose and presents it to Emily. "If you're in the mood for company that is." Whatever was he thinking calling on a young woman at this hour? No warning to do hair, makeup - nothing.

Those sexy hazel eyes of hers dart to the single white rose - She's dressed down this evening. Velour jogging pants that still cling tightly along her curves, made from an expensive cloth, rest low along her waistline. A black tank top, simple, clingy, and clearly shows she doesn't wear a bra underneath - molds to her slender torso, showing off the athletic curves she works so hard to achieve. Long flaxen hair is done up in a messy pony-tail, and she is sans makeup. You could take her for anyone off the streets dressed like this. Yet, there is still that natural allure that makes her young complexion glow. A smile, before a slender hand snakes out to receive the gift of the rose, bringing it to her nose. "How thoughtful, Det - I mean, Lincoln. Please, do come in. I was just making me a simple dinner. There is enough for two?"

Lincoln steps in, turning around to watch as Emily closes the door. With her back turned he chews his lower lips slightly. No doubt catching her unprepared this way, only heightens her appeal. Few woman can manage what she easily does without preparation. He smiles to himself, the turns to survey the penthouse, and taken in the scent of cooking food. "Thank you, but I had something earlier. Maybe just a drink while you have your?" He clasps his hands, standing there and not really wandering to far without some indication of where she's like him to go. "Besides, I think casual conversation with a woman is best served when she's enjoying something to eat." His dark eyes meet her gaze, and he holds it there. "I admit, I've become something of a expert on a certain New Jersey born woman that took London by storm two years ago. Its left me with some questions."

Emily locks the door back securely in place, before she turns to face him once more. A light little grin escapes her lips upon something, before she holds her hands out towards the living area. "Please, make yourself at home, Lincoln. You know where the wet bar is. Please help yourself to a drink." She offers, softly, before returning to her cooking food. It's simple, really. Some thinly cut steak, with peppers, onions, and greens. The steam rises from the wok while she turns it, before moving to set it out on a prepared plate. The aroma of the simple dish fills the air. Her gaze shifts then to the dark man when he mentions where she's from, and where's she's been. "I see you've done your homework." she moves to the small dining area, placing her plate on the table, before taking a seat. "Always at work, you are. What else have you found out about me?"

Castle watches Emily as she strolls back towards her kitchen, and who could blame him? The Velour material simply defines the perfection years of gymnastics has produced. He lifts a brow, and smirks to himself before walking to the wet bar. There he pulls off his coat and rolls up his sleeves, careful of the Rosary wound around his left wrist. "You might be surprised what google can provide when you're an Olympic athlete, Emily." He pours himself two fingers of Scotch, sipping it slowly to savor the flavor of the thirty year old Malt. "Can I make you something," he asks from there - lingering until after the young woman is seated at her table.

A tight, well shaped ass is appreciated in any kind of fabric, no matter how it's draped. And Emily seems to be the exception to the rule. Her body is pretty much near perfection, if not the embodiment. And she can have bragging rights, if she wanted, but who needs them? She moves to sit at the table, before picking up a fork to take the first bite of her food. Those hazel eyes of hers slide over to watch Castle a moment while he does seem to make himself at home. "Please, if you don't mind." She offers a lovely smile. "Yeah. You can find a plethora of things on Google. Or, just watch the Olympics."

Castle's explored the bar long enough to know his way around it. He rests his tumbler on the countertop, and begins to mix Emily a martini served on the rocks, with the ingredients poured over ice the cubes and served in an Old-Fashioned glass. He makes it dirty, meaning the martini contains a splash of olive brine, and garnished with not one, but two olives. Task complete, he grabs his drink and joins her. "Or you can simply ask the young woman, if you're lucky enough to find yourself in her company," the detective retorts as he takes the seat across from Emily. Another sip of Scotch, and he smiles. "Tell me about Emily French."

Emily watches the man while he chooses her drink, before he comes over to sit across from her at the little dinette table. She stabs a morsel of her meal with at fork, bringing it to her mouth for a taste. "Mm. There's not much to tell, really. I grew up in a privileged life. My sister..." she pauses just a moment, eyes downcast, before continuing, "My sister and I were not destined for the banking community. So we gave our hearts to the Olympic games. It's what I've been doing since I was a young girl." She simplifies, as if that would be explanation enough. Slender fingers curl around the old fashioned glass, taking a generous drink from it. She licks her lips. "You make a good dirty martini."

"I've had plenty of practice," Castle admits. He's had a sorted history with alcohol, but then anyone that's seen what he's seen probably would too. "I'm sorry for your loss," he says sincerely to her, having read several articles about Isabel when he was researching Emily. He draws on his Scotch again, taking a small sip before placing it on the table and leaning forward. He rests his eyes on the blonde, his gaze pensive. "I can't begin to know how that felt for you. From what I gather you were close."

"Thanks you." Emily says quietly, picking at the food with her fork now, suddenly not hungry. The martini does look much more appealing, however, and she takes a long sip from the glass. "We were as close as two sisters could ever be..." she says, her voice growing distant, eyes misting for just a moment, before she blinks any tears that might happen away. "It was a terrible accident. The uneven bars were always her forte. Her pride and joy. But....she slipped and..." A soft sigh escapes her lips, looking away from her food, the table, and Castle. "I'm sorry. It's just that I haven't talked about her in a long time. I still.....miss her..."

<<DICE>> Emily rolls manipulation + subterfuge, difficulty 6
<<DICE>> 1 successes (2 2 3 4 8, Specialty: No, Willpower: No)

<<DICE>> Castle rolls Perception+Empathy, difficulty 6
<<DICE>> 3 successes (1 6 6 10, Specialty: No, Willpower: Yes)
[POOL] Castle spends 1 points of Willpower. Reason: Automatic Success

Castle listens attentively - as desirable as Emily is this is actually what he came for. To get to know her. To see if there was anything 'real' there that drew her to him, and caused him to like it. And so when he sees the emotions stir in her- he can see the pain beneath her refined veneer. Progress. But its then he detects it. The deception. The detective cannot help it honestly. His mind plays over her words and body language, and discrepancies are found. "But you don't believe that," he states before lifting his tumbler to his lips again, and sipping from it. His dark eyes are focused on the much younger woman now, and though there is a hard edge to them as watches her. There is condescension. He has learned enough about her to know how intelligent Emily is. He has no reason to doubt her.

Emily is silent for a long time. Or so it seems that way. Something the detective says - it opens up old wounds which she can't help but revisit. Suddenly, with a precise movement, the plate is sent flying across the room to meet its fate. It crashes against the nearest wall, food and all, left in shatters on the pretty hardwood floor. She stands suddenly, pacing. "She would never be so careless. She was a pro, right?" She gazes over to Castle, almost in desperation. "She could do those bars in her sleep. And yet she just slipped and fell? No. No! It was /him/" She seethes, before she realizes she must sound like a raging lunatic. Another quick glance, before she collects herself. "I'm...sorry. It's just...my sister meant everything to me. I will...always miss her.."

Castle is still throughout the meltdown, letting it play out as it has too. Obviously, this is something Emily not only believes, but she feels strongly about. He rests his tumbler on the table, and rises to his feet. He doesn't run over to console her, no not Castle. No the detective moves to the plate, crouches and begins picking up the shattered pieces of glass. He has shoes on after all, and it would be a crime to let Emily scar those sexy little feet of hers. "Are you a believer, Emily?" He asks the question causally, elaborating it in the same tone. "In God. Spirits. The afterlife?" All at once that Rosary wound around his left wrist might standout in light of such a question - his beliefs are obvious.

Emily takes a few deep breaths, calming herself after such an outburst. She moves to sit down at the table again, taking her glass and sipping from it once more. She just watches the man. How calm he is in light of her outburst. Most others would think she was a loon, and look for the nearest exit. She files this into memory, before answering his question. "I'd like to believe there is a better...life after this one. Where I can see my sister again. Whatever happened, I have to believe that we will be together again, and it won't matter anymore..." She glances down, the wood grain of the table suddenly looking spectacular. "Is there really a God, Lincoln? Why would he allow this to happen to Isabel? I lost my whole world when she died..." she just...closes her eyes then, trying to keep out the swell of emotion that threatens to knock her over. "Leave it. That is what maid service if for.." She speaks of the broken plate and food.

Castle continues until he's nearly finished by the time Emily tells him to stop. With little left to do, he simply does it anyway as he speaks. "There is an afterlife, and there is most certainly a God Emily. I have no doubt that you'll see your sister again. Such is the root of my faith," the ebon-skinned man says as he rises with the remnants of her china in hand. He moves back to his seat, placing the broken plate in the center of the table. "I cannot boast to know his plan, I can only accept that he moves in mysterious ways. Ways we don't always understand." He pauses, reaching out and placing his larger, warm hand over Emily's for a brief moment. He trained as a priest once upon a time, is it hard to believe now when the softness of his hand matches that which is in his eyes on her? "I am sorry, Emily. If you would permit it, I could…" He removes his hand, and retakes his seat. "I could confirm or dispel your suspicions for you."

Emily's alluring hazel eyes shift when the ebon hand covers over her lighter colored one. She doesn't pull away, finding some comfort in that touch. She is just quiet for a long moment while he speaks. Mostly because of her embarrassment at the sudden outburst - she knows how to control herself better than that. When he pulls away slightly, those orbs shift to gaze over the older man's face, studying his features, the fine lines. "How....could you be able to do that, Lincoln?"

The Detective withdraws, sitting again and fingering the rim of his tumbler as he gazes at Emily from across the table. “After Seminary school I trained as a priest. Later I served as a Chaplin for the Catholic Church while I was in the Army.” He pauses there dropping his hand to his side to catch the crucifix of his Rosary. He stares at it a moment before going on. “Aspects of war, what I saw there and did, caused me to forego the rite of Ordination. I never took the vows.” He looks back from the silver cross, catching the eyes of the young woman sitting across from him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know certain things. When I returned to the States I delved into the older, more occult aspects of Catholicism. I not only believe I can confirm or dispel your suspicions. I know. I know I can speak to your sister. I can possibly even allow you to speak to her.” He knows how psychotic he sounds, but he’s said it despite better judgment. He came here to see if he could get to know Emily better, and that goes both ways.

"So, you’re not an 'actual' priest. Or weren't, depending on how you look at it." Emily states, her words simply there, not condescending in the least. She leans back in her chair a bit, hazel eyes looking over the dark-skinned man across from her while he offers explanation. She takes another sip of her martini. "Mm. You do make good martinis. I may have to get you to tell me how you make such a good one." A faint hint of a smile, changing the subject briefly. She's silent again for a long time. The man just told her he could speak to her sister. /And/ make it possible for her to speak to Isabel as well. Yeah, it does sound wishy-washy. If this was about anyone else, she would probably dismiss it as such. But she misses her sister terribly. And...what if he could? What if he could find out what really happened, from Isabel's own words? She shakes her head. "Well, if you could speak to my sister. Maybe find out what happened? What /really/ happened? That would be a neat pallor trick. No offense, but....if I knew I could talk to my sister still, I would have done it a long time ago."

Castle recognizes denial, deflection in Emily’s statement about him, and the sudden change of subject. He takes no offense. He’s been doing this long enough to know it’s done out of pain – because like possibly no one before him, he’s struck a nerve. “I’m not bullshitting you Emily. If you think something was amiss with your sister’s death then in the interest of justice, and to give you some closure, I can perform the rites necessary to speak with her again.” He serious – or at the very least believes it himself. Which means he can do the impossible, or he’s completely insane. “Life and the afterlife are separated by a thin membrane. All you need to remember is we are all only a heartbeat away from death. We always have been, and we always will be.” He lifts his Scotch, sipping the last of it so that the tumblers empty. He’s yet to mention the cost. It’s there –always- accost?

Emily's polite about it at least. Nobody has really brought up Isabel's death after the fact. Like it's taboo, or something. Not even her parents. Everyone goes on with their lives. It's not quite the same with her. Not a day goes by she doesn't think about her sister, and misses her terribly. Wonders what did actually happen. If she is right, or just searching for anything, grasping at straws to explain the senseless death. After a few moments, and a drained glass of her own, she nods her head. "Okay, Detective. I'll play. If you can contact my sister from...the other side? I'll call myself impressed. If you can make it so /I/ can speak to her? I'll forever be in your debt. I want to ask her myself what really happened." She pauses, eyes settled on him. She's not thinking about the cost. Or worried about it. No doubt, she doesn't even realize.

Castle takes a deep breath, and nods stoically to her. He’s use his ‘abilities’ to solve countless crimes – why not use them to give a young woman a little closure and a fighting chance at happiness? Isn’t that what God intended in the first place? “I’ll make the preparations needed and let you know when we I’m ready. In the meantime I’m going to need a couple things from you, Emily.” There is always a cost.

Emily nods her head a bit, looking to her empty glass. "What is it you need from me?" She asks, canting her head to the side curiously. The long, layered blonde hair brushing over her shoulders. "And...how long will this take?

“A few days to prepare. Calling a spirit from the other side is no easy task. Such attempts almost inevitably make them hostile,” Castle replies in all seriousness. “I need time to make all the necessary arrangements, and taken all the precautionary measures I can. After that the ritual itself won’t take too long.” He pushes away from the table, catching his tumbler in one hand as he cross the floor back to Emily’s wet bar. “I’ll need your word this doesn’t go beyond us. No one can know about this,” the Detective adds as he pours himself another two fingers of thirty year old Scotch. He glances back, lifting the tumbler to his lips – but not drinking. “And I want an honest answer. Why’d you follow me?” He drinks a healthy gulp of the liquor down, letting Emily have a moment to digest the question.

"I can't imagine Isabel hostile." Emily is quick to point out, offering a soft smile. She watches him while he helps himself to the wet bar, pouring another glass of that really good scotch. After a few moments, she crosses the floor after him, offering up an empty martini glass. "I won’t' tell anyone. Whatever you need, let me know. I'll get it." A pause. Hazel eyes shifting. "I'm....not exactly sure. I found you...intriguing." She answers the last question.