[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/8IjF4Yx.png[/img][/center]
[color=#000000][b]Location[/b][/color]
Metahuman Youth Center.

[color=#000000][b]Interactions[/b][/color]
N/A
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The outline of an impressive building stretched along the distance, a square framing itself perfectly between skies and earth. It was a colorful display, bright souls roaming the youth center as if a dancing rainbow, teenagers and children seeking refuge from an unforgiving world, one each member of Spectre’s group was well aware of, in their very own way. Friends had vanished, allies had been traumatized, and imprisoned within their own misery. What arrived at the youth center wasn’t a capable task force of battle-hardened warriors. It was a gathering of kids battling themselves more so than any opponent they may come across. 

Zach had remained the same, and Casper noted it a shame. To the Spirit World and back, some things evidently never changed. In a way, he sought comfort in that. Stability presented itself in many ways, and Zach’s obsession with the flesh was one of these aspects. Spectre did not deign to answer, but rather saw the magical soul waltz off before his attention shifted towards those who afforded him a similarly curious gaze. Hidden behind a blindfold black as night, Casper’s eyes peered beyond the veil, meeting prospects he would eventually allow a moment’s interaction.

Gender, color, ethnicity, all superficial aspects passing him by unnoticed. Rather, Casper’s focus narrowed in on the brightness flashing before him, as if the very elementals themselves were presented. 

Left to his own devices, Spectre reasoned that information could be found in every corner, if one only sought its lingering presence. Though Casper’s nature was officially branded a ‘Metahuman’, those present within the youth center likely peered upon him with a layer of skepticism; understandably so. He was a creature dancing between life and death, a wraith. Neither Metahuman nor alien, the boy was out of place wherever he found himself, which after a war in a world of ghosts came as a somewhat welcomed addition. 

Claws traced a path down Spectre’s hoodie, a baggy shirt blanketing a scrawny shape, one now harboring deceptive power following the boy’s final spell. No longer a mage, he would stand between these children and their foe as a guardian, and a knight. 

Weightless steps brought the phantasm forth. Pondering where he should begin, the lounge seemed reasonable, and without Coal present, the wisdom of a dear friend was lacking. One could not wear the disguise of a Metahuman while a talking crow followed closely behind. 

It was when the group’s tour reached Casper’s designation that he decided to step away. These children had suffered loss, and it was a sensitive topic he would need to approach carefully. Close friends faded, never to be seen again. It was what made a Hero, setting aside one’s own strife to focus on the mission at hand; a role Spectre was presented to upon the sound of a voice. He lowered his gaze, blindfold meeting a meek tune. “Hello,” the voice of a girl, one still marching through the years of childhood. There was something in her hand, something extended, a dim essence of life flowing through it. A flower; soft, green streams outlining its shape. Feeling digits atop his obsidian claws, Casper noted how she would guide his inhuman fingers towards its stem where a smile greeted him, one sadly impossible to register. “There! A welcome flower!” 

To be met by such innocent compassion on a journey towards corners so dark they were christened by kidnapped teenagers was almost ironic, a mockery towards the task at hand, and yet a reminder as to why he was here. They were looking for someone’s brother, someone’s sister. Someone’s friend, someone’s child. Dearing a step through the miasma of blackness, Casper allowed a faint, sharp-toothed smile to bridge itself across his lips. [color=#FFE4C4]”Thank you,”[/color] the boy responded, digits wrapping around his claws before pulling him along. 

It was difficult to determine the age of his initially acquired friend, but narrowing it down to twelve or thirteen seemed a reasonable conclusion. “We’re watching a movie!” A pause lingered in the air, the girl turning to meet Casper with a sheepish grin presented upon her features. “O-oh..,” she gulped. He couldn’t very well watch a movie, could he? 

Unable to stifle another faint smile from peeking forth, Spectre shook his head. [color=#FFE4C4]”I’ll listen to a movie with you,”[/color] he spoke, gently lowering himself to the sofa. The lounge was populated by a handful of residents, their attention fluctuating between previous activities and peculiar newcomers to the youth center. From here, Casper was left with questions to ask, albeit unsure of where to begin. 

“I’m Shania!” The girl spoke up, her soul a bright concentration of life yet untouched by the cynicism of experience. 

[color=#FFE4C4]”Casper,”[/color] the wraith returned. He had hoped to come across someone older, someone who in all likelihood had substantial knowledge to share, but perhaps Shania knew more than the ghost assumed of her.