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[center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/b3RmLjEwNi5kZWI4ODcuVUc5dElFVjJaWEpuY21WbGJnLjE/hippie-movement.regular.webp[/img][img]https://images2.imgbox.com/b3/f3/196w9mDz_o.png[/img][/center]
[right][code]13 Mourningdove Lane[/code][/right]
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Slattern? Pom had never heard the word before, but she’d been yelled at by enough cops to guess that it wasn’t something she should go repeating to all of her new amigos here. Deputy Dwarf took a threatening step towards Pom. If he had arrived with anyone else in the room then she likely would’ve taken a step back and tried to talk things down, as she wasn’t particularly interested in taking this nasty, ghastly backhander. Unfortunately, the dwarf had shown up with the Man’s man and even if he’d just been a hairdresser in his past life it did little to change the fact that he slopped it in the pigsty nowadays.

Instead of trying to rouse the dwarf into harmonizing with her in a round of “Give Peace a Chance”, Pom lifted her chin and turned her cheek slightly to give the Barber an easier target. The hit didn’t come, at the very least not for her, as Kenny [i]deescalated[/i] the situation with a wallop of his own through the ghostly dwarf. Pom was shocked–not by his intervention, nor by his immediate attempt to suppress her First Amendment right to her freedom of speech. She had just assumed that by the way his hand was tugging at his belt that he would’ve taken any reason as an excuse to feel threatened and defend himself by unloading four or five dozen rounds. Perhaps he’d already tried and failed before, thus the actual reason why his place was trashed.

Or perhaps not. She jumped at what she thought was a gunshot before realizing it was just a book the Barber had tossed to the ground in his hissy fit. She replied to Kenny’s tired glance with an almost apologetic grimace. Almost. It was more along the lines of a [i]sucks to suck[/i] than a [i]sorry you gotta deal with this shit, man[/i] look. At worst her ghost was just a bit of a prankster. She still wished it could communicate, but judging by the grasp Kenny had on his deputy it looked like communication was something they were still working on themselves. The Archivist might be the only solution to both of their problems.

She followed those who chose to remain to the study, taking a moment to deposit the ruined cherry pie on a hall table. Her immediate instinct to begin putting her grubby mitts all over the strange antiques the Archivist had curated over the years was halted as a screen rose from the floor. Pom stared at it, confused as to why someone would have such a thing when a regular television would work just fine. She only became even more confused as she tried to figure out why someone would film the found footage the Archivist showed them. 

Perhaps it was shot by some kind of spy cam? Pom nervously glanced at the bust of an elven head she was standing by and turned it around to face the wall just in case it was housing a nanny cam. Oh, there was another bust in the opposite corner. She began stealthing her way towards it, careful not to cut off anyone’s view of the home movie by moving behind their backs or ducking in front of them. She had already seen enough to know that she didn’t want to watch anymore of the arsonist assholes spark a future forest fire. 

The second bust was a bit higher than the previous ones. Her fingers barely brushed the shelf. Her jump attempt only pushed the bust further back, the sound of her feet thudding on the ground dampened by a burst of gunfire from the video. Pom gave a quick glance around to make sure that the Archivist hadn’t noticed her and then, missing the obvious ladder, grabbed a reading chair. The spraying of fire extinguishers covered the scrapping of the chair across the ground as she moved her new "ladder" into position. She was just able to wrap her hand around the bust and turn it away as she saw the film end out of the corner of her eye. 

Pom spun around quickly and plopped down in the seat cross-legged with an oof, quietly muttering out an excuse that nobody for an explanation that nobody had asked for, [color=deb887]“Sorry, I thought the talkie was gonna be a bit longer but I couldn’t see from where I was sitting and I didn’t wanna be rude so I figured if I just moved the seat then...”[/color]

Perfect cover story. There was no way the Archivist, who was busy checking his phone and likely hadn’t even heard her, wouldn’t believe it. Satisfied, Pom leaned back in the armchair before suddenly sitting upright as she fully registered the family portrait hanging before them all. It was obviously another spy camera. It’d be impossible to disable this one without the Archivist noticing. She slumped forehead in her chair in defeat of having her privacy stripped away from her and slapped her forehead, joining in with the chorus as she let out an audible, [color=deb887]“Fuck.”[/color]

Her veins briefly froze at the mention of the Ravensmere name before Pom let out a nervous laugh. She knew she had always been right! Everybody had always acted like she was some fucking nut when she said the Ravensmere were part of some evil secret society. They were easily in the top ten of potential living liches, too. Of course the winds of fate would blow her into the path of one of those soul suckers again. What were her options now? Work for a lich or die by firing squad? A strangled sort of sound beneath a laugh and a sob escaped from Pom’s throat as she pushed up her rose-tinted sunglasses on top of her head and rubbed her eyes, her knee bobbing like she’d come down with a bad case of reefer madness. Why’d she have to be right?

Pom’s bloodshot eyes darted around the room as leg continued to jimmy up and down, the colorful lava lamp glow generated by everyone but the Barber making the grim study look more like a trendy disco. Mason was thumbing through a book. Maybe she could nab a few books and just try to learn things on her own? Nah, then she’d just be hunted by both sides. Pom’s ears twitched as Rowan said something about weed. She was unable to stop herself from glancing in Kenny’s direction. Pom might’ve been qualified to answer Rowan’s questions about the outdoors as a certified tree hugger, but she wasn’t just gonna narc herself out right in front of Twin Pines’ worst. Her eyes widened in horror as Matt talked about yuppie bullshit like contracts and notaries. Did he really want to give them a paper trail? What next, was he going to ask for a rope so he could fashion his own noose?

Pom’s eyes brightened. She suddenly realized why Rowan was asking about the wilderness. She jumped up from her chair as she answered for Rowan.

[color=deb887]“It’s because we gotta get off the grid, man!”[/color] hooted Pom, excited that her thoughts had perfectly aligned with a youngster. [color=deb887]“These busters rely solely on tech, right? Dense enough trees can block a GPS, so maybe it’d do the same for their fancy magic...watch...thingy. We revert to a nomadic lifestyle, camping out and living off of the land until we’ve learned how to hide our magical trail.”[/color]

It’d just be like when she was a little girl. For a moment Pom appeared to drift away, before the memory of fighting flies for a piece of trash can fruit shunted her back to reality. She snapped her fingers.

[color=deb887]“Oh, and we need to destroy our cellphones!”[/color] she exclaimed with an unusual level of confidence and conviction. She turned to Kenny for confirmation.  [color=deb887]“You bastards can track us through them, can’t you?”[/color]

Finally, a reason to get rid of the damned thing. She never understood why she needed one in the first place, but her family had insisted that she couldn’t just rely on a landline. They said it was in case of an emergency, but that never made any sense. If she was out of the house and there was an emergency it wasn’t like she would get there in time to do anything anyway. Pom had only started carrying the stupid thing daily when they were waiting to get callbacks regarding Bo’s–oh, no. A wave of panic hit her as she realized this rhetoric was the thoughts of an old fogey and it wouldn’t play in a room full of such youth. Bail, bail, quick, before they all started to look at her as not part of their cabal but as someone who could star in a reboot of the Golden Girls. 

[color=deb887]“Nevermind. Forget I said anything,”[/color] deflated Pom with a shake of her head. She slumped back into the chair and sunk down into it, crossing her arms like a sullen teenager. She dug into the depths of her mind for something that would prove she was still with it, ultimately muttering into her chest what she was sure would become the future tagline of youthful rebellion. [color=deb887]“I would rather die than live without my Tic Tac.”[/color]