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4 mos ago
Current From my one thousand year slumber, I have arisen!- Oh JEEZ! I used to use a lot of commas. Did I know periods existed?
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3 yrs ago
I think I swallowed a frog. I hope it wasn't an ancestor!
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Don't eat metal.

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Featuring: Nobody...yet

Stepping into a gift shop filled Danny with a sense of major nostalgia. He remembered being willing to go through any boring event his parents dragged him to if it meant picking out something cool from a store. Gift shops just happened to be made almost entirely for this purpose, with the rest of the money earned by gift shops coming from tourists. Though, despite having grown up, Danny somehow hadn't become harder to entertain. He was more mature now, sure. But that only meant he was aware that playing hop scotch was about as mindless as fun could go. Not that he liked hop scotch any less now.

So to Danny, the inside of a gift shop was like a den of temptation. His goal? Get in, get the shirt, and get out without wasting all of his money on stickers with crappy puns, or erasers in the shape of old paintings. Shouldn't be too hard, museum gift shops were far from the most exciting, they couldn't even hold a candle to aquarium gift shops. Danny was fairly confident he would not be lead astray-

Woah! twenty marbles for two bucks!? And you could pick whichever style you liked too! And over there, was that a T-Rex plush toy wearing a tiny graduation cap? Dammit! They even had little historical figure paper weights with googly-eyes! Danny takes a staggering step backwards. Sweat dripping down his brow. He had..underestimated this gift shop. Yes, it was clearly more dangerous than anticipated. If Danny wanted to get out with his wallet intact, he'd need a plan.

Danny starts chewing on the nail of his thumb while furrowing his brow. The shirt was what he came in here for, but would he really be satisfied with just the cool dinosaur shirt? But then again, the shirt was the most expensive item. He could get all three of the others for less than the shirt. But it wasn't like he could wear around any of the other prospective purchases..Oh, wait. Danny was missing the easiest possible answer.


The shirt he'd purchase, but the marbles? Logically speaking twenty marbles for two bucks was actually kind of a rip off, regardless of if you could pick the different colors! It wasn't morally bankrupt to rob someone who was robbing others. You could get way more marbles for a tiny price increase. If anything, Danny was more of a Robin Hood type. Except he was both Robin Hood and the poor people Robin Hood was giving to in this instance.

So, Danny takes his coveted shirt off the rack, and while making his way to the counter, 'coincidentally' passes by the marbles. His hand stretches out in a quick and fluid motion, allowing Danny to grab a fistful and pocket them unobserved. Though it wasn't particularly impressive, given that nobody was observing him. He was not in a situation that required a great deal of skill.

Upon approaching the counter, Danny cautiously places the shirt down on it. It was imperative his movements were calm and slow, otherwise the sound of marbles rattling would be totally obvious. "Just the shirt, please." The woman behind the counter gave him a polite but stiff smile. The type of smile most people working a gift shop in a museum would give. It wasn't exactly a dream job after all. She rung him up, and the cash was exchanged.

Danny grabbed the plastic baggie, and took gentle steps towards the exit. Making absolutely certain not to rattle his marble filled pocket. The moment he was out of the gift shop, Danny knew he was home free. He started strolling towards the early settlers exhibit with purpose. No longer afraid to let his stolen marbles rattle. They now rattled freely.

Mentions: Everybody

Simon's concern had not faded whatsoever. Joseppi's statement had raised a lot of red flags, and Jules' response had not lowered any of them. Should he try to find out if she needed actual help? He had paper in his coat, he could certainly write something like 'if he's holding you hostage, blink twice' or something similar. But that would mean going without paper, and Perform This Way might ask him to draw a caricature at some point. It was too darn risky. Still, he'd try to discern if they were in real danger around this feller, just not when said feller was less than ten feet away from him. Simon considered himself the type of person who would help those in trouble, but he also knew deep down he was the type of person who would really really not like to get punched at again.

Simon takes his canteen off his belt, and untwists it. The night was cold, sure, but he had still sweated it out through the day. Some water was much needed. Simon takes a long drink from it, only for the very scary cowboy to start talking as he drank. Upon the realization that not only was one of the people he was traveling with 'following' one of the others. But two more people were also following her, Simon proceeded to choke mid-drink. He promptly lets out a hacking cough that lasts for an embarrassing long time. After about a minuet and a half of just coughing, he attempts to play it off. Though while he was choking on nothing, Simon did manage to catch the rest of the scary cowboy's sentence.

Gut feeling, huh? He got punched out of a bar over a gut feeling? If Simon were a braver man he'd have responded harshly with a very rude word. Such as varmint. But instead he just gave a nervous and obviously fake laugh in response, before re-focusing on the whole potentially being hunted by two other racers. "..If yer right about th' two racers huntin' her, that'll probably jus' stack with us all takin' fairly high places in th' first leg of th' race. Which means trouble is prob'ley comin' our way big time." Simon felt kind of queasy from this talk of being hunted. He mutters a quick 'thanks' that came out as a 'thank you kindly pardner' as the scary cowboy passed him a bowl of soup.

While he and Jules bantered, talking about the people hunting them and also about a bounty, which raised a lot more questions. Simon decided instead of asking what all that was about, which would have been slightly socially awkward, and thus terrifying. He would instead take stock of their assets should the 'hunters' find their camp. Simon had his gun, but also had Perform This Way who was a handicap. Neon Ghost had a sword, Jules had..something, probably. The scary cowboy had a scary ghost of his own, but Simon still wasn't entirely sure if he was with them or holding Jules hostage. And Donny had-

Now hold on a minute...

Just wait one second!

Ahh, shoot!!

"We lost Donny!"

Featuring: Nobody yet, really.

WHAM! Danny woke up with a thud. He was dazed, confused, on his floor, and tangled up in his blankets. The first thing Danny did was to take a few dazed and frantic swipes at the air reflexively, as if anticipating an attack. Once he calmed down, it was apparent that he was not woken up to defend against an attacker, he had just fallen out of his race car bed. This happened most mornings, due to the fact that they didn't really make race car beds for adults, so Danny's bed was considerably smaller than what was convenient. Despite it happening so often, Danny was always just as surprised.

He struggles for an embarrassing amount of time with the covers, until finally getting untangled from them. Danny tosses them back onto his bed, now having nothing but a pair of purple boxer shorts to cover him up, Danny begins getting dressed. Faded blue jeans, white shirt, and Hawaiian print over top. Danny takes a deep inhale to ensure his Hawaiian shirt was one of the clean ones. It smelled like air freshener, which meant it was probably clean.

Making his way downstairs, Danny was greeted by the sound of Mystery Science Theater 3000 playing on his family's incredibly small Television, and the deafeningly loud shout-laugh of his father, Dougie Brando. Danny's mother was nowhere to be seen, likely working the morning shift at one of her several jobs. Like a moth to a flame, Danny was drawn to the TV screen. "Which episode's this?" He asked while popping a squat less than two feet away from the screen. "It don't matter what episode this is, you gotta get ready for school, you know, that thing your mother and I are paying for, that thing you keep skipping." Danny shifted his attention away from the TV and towards his father, just in time to notice the brilliantly blonde and broom-like mustache on his upper lip twitch to the left.

Dougie's mustache was his tell, weird as it was. Danny had learned to read his mood based on how twitchy his mustache was. Currently it seemed like he was in a pretty fine mood. This meant Danny could probably try and weasel something outta him. "Bummer. Fine, I'm gettin' ready." Danny trudged into the kitchen to prepare a bowl of cereal. It ended up being half cereal dust, half actual cereal. Danny didn't particularly mind. For a while, the two Brandos sat in silence, only the sound of the television, and the crunching of cereal to accompany them. Danny decided to break the silence "Can I take the car today?" There was a few seconds pause before a response was given. "What? Why d'you need the car? We live near the subway, you walk there every day."

"I like driving the car. It's a nice car." Dougie let out an immediate grumble, followed by two mustache twitches. "I know it's a nice car, I'm the one who works on that car!" Danny makes his way over to the sink to run some water in his now empty bowl. "Then you're welcome for the compliment. I don't see why you're taking this so negatively. Dougie muted the television. "You aren't complimenting me, you're trying to butter me up so you can drive the car!"

"Well, can I?"

"No! That car is like a child to me, I don't want you breaking it."

"Like a child to you? I am a child to you!"

"Yeah? Well the car doesn't sell lighters to middle schoolers!"

"Alright fine! I won't take the car." Danny couldn't really argue that point without falling into a rabbit hole of bad behavior. Another victory in his dad's corner, damn. He tries not to think of his defeat while grabbing his backpack, and slipping on his sandals. Danny was halfway out the door when he heard his dad call out. "Stay safe." He leans back into the house to check if his dad was facing him. Confirming that he was not, Danny makes a face at him before heading out for real.

The walk, followed by ride to school were both uneventful. Homeroom was similarly uneventful, but also incredibly boring, as homeroom tended to be. Danny found his feet tapping against the ground in impatience as the teacher spoke at the slowest possible pace. Eventually, the topic of the field trip was brought up. Somehow the school thought a good way to keep their students happy and not bored, was to take them to a damn museum. It was dumbfounding, but also slightly better than not going anywhere. Danny unzips his backpack, and takes out the permission slip signed by his mother. There was a bit of a kerfuffle when he handed it over, as Danny had faked several permission slips in the past. But when the teacher saw it was his mother's signature, he knew it was legit. Danny's sloppy handwriting could be mistaken for his father's, but his mother? Not so much.

The bus ride was over quickly. Danny tended to just zone out in vehicles, and this time was no different. He secured himself a window seat and just stared out of it blankly the entire way there. Not realizing that the person sitting next to him had fallen asleep, and drooled on his shoulder. Leaving a wet mark on his shirt that remained as they headed into the museum. After everyone lined up and sounded off, as if they weren't borderline adults capable of fending for themselves, the students were given their leave to wander off wherever.

While most scattered off to aimlessly trudge through various exhibits, Danny moved with purpose straight towards the gift shop. He had seen a t-shirt of a dinosaur with sunglasses that completely entranced him, and using the money he got from selling middle school kids a bunch of lighters, he could probably afford it. Besides, what else was he gonna do? Look at how people cooked mac n' cheese in the 1800s- actually, that sounded pretty interesting to him. But it could wait until after he bought the sweet shirt.

Mentions: pretty much everybody

Simon had, quite honestly, not expected to make any acquaintances or really interact with anyone during this race. It just seemed like it'd be the sort of thing you'd burn through quick as can be. And the idea of interacting with competitors made him a bit queasy in all honestly. He expected them to throw insults his way, call his mustache bad and his hat tacky, and maybe push him over a few times. Getting punched through a bar by a ghost was honestly better than ridicule in Simon's book.

Point being, when, on the way to Cecilia to get the first aid kit from her saddlebag, his new semi-friend maybe acquaintance Jules suggested he stick with her during the desert portion of the race. Well, her exact words were 'stick with us' but he assumed the 'us' likely referred either to her horse, or to the yellow badger man who tended to show up around the same time as her. He responded with silence for a good bit of the walk, not to be rude, but rather because he was completely dumbfounded by the offer. He really hadn't expected such good sportsmanship from this event, especially given his previous interactions.

"I think I'd like that. Ah'm not exactly fond o' deserts, so not havin' ta go it alone sounds good ta me. Thank y'kindly fer th' offer." He finally said as they arrived at his horse. The idea of not having to go it alone and no longer being forced to watch his back 24/7 for any signs of an angry competitor ready to metaphorically or literally stab him in the back was a massive relief.

Nope, never mind. No sirree. The idea of not having to watch his back sure was good in theory, but in practice it just weren't meant to be. Seeing as how the 'us' Jules had referred to was not the yellow badger man, or at least not just him. It was every single person she had talked to at the bar. Including the person who punched both of them right out of it. So instead of being able to metaphorically lean on someone else instead of carrying all of his paranoia by himself, Simon was now considerably more paranoid. After all, the person most likely to beat the crap out of him was riding less than ten feet away.

That alone would've been enough to make Simon ride all the way back to Salt Lake City if there wasn't so much money on the line, but it was honestly the least of his worries. No matter how imposing the Brutal Bartending Cowboy with the violent ghost was, he just hadn't done enough to inflict the same level of trauma on Simon as deserts had. He really thought it wouldn't be an issue, after all, Simon survived, his horse survived, and they made it back home alright when they were stuck in that awful desert.

Simon was wrong. It was a big issue, everywhere he looked he was getting reminders about it. And the worst part was, Simon couldn't tell if it really did look the same, or if it was just because it was a desert, and all deserts had pretty darn similar scenery all things considered. The paranoia was almost enough to distract from the heat that made him back inside his coat until he was forced to take it off and pray no one heard the loud clattering of the baubles and trinkets stored inside it. And, of course, because desert heat wasn't bad enough, now that the sun was setting, it was getting cold fast.

Thankfully, they had agreed to set up camp for the night. Which Simon appreciated as he was both physically and emotionally drained. The atmosphere was quiet, all Simon could hear was the sound of the stew cooking, and the sound of his horse chewing away on the oats he had laid out for her. Some would probably enjoy the type of silent serenity around the camp. Simon only saw it as the calm before the storm. And as if on cue, the imposing cowboy who tried to wallop him spoke up. Simon's eyes practically popped right out of their sockets at his words. Not the only one following this girl? Was he a stalker? Did the others know? Why were they okay with it? WERE THEY BEING HELD HOSTAGE!? Was Simon being held hostage now too?!

Despite the chilly temperature, Simon was forced to wipe nervous sweat off his brow. He takes a moment to steady himself, and then attempts to respond as calmly as possible. "S'at so?" His voice cracked during the immensely brief sentence. Consarn it. That wasn't casual in the slightest.

hacker voice I'm in

After the immensely uncomfortable awkward silence between Simon and the Neon Ghost Knight, he was almost relieved when, without another word, the ghost floated over towards the women's washroom. Simon very awkwardly, without looking towards him, spoke up in a quiet voice as the ghost floated away. "Uh, yup. Nice uh, meetin' ya." There was no sarcasm in his tone, just a very awkward goodbye delivered after it should have been.

Simon takes another sip of his sweetener, realizing he shouldn't have drank what was pretty much apricot flavored sugar water, seeing as how he was going to be riding for quite a while. Sugar tended to make him antsy..well, more antsy than usual. He sets the glass down, but only after spending a solid minute looking for a coaster. There were none. Saloons didn't care about water damage to wooden counters very much, they tended to get damaged through bar fights far before it became a concern.

While remarking on the lack of coasters and why that was the case, Simon realized the Neon Ghost Knight was a male, and was headed towards the women's washroom! He whirls around, ready to speak up and politely inform the ghost that the men's washroom was elsewhere, only to see that the ghost had stopped by the door, and was just waiting. It was hard to tell what with him being a ghost in armor, but his body language seemed to be semi-concerned. Or maybe constipated, it was hard to tell.

Feeling self-conscious about not being concerned, and figuring ghosts were probably supernaturally good at sensing danger (since they were supernatural) Simon decided he probably should be concerned too. Somehow everyone had let their guards down despite a brawl having been brewing until a few moments ago. Was that some type of ghost ability, or just a strange coincidence? Either way, now Simon had worked himself into a concerned frenzy. He skitters over towards the washroom, a bit further away than the Neon Ghost Knight, but not too far either. He didn't want to be rude, but was also now officially nervous.

And then the third ghost appeared. The one that punched Simon and Jules right out of the bar. He immediately covers his face upon the ghost's appearance, only for the ghost to begin talking, totally ignoring him, which he was thankful for. Let the ghosts talk and leave him out of it! He had no issues there, no sir!

After a tense few moments waiting, some muffled words were exchanged, and Neon strolled right into the bathroom. Simon almost spoke about it, as a proper gentlefolk would not have done that, but he soon realized that it was likely the person he was haunting called him in. Fair enough. This left Simon alone with the sleeping Blonde Badger. He actually looked a lot less scary when he was asleep. His features were a lot softer when they weren't sneering or jeering at people. Still, sleeping on a table like that was bad for your back, Simon thought he should probably wake him up.

The door opened behind him, first came Neon and the woman he was haunting. Simon let out a small yelp in surprise, but soon calmed down. Then the Fake Bartender emerged, and Simon let out another yelp, before distinctly avoiding eye contact. Acting as though he hadn't noticed him, and didn't have any business with him. And then finally out came Jules. That was a relief, all three of the people Simon wasn't afraid of had emerged unharmed. And so did the Fake Bartender.

Well, unharmed wasn't the right word. Not any more harmed than they were previously was more accurate. Jules still looked roughed up. Really roughed up, actually. And she seemed not to be breathing too well. Simon waited a few seconds to be polite and not immediately approach her as she left, and then walked up to Jules. "Ah'm uh, about ta head back ta my horse and mosey on out of here. Stayin' in one place with a feller as scary as him ain't exactly my idea of a good time. But uhh, yer looking a bit beat up, and ah've got a first aid kit in my saddlebag, if y'want. Ah don't want y'getting sand an' dirt blown into yer bruises an' cuts."

Mentions: @Lord Orgasmo

Simon had intended to list off more potential titles in hopes of not offending, but realized how exceptionally stupid 'ghost pardner' was, and figured that if he opened his mouth again, he was going to somehow top that in stupidity. Seeing as how Simon lived in a constant state of anxious embarrassment he decided there was no need to increase that embarrassment further. So in order to prevent his mouth from spewing some horrible word combination, he takes a big drink of what he grabbed from the bar. Which was pretty much fruit flavored sweetener. Simon didn't even flinch when he gulped it down. Seemed he had weird drinking habits. Admittedly it was overly sweet, and he'd have preferred orange juice, but saloons didn't tend to have orange juice, sadly.

Simon nodded at the ghost, who introduced itself (himself?) as Neon Knight. He nodded at him in acknowledgement, before noticing the extended hand. Simon awkwardly grasps it. His hand was incredibly sweaty, yet his grip was really strong. However he was also slightly trembling, which made it a really weird experience. He gently shakes the ghost's hand, and swallows down his sweetener. "Good to uh, meet ya. Ah'm Simon. Simon Garfunkel." Simon winced at his introduction. His accent always got thicker when he was more nervous, which turned his I's into Ah's. Plus the way he said his first name, followed by both his first and last name made it unnecessarily dramatic. Why in tarnation didn't he just say his full name all at once?

He takes another sip of the fruit flavored sweetener. Underneath all the sugar it seemed to be apricot flavored, or maybe it was peach. Simon proceeds to nearly choke on it when the ghost gestured to thin air, and proceeded to curse in exasperation. Simon himself never swore, but he normally wasn't the type to admonish others for swearing. But something about a floating metal ghost drinking liquor and swearing abruptly completely caught him off guard. It was as if that one thing made Simon realize just how absolutely insane this entire situation was.

He was talking to a ghost, in a saloon, after being punched out of the saloon by another ghost who was haunting a man who Simon approached previously to inform him that his bag was open while on horseback in the middle of a race across America. And he was incredibly self-conscious around this ghost as if he were someone Simon was trying to impress at a town get-together, which was what he called parties. Hadn't he been a police officer once? He was a normal guy with a normal career, yet somehow he was taking these freakish events better than he handled a conversation with a friendly stranger.

Simon was brought out of his existential crisis when he saw the Evil Fake Bartender lead Jules away towards the washrooms. His first thought was that, oh sweet lord in heaven, she's going to die. But common decency prevented him from chasing after, well, that and he didn't want to get punched again. Plus the Evil Fake Bartender had abruptly mellowed out, and clearly did not care one bit about being subtle. So if he really wanted to turn Jules' face into a piece of abstract art, he would have just done so and been done with it.

The conflicting feelings and suspicions left Simon in an uncomfortable middle ground of staring at them as they left like a worried grandmother, and then shifting his focus back to the ghost. Except now he was sweatier, and very obviously more concerned and jumpy. He opens his mouth as if about to say something. Except nothing came to mind, so Simon awkwardly closes his mouth again.

Mentions: Everyone is here! But the only direct interaction is with @Lord Orgasmo

While he was midway through stuttering out an apologetic barrage at Jules, the Badger Man known as Donny tried to comfort Simon about the armored ghost, which, given that instead of responding with 'what the hell do you mean ghost?' he took it in stride, likely meant he, too, was haunted. Simon knew there was something scary about the fellow, but he didn't expect so many people to be haunted around these parts.

Before Simon could respond, Donny grabbed Jules by the ankle, and began to drag her away. Simon attempted to call out in protest, only for the words to die on his throat. He had expended pretty much all of his stockpiled courage trying to talk to the imposing ghost-wielder who punched him out the door. This left Simon to helplessly watch as his fellow ghost victim was dragged up the steps and into the bar. With each 'thud' of her head, Simon winced. And within seconds, he found himself entirely alone outside the saloon. This was the perfect opportunity to cut and run, he could dodge both ghosts, the angry guy, and the strange blonde man.

But that would also mean he'd only delay the confrontation. They were still in the race after all, it wasn't like fleeing the bar would make them magically forget about him. Plus, the only person who had been courteous (a word Simon learned from a book and did not know how to pronounce) to him was just dragged into the bar. Guess he had no choice but to face his fears. Well, actually, he wasn't going to face his fears. He was going to exist in the same area as his fears, and hopefully they would ignore him, and he would ignore them.

Regardless, Simon tentatively trudges into the bar, and is immediately met with the terrifying haunted racer who punched working at the bar as if nothing happened. Simon's brow furrows as his forehead scrunches up. He barely had time to register what the bar interior looked like before it came to violence. Was this fellow always the bartender? He was fairly certain the answer was no, but assumed drawing attention to it would end badly. Not being eager to start up another brawl, Simon tactfully ignored it, and scanned the room. The armored ghost was pouring himself a drink much to Simon's confusion. Did ghosts need to drink? Best to ask Perform This Way some other time, as right now Simon felt as though any question would set off a chain reaction of unfortunate events.

Simon's plan was to get something to drink, and then hide at a corner table. This was his plan for every social event he was forced to participate in, although sometimes he also stress ate. He shuffles over to the bar, being sure not to actually get close to the Evil Fake Bartender. Simon heads behind the bar and grabs a bottle of the overly sweet syrup-y stuff people mix into drinks. He does not pair it with anything, just takes it, and moves away from the bar slowly.

Only for Simon to witness Jules spray the Evil Fake Bartender with the contents of her cup. Simon lets out a sound like when you your vacuum cleaner sucked up something too big for it to handle and started stalling. Which, as vacuums did not exist yet, was a wholly unusual and unfamiliar sound of panic. He proceeds to back up right into the ghostly suit of armor, which likely did not even jostle Neon, seeing as how he was a ghostly suit of armor, and thus probably really sturdy. "Ah-" Simon chokes out. "Ah beg yer pardon, sir- err, ghost. Ghostly Sir? Pardner. P-Pardner? Ghost Pardner." He was visibly sweating while attempting to apologize.

Mentions: @Ambra @AmpharosBoy and everyone else, but Simon's not talking to them.

Simon's ears were ringing, though, surprisingly, not from head trauma. The cowboy was smart enough to tuck his head while being torpedo'd, so brain damage was avoided. The ringing was from the adrenaline pumping through his body and supercharging his fight or flight reflex to the point where he was seconds away from either unloading all six shots from his revolver, or running so damn far he'd get disqualified from the race. Instead, Simon found himself not moving an inch. An observer might have considered it paralyzed by fear, but this was the pragmatic part of Simon's brain taking over.

If he acted hastily, he'd end up in worse trouble. It would be better to feel the situation out, and react accordingly. His cowardice didn't have to be immediate, being a professional coward was all about evading danger in all forms. And speaking of danger, a familiar blonde boy was strolling up to Simon's prone form. The Badger-like buckaroo from the bar. To Simon's surprise, he immediately asked if Simon and Jules were okay. Guess he misjudged just how aggressive this blonde guy- err, Donny, was. He had almost forgotten his name, but this jogged his memory.

"Ah- uh, well, ah'm alright, pardner. But I dunno fer how long. Y'might wanna take yerself elsewhere 'fore things get ugly-" Just as Simon completed his warning, the armored fellow riding double with that one lady approached the scene as well. Simon wasn't even able to fully comprehend how weird it was that this guy was still wearing armor before he ended up drawing a sword. Simon briefly noted how committed to the gimmick of knight in armor this stranger was. Then his shield magically expanded. "Ahhh, shoot. He was a ghost." Simon thinks out loud. The horrifying robotic voice of Perform This Way, who was far less talkative when not wound up (in the literal sense, he was always metaphorically wound up.), abruptly chimed in to Simon's external monologue. "Ohhh! Big man with the fat caterpillar on his lip finally got the hint. What the HECK Simon!? You think I pointed out the knight 'cause I was admirin' the armor!?"

Simon flinched at the violent language, and then again when the intimidating stranger- he vaguely recalled the knight calling him jo-something -came floating out of the building. Did all ghosts have some type of scary power except for Simon's? The tension continued to ramp up as Jo-something approached the Ghost Knight. Simon's hand slid down to his revolver once again, just in case. And just like all evaporated, as Jo-something immediately relaxed, and invited everyone for drinks.

Simon's eyes practically bugged out of his head at the abrupt shift in tone, and even more abrupt shift in attitude. What in tarnation was going on!? Simon was caught between fear and confusion, which ended up evening out into a feeling of emotional grime that made him want to take a long bath with some sad country music playing loudly. Granted, this was also how Simon felt when accidentally stepping on a caterpillar. But that didn't mean it was the type of feeling he had grown used to.

Just then, someone squirmed from underneath Simon's prone form, and he heard a request. He immediately leaps up to his feet, realizing that he had being laying on Jules the entire time. "Ah! Ah' beg yer pardon, ma'am! I was so caught up in all th' chaos I went an' forgot I landed on ya." Simon stammers out so fast that the words were practically smashed together. Embarrassment and shame for practically crushing someone who hadn't had a ghost protect them from that awful blow to the head joined Simon's mixture of emotional gunk.

With all that had happened, and the way he was feeling right now..Simon honestly really could use that drink.
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