[It had been sheer exhaustion, the sound of waves lapping against the hull of the humble ship that his party had boarded passage upon to cross the frigid waters of the northern Atlantic, that had finally lulled him to sleep after hours of uncomfortable insomnia. He disliked storms after watching one destroy his home in his youth, and he disliked the ocean as a matter of principle after spending over a decade in the arid plains of the frontier. Carey Marshall was not a man prone to flights of fancy--
But waking up on his face under the dining table had him blearily wondering whether he had dreamed up the entire last few weeks.
Grunting in discomfort from his aching joints and pounding headache, Marshall grabbed for his hat made to sit up-- and smacked his head. Hard.]
The hell!?
[He cursed, his voice a low growl of agitation in his throat. Crawling his way out, he pulled his wide brimmed hat down over his head and looked around at the unfamiliar housing accomodations.]
Portia? Alan? You pullin' somethin' here?
[Scanning the room, he was taken aback by how foreign some of the items were. More quietly, doubting himself, he continued:]
Or maybe...
Thea? You here?
Anita?
Trail
[The scenic outdoors was at least familiar to him, and Marshall quickly took to the trail. Admiring the trees and the cleaned up walking path, he found the walk rather pleasant... until he read the sign.
He hummed in consideration at the warning not to look back, and briefly found himself recalling his own mother's stories when he and his sisters were young. Most striking was the similarity to the conditions faced by the young musician as he attempted to lead the woman he loved back home from the underworld-- and the ultimate failure that the young couple was met with.]
This ain't a path to Hell now, is it?
[He asked, to no one in particular.]
If anyone's back there, it's best you come up now so we don't get in trouble over this.
Confession
[Marshall was not a man accustomed to these strange devices. The weird chirps and buzzes nearly had him dropping the thing in his surprise and confusion-- but, spotting the question and a way to respond, he gamely made an attempt.]
NOT THAT IT MATTERS BUT I WOULD LIKE TO SEE MY MOTHER'S HOME COUNTRY.
I DON'T THINK IT'S THE SAME THAT SHE REMEMBERS ANYMORE. THAT WAS DECADES AGO.
[Forgive the capslock. He has no idea what he's doing.]
Wildcard
[Don't like a prompt? Make one up!
Here is an infodump about Marshall for anyone curious, but long story short is that he's a Cowboy who is charming but kinda dumb... dumb enough to get himself haunted. Hit me up on Plurk at woodrift if you wanna talk or ask questions.]
Carey Marshall | Original Character
[It had been sheer exhaustion, the sound of waves lapping against the hull of the humble ship that his party had boarded passage upon to cross the frigid waters of the northern Atlantic, that had finally lulled him to sleep after hours of uncomfortable insomnia. He disliked storms after watching one destroy his home in his youth, and he disliked the ocean as a matter of principle after spending over a decade in the arid plains of the frontier. Carey Marshall was not a man prone to flights of fancy--
But waking up on his face under the dining table had him blearily wondering whether he had dreamed up the entire last few weeks.
Grunting in discomfort from his aching joints and pounding headache, Marshall grabbed for his hat made to sit up-- and smacked his head. Hard.]
The hell!?
[He cursed, his voice a low growl of agitation in his throat. Crawling his way out, he pulled his wide brimmed hat down over his head and looked around at the unfamiliar housing accomodations.]
Portia? Alan? You pullin' somethin' here?
[Scanning the room, he was taken aback by how foreign some of the items were. More quietly, doubting himself, he continued:]
Or maybe...
Thea? You here?
Anita?
Trail
[The scenic outdoors was at least familiar to him, and Marshall quickly took to the trail. Admiring the trees and the cleaned up walking path, he found the walk rather pleasant... until he read the sign.
He hummed in consideration at the warning not to look back, and briefly found himself recalling his own mother's stories when he and his sisters were young. Most striking was the similarity to the conditions faced by the young musician as he attempted to lead the woman he loved back home from the underworld-- and the ultimate failure that the young couple was met with.]
This ain't a path to Hell now, is it?
[He asked, to no one in particular.]
If anyone's back there, it's best you come up now so we don't get in trouble over this.
Confession
[Marshall was not a man accustomed to these strange devices. The weird chirps and buzzes nearly had him dropping the thing in his surprise and confusion-- but, spotting the question and a way to respond, he gamely made an attempt.]
NOT THAT IT MATTERS BUT I WOULD LIKE TO SEE MY MOTHER'S HOME COUNTRY.
I DON'T THINK IT'S THE SAME THAT SHE REMEMBERS ANYMORE. THAT WAS DECADES AGO.
[Forgive the capslock. He has no idea what he's doing.]
Wildcard
[Don't like a prompt? Make one up!
Here is an infodump about Marshall for anyone curious, but long story short is that he's a Cowboy who is charming but kinda dumb... dumb enough to get himself haunted. Hit me up on Plurk at