Owner	Pose
Phoebe Beacon	THE WRONG TREE BAKERY - Upper West Side, Manhattan     A Gluten-free bakery boutique aimed at the rich and powerful of Manhattan's upper West Side, the Wrong Tree has been, according to the post submitted on a local occult board, PLAGUED by the following:     *Strange noises in the night     *Feelings of dread in the attic     *The GHOSTLY VISION of someone peering around the corner     *And Poltergeist Activity!     So of course, the call went out to first the newly minted 'Dark' Justice League, but barring any interest, Phoebe had sent a text out to Tim and Bart: "Hey, want to ghost hunt with me in a bakery?"     Which is how Phoebe, leaning against her old-ass motorcycle with her helmet on the seat and a thin, buffalo plaid scarf on her neck over her leathers, was standing outside the shop talking to the night manager, who was waxing at length regarding the weird paranormal activity and noises.
Bart Allen	Bart Allen shows up walking around a corner and into view. He has on a brown leather jacket over an open blue flannel shirt, and black t-shirt under that. He is wearing blue jeans and work boots as well. Around his neck he wears a pendant of a lightning bolt on a leather cord. He walks up towards the people he sees when he spots Phoebe and nods his head to her.
Alfred Pennyworth	Out in Manhattan already, it only takes a small word for Alfred to reroute the Rolls in the direction of The Wrong Tree Bakery. There's only a slight roll of the butler's eyes at the 'request' to head in it's direction to link up with Phoebe. His eyes dart up to the rear view mirror in a pointed fashion, his dry humor already coming to the fore as he switched lanes. "Well, I suppose if the usual baddies aren't enough for you, Master Drake, hunting ghosts is always an alternative to see what other stressors the human body can endure. I should have brought my Clinical Psychology digest..." he quipped. Luckily they weren't too far off, and a combination of a lack of traffic and skillful driving made the trip rather short. Pulling up to the front to park, Alfred made his usual point of trying to beat Tim from the car to open his door, casting a smile at Phoebe while smoothing out a wrinkle from his suit. "Miss Beacon. Always a pleasure - I hope we aren't going to get into too much mischief tonight?"
Tim Drake	It just so happens that Tim is already in New York. Which is good, because can you imagine him taking the Hyperloop? Of course not. Still, it's an excuse for Tim to pull himself away from chasing down increasingly infinitesimal leads regarding his deceased father's double life.     Really, in hindsight, he's not at all surprised that Alfred is babysitting him.     "There are more things that go bump in the night than Killer Croc," he replies, without lifting his gaze from his phone. "And Gotham has plenty of ghost stories."     This time around, Alfred wins the race: Tim hasn't quite finished firing off a text, and in his attempt to do that with one hand and reach for the door handle with the other, he's just a second too slow. He slides out of the backseat with a half-smile directed at the Wayne family butler, before he looks past Alfred to see Phoebe and Bart.     Tim lifts a hand to wave, and then rolls his eyes at Alfred's comment. Them, too much mischief? Perish the thought!     He shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat, which he's wearing over a suit, not his usual hoodie and jeans combo. His gaze takes in the bakery's facade, consideringly. "I hate that things can be haunted without at least having the decency to look haunted."
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe smiled to Bart as he makes his way up, patiently. She gives a great, big grin and a wave -- and then her own entrance on motorcycle is outshined by a Rolls Royce coming up. The counter girl/night manager steps up to shyly explain that the bakery is closed for the evening, pending investigation, and looks genuinely surprised when one of the hired ghost hunters is addressed.     Phoebe, however, gives a smile to Alfred.     "Mr. Pennyworth, what a pleasant surprise! I get to thank you for the care packages in person." she smiles to the butler extrodinaire, her hands behind her back to as not show off the bright red fingerless gloves she's wearing.     The fascade is, indeed, quite cheery. Dark cherry exterior woodwork, shelves showing bone-imitating cakes made with rice flour, freeze-dried liver pate, human quality ingredients.     And the night manager looks a little surprised at the gathering. The girl was one thing, but the other young man coming up looking like one of the Winchester boys and then the kid coming out of the Rolls -- she just gives a slooow nod.     "All right then, here are the keys. You have my number in case you have any questions.     "Thank you for the faith in us, Mrs. Westby. I'll be contacting you soon." Phoebe states with a gentle smile, and then goes to open the door.     "All right, not the crew I was expecting, but I think we'll stay out of most of the trouble; you're welcome to come along, Alfred." she smiles.     Coming through the door to the black-and-white tiled lobby with little cafe chairs, a fountain for dogs to drink from, cases that are dark and empty for the evening, a hallway in the back to storage. It doesn't seem like a very big place.     Phoebe locks the door behind everyone.     "All right, so the supposition is that either one of the stressed-out counter staff has latent PK which explains the poltergeist activity which started roughly at the same time the bakery opened, but that doesn't explain the ghostly appearances peering around corners or the feelings of dead. Feelings of dread could be a gas leak or mold, and I've got testing kits for both."
Bart Allen	Bart Allen nods a bit and says "So, what was the place before the bakery?" He asks. He does walk over to look through what they make, and hmms a bit in thought "Seems they are trying to make good quality stuff from what thye have listed here. I use a lot of the same stuff for the pet packages."
Alfred Pennyworth	Offering a nod to Bart, Alfred folds his hands in front himself while regarding the bakery curiously, cracking some knuckles for a moment before turning back to the speedster. "Mr. Allen - had I known I would bump into you tonight I would have brought some of those brownies you're all so fond of," he offered, "I'll make sure to make up for the oversight next we meet." Closing the door behind Tim and -almost- grinning, he padded to a respectful distance as they greeted one another before waving a hand about theatrically. "No need at all, Miss Beacon. Always happy to provide support for the good fight in the ways I can," he replied, turning his attention back to the bakery. As the offer was made to join the group of youngsters, he allowed himself a smile while locking the car. "I suppose I can avail my expertise to you all - I actually did a bit of ah... ghost hunting... in my youth. Tower of London, Minsden Chapel, Waterloo Arms. I'm sure the manor will still be standing when I get back after getting to the bottom of all this..." he explained while following everyone into the bakery. "I've found most of these paranormal occurences are very much in the realm of natural phenomenon."
Tim Drake	A bag comes out of the Rolls Royce with Tim, the perfect size to conceal all manner of ghost-hunting gear. And-or a magical (cursed) katana gifted to him by one Zachary Zatara.     Look. Tim doesn't know about the cursed part. He does, however, know it is enchanted to do damage to the aforementioned things that Go Bump In The Night. So if it comes down to it, Tim can slice and dice up some ghosts as needed.     Just no one tell Damian that Tim is stealing his shtick.     He follows Phoebe and Bart in, affording Alfred a somewhat quizzical look over his shoulder. Though there isn't a Bat around who isn't aware, to at least some extent, of Alfred's hidden depths.     "When it was built in the late 19th century, the building was transportation-focused. Renting out horses, selling saddles and the like," Tim says, recalling the pertinent facts he'd discovered while researching on the drive over. "There was a fire that wiped out the business--maybe a ghost horse?" He looks around, briefly distracted by the menu.     Maybe he should bring some back for Yap.     Then Tim rubs his chin. "After that it was a cobbler, with hotel rooms above it. Those are now apartments. Pretty sure there's some amount of white collar crime happening behind the scenes but that's just my impression by looking at the financials quickly. Considering the location and clientelle, though, they aren't paying their employees the way they should."
Phoebe Beacon	"About ninety-five percent of them can be explained by mundane, like one case where the lady ran over and stunned her Savannah cat, buried it in the back yard and then was convinced it came back. Turns out she just stunned the poor thing and it was mad, hungry, and injured. And mad. Those were some deep scratches on the guy that time." Phoebe comments, with a little smile "Tower of London I was genuinely surprised isn't. But I only had about a half hour to check it out. That's why I want to rule out gas leaks, mold spores, mental instability -- all four the counter help girls have clean bills of mental health, except this one -- Natalie North. Highly anxious girl, mother is a friend of the owner. She's the one who originally reached out and has been the focus of most of the paranormal activity, although Mrs. Westby -- the night manager, main order, basically sous chef -- she's seen something about three feet tall peering around corners and heard noises later at night while she's doing their product orders for the week." Phoebe takes out folders. Each one is marked with strange handwriting -- not only Demotic Egyptian, but codified. She seems distracted a moment, her head tilting as she glances to Tim, and then to his bag -- and then back to Tim. She gives a huff a moment.     "I wouldn't think horse. The report was something about three feet tall, peering around corners, but indistinct. Seen by Mrs. Westby, Natalie, and two other collaborative witnesses including the part time baker and another counter girl.     And right about then, Bart would feel something get dropped on his head.     POINK!
Phoebe Beacon	-- it's a peanutbutter cookie, shaped like a tennis ball.
Bart Allen	Bart Allen blinks a bit as he is hit with something. That is not a normal happening for him. He reaches down to pick up the cookie, and sniffs at it. Then looking up and around to see what he might see. The teenager says "Um guys, I was going to ask if the girl was always there when stuff happened, but something just dropped a cookie on my head."
Alfred Pennyworth	Head listing to the side slightly, Alfred can only smile at the discourse as he takes an opportunity to look about the bakery in an attempt to hide it. It isn't often he's involved in 'field work' of any sort, and even if he's mildly perturbed by Tim's bag and the nagging suspicion this may not have been entirely unplanned, he clearly seems to be enjoying himself. "How old is she, Miss Beacon? Could it be the onset of schizophrenia?" he asked, drawing on his limited knowledge of psychology to try and contribute something 'reasonable' to counter the paranormal. He turns from his examination of the bakery's waiting area at Bart's input and moves to glide to his side. "I trust it didn't do -too- much damage, Mister Allen?" he asked, leaning in to examine the cookie more closely. "Peanut butter? Or perhaps some other nut? Do you have any allergies these 'ghosts' might be aware of?"
Tim Drake	The story of the savannah cat earns a quietly muttered, "Huh, sounds like Jason," from Tim. He doesn't even clock the dark humor of the joke, just blinks once up at the ceiling before he looks back over at Phoebe. "A foal, maybe?"     Though there's not a lot of sincere weight behind the suggestion. Like Phoebe, Tim has already kind of moved on from the horse thing. Interesting lore tidbit to be sure, but horses aren't exactly known for being sneaky.     He's unzipped his bag and reached in for something, but then the cookie incident occurs, and Tim rounds on Bart.     First, he stares at the cookie. Then, he stares up into the empty air above Bart's head.     As one might imagine, however, Tim has not suddenly developed any mystical senses to speak of, so there's not much for him to say.     "Maybe the... ghost... wanted to share?"     Welp. This thought immediately prompts Tim to start heading towards the back. "I'm going to clear the rest of the place," he calls out.
Phoebe Beacon	"Clean bill of mental health, from the records I was able to dig up. Generalized anxiety order that she takes a low-dose serotonin-uptake inhibitor for. Says she doesn't do any drugs because she's on the track team at school. Generally a good kid. Still in highschool, so she's about the right age for onset, and actually late for development of PK. Search for X-gene markers could turn up something and explain the powers --"     Phoebe pauses, and points at Bart. "If Bart hadn't just gotten hit." she states with amusement. and she reaches into her bag, and pulls out something Bart and Tim would be familiar with -- she's got that rose quartz pendelum in her hand.     And that's when there's a rattling sound coming from the back of the shop, followed by the 'wrrrrrr' of equipment starting up, a soft thudding sound, a whrrr-KUD, whrr-KUD, whrr-KUD as Tim starts moving to the back.     "-- the place isn't that big. Bart -- can I have yu swab the attic space with the mold kit?" she takes a deep breath "And I'm not getting any whiff of gas, even coming in from outside. So unless the burner's bad in one of the ovens -- which are relatively new, serviced last month by an accredited company --" she looks from Tim to Alfred, and explains quietly "... trying to out-research Tim. It's tough."     Meanwhile, she drops her pendelum down, and takes a deep breath.
Bart Allen	Bart Allen nods and breaks the cookie in half giving half to Alfred to examine, and as long as the inside does not look weird Bart will eat his half of the cookie. "Na, aint found anything I am allergic to, and I have tried most everything I think." He moves to get the kit, and then a moment later he is gone. He starts zooming around the room taking samples from under older decorations and then stops, and looks about as he hears a baby crying, he follows the sound towards a old grate, and hmmms "I so gotta get a utility belt." He says and hunts around for something to remove the grate."
Alfred Pennyworth	"Do be careful, Master Drake - horses are known to kick when they're startled," Alfred calls at Tim's departure. Taking the half of the cookie from Bart, he offers it a brief examination and the nnods in a dismissive fashion suggesting 'This is indeed a cookie' before the speedster speeds off in an all too familiar fashion. He begins to slip behind the serving area while listening to Phoebe's findings on the girl, examining the various tools of the client facing side of a bakery. "At the very least it isn't a ghost upset with the clean-" he begins, before stopping suddenly and looking up toward the sound of machinery starting up. "That is certainly curious..." he offers in a murmur, an edge rising in his voice as he straightens himself from his cursory examination of the various serving implements and glass containers. He turns with a nod to Phoebe still in the front room with him before making his way down the length of the serving bar to follow Tim. "I think I will join Master Drake - take a look at the ovens to confirm your suspicions, Miss Beacon," he finished with only the slightest hint of concern rising in his voice.
Tim Drake	As he's moving down the hallway towards the back, Tim calls out, "If we can find DNA samples I can run analyses for X-gene markers or metahuman gene activation."     It isn't the (cursed) katana that he withdraws from his bag, but some sort of... electronic contraption. The innards of a spare domino mask hooked up to a broad range scanner, with a few other tricks.     Did Tim make his own ghost hunting device? You bet he did.     He's following the sounds of activating machinery, fiddling with a dial on the side of the device as he swings it around. Once, his HUD was able to pick up traces of ghost activity, but that was only when there was a notable thinning in the space separating this plane and the Astral.     Tim isn't expecting to have that work again, so he's trying to adapt.     Though when he hears Alfred's approach, he hesitates before opening the door to the back, waiting until the butler has joined him to do so. Better safe than sorry.
Phoebe Beacon	The 60 quart mixer is running, empty, slightly off-balance making it whud. It's set to off.     It's also unplugged, the plug hanging over the side, so short can be dismissed. It goes one or two more rounds before it stops, and then reverses.     Up in the attic, there's an old tool kit. It has a couple of different screwdrivers tucked in it.     Phoebe takes out a sheet of vellum, and she constructs a circle on it, carefully tracing its form on its lambskin as she breathes out, giving a soft command word as she breathes out.     The baby-crying noise comes from vent again, and this time, Tim and Alfred can hear it in the kitchen as well.
Bart Allen	Bart Allen will get the screw drivers and with a bit of work opens up the vent to look inside, he is pondering climbing through it, if he goes at speed his weight should not matter, but for now, he is just sticking his head and shoulders inside the vent to look around. "I am going to have to see if they have any more of those cookies before we leave."
Phoebe Beacon	There is a cookie in the vent!     ... there appears to be a bite taken out of it.
Alfred Pennyworth	Casting a glance down at Tim's 'device,' Alfred lets out a snort of derisive laughter. He's grown accustomed to seeing the innards of the various gadgets the Bat Family employs - both of intentional design and the wear and the tear of the job. He doesn't offer a comment on the matter though as he pads about to examine the different machines in the back room for a moment, flicking switches and turning knobs as he moves from appliance to appliance sniffing and prying about inside. He finally stops to rejoin Tim at the door, reaching into his coat and pulling out a leather tube with a distinctive ball shape in the bottom of it, testing its weight in his hand as he offered a nod as if to explain it's sudden appearance. "If it turns out it's not a ghost, Master Drake, i'm sure we can give whoever's responsible a proper headache... but... supposing it is - I won't tell if you're a perturbed if you offer the same courtesy," he offered as an aside, his brow furrowing in a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.
Tim Drake	Upon entry, the first thought Tim has is, somehow: wow, you could mix a lot of things in that. And then: oh, yeah, definitely a ghost. He thinks this as he lifts the end of the plug up, examining it briefly before allowing it to drop back down again.     "I think we can reliably say that this is some sort of metaphysical issue." Tim nods once at Alfred, his expression fairly laid-back. But that he says, "It's unnerving, facing something you can't even perceive unless it wants you to."     Then he glances down at the device in his hands, and aims it towards the mixer as he scans the general area.     Tim frowns. "Especially when you also can't do anything aga--."     Oh.     Oh, that's a baby crying in the vents. Oh no. Tim blinks several times rapidly before he looks back at Alfred again, the wordless question of 'Did you hear that too?' visible on his face.
Phoebe Beacon	Phoebe also hears the baby crying.     "Well. That can't be good." she mutters to herself, and then she takes a deep breath. "Ammonia..."     she blinks, and she tilts her head back.     "Tim, have you seen Bart?" she asks, as her pendelum begins to swing around widdershins. She looks to the spike of crystal, and then to the mandala.     The lines are now glowing red.     The temperature in the bakery has dropped a couple degrees, noticably.     The baby sounds get louder, and the vents begin to give angry rattles and scratching sounds.
Bart Allen	Bart Allen reaches to get the cookie to look at it, and smell it to see if it is the same type as the one dropped on him "Here little one come on out, I aint wanting to hurt you." He says into the vent about half way into it now. "I had people think I was a ghost once, we can talk, and if you need something maybe my friends and I can help you."
Alfred Pennyworth	Catching sight of the clearly unplugged mixer, Alfred allows some of his skepticism to drain away. 'Some' turns to 'Most' as he catches the sound of crying above the machinery. Stowing the cosh back in his coat, he lets out a rush of air from between his lips as he glances up at the ceiling and then about the two rooms he was straddling. "I think your deduction has some credibility, Master Drake..." he offered carefully, starting to peer closer into darkened corners and behind machinery. If nothing else, he wasn't showing any sign of outright disturbance as the crying grew louder and the temperature dropped.     Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back professionally and raised his voice to address the air about them. "If there's something we can do to help, spirit, we would certainly appreciate a point in the right direction," he stated in a simple and crisp manner, his gaze turning from side to side as if trying to deduce some kind of source of -whatever- was going on. He stopped for a moment, glancing back at Tim with a shrug. At Phoebe's question, he calls up slightly louder than his address to the apparent ghost in a helpful fashion. "I haven't seen him since you sent him off to the attic, Miss Beacon!"
Tim Drake	The device in Tim's hand immediately starts to beep as the temperature drops. He looks from its display screen up towards the ceiling, and then he pokes his head out through the door to call down the hall, towards Phoebe: "We've got lowered temperatures in here!"     That means something. Tim isn't sure of the specifics, but he's gathered enough to know that is a definite sign of some sort of activity beginning to manifest.     "Maybe it needs energy to manifest?" he theorizes, in a quiet voice mostly to himself. Though he looks up when Alfred begins to question their unseen quarry. Immediately Tim spins around to put him back-to-back with the butler, as if they were facing down a combat situation. Well, just in case, this ghost isn't going to flank them.     ...okay, given that it's a ghost, it could totally still flank them.     Tim grimaces faintly as the noises grow in strength. "I think the baby's angry." And he never really learned much about actual baby-rearing in those lamaze classes he went to back in the day with Steph, so he is pointedly glancing back at Alfred at this one.
Phoebe Beacon	"I can feel it." Phoebe states, "It's not a baby..."     But it was angry. Phoebe takes the mandala she's drawn, and sets her pendelum down. She picks up the mendala, and she folds it, curling her fingers around it as she concentrates and speaks a Latin incantation, her eyes glowing momentarily. The baby noises stop, and up in the vents Bart will see an outline.     It's feline. Skinny, hissing, tail poofed out claws showing, in a dim outline of a cat, like a pale holigram.     IN the kitchen, where Alfred and Tim are, there's a figure. Short. Three feet maybe, hiding behind the sacks of flour. It's vaguely humanoid.     Phoebe comes in around the corner. and she takes a deep breath.     "Oh, you poor darlings."
Bart Allen	Bart Allen has experience with animals, maybe not ghost animals, but animals. He will hold his hand out just a bit to let the cat get his scent, but ready to move if it claws at him. His other hand fishes around in his pockets and once he finds what he is looking for, he will pull out a bit of beef jerky, and tear it with his teeth and slide a piece of it towards the cat.
Alfred Pennyworth	"Well... if it's angry, it's not the baby's fault, Master Drake. They tend to be that way - it's our job to calm them down," Alfred remarked, extricating his arms from behind himself to put a reassuring hand on Tim's shoulder without breaking their incredibly tactical anti-ghost stance. His gaze flirts about as things begin to develop, until his gaze settles on the figure behind the flour.     Tensing slightly, clearly out of his element, he's stirred to action as Phoebe enters the room with a show of compassion rather than any kind of fear. Picking up on the sentiment - even if it's partly an act - his face softens as he begins to unbutton his coat and follow's Phoebe up. "Are you cold, little one? Come here," he offers, turning the coat out as if offering to drape it about the illusive figure.
Tim Drake	That's fair, Tim supposes. His frown deepens as he continues his machine-aided sweep of the area around them, and while Alfred notices the figure right away, it takes Tim himself a moment longer. Because at first it's just a fuzzy blur on the screen he's looking at.     He fiddles with a couple dials. Pushes a few buttons. But then the image sharpens into clarity, and right there on the display, Tim can see that it's just a kid. "Turn of the century, maybe," he murmurs, making an estimation based on the style of clothing.     First, he looks to Alfred. If anyone is good at comforting scared children... well, the man that has done that first for young Bruce Wayne and then for every child that Batman took under his wing after is, naturally, who Tim trusts with the task.     Then, he glances up at Phoebe.     "Hi there," he says to the ghostly apparition of the child, and he crouches down to make himself smaller, more on the same eye-level. "This man," Tim gestures towards Alfred, "Used to take care of me every time I bumped my head or scraped me knee," which is a vast oversimplification of the injuries Tim sustained when he was first starting out as Robin, "You can trust him."     Finally, Tim casts a momentary worried glance up towards the ceiling, no doubt thinking after Bart, wherever he is nearby.
Phoebe Beacon	The figure gets a bit clearer the closer Phoebe draws to it, for Alfred. She draws down, and her head tilts a moment, giving a gentle smile.     "It's OK. We're here to help you. You must be really scared, and it's OK to be scared. I'm Phoebe, this is Tim, and this is Alfred." she motions.     The little kid looks unsure between the three living people in the kitchen, but does wrap its arms around itself, as if it's cold.     Up in the venting, hissing pauses, the ghost cat retracts its claws. It sniffs and it snuffs at the world of the living, trying to paw at what Bart's giving.     The vent starts to creak a little. They're really not meant for crawling through -- luckily the cat doesn't weigh much. It draws a bit closer to Bart, and when its nose touches him it tingles, like his finger falling asleep.
Bart Allen	Bart Allen tries to keep his weight on his legs that are not in the vent, but Bart is not the best at remembering such things. He is trying to help the cat, ghost or not. "You get stuck in here little guy, come on and we will get you out of here and see how we can help you." He will move as if to rub the cat's cheek gently if it does not flinch away. This maybe the movement that is to much for the vent?"
Alfred Pennyworth	Realizing his mistake, Alfred follows the other's examples and drops into a crouch as he holds his jacket aloft. "I recall, miss, a time I was out hunting with my father..." he offered slowly, his eyes flashing almost imperceptibly between the other two helping him console the ghost. He glanced up toward the ceiling, registering some concern for Bart's continued absence before turning back. "I was lost in the woods for almost the entire night in the snow. It isn't fun - perhaps we can help you get home, hm?"     Alfred's frown deepened as he realized what he was doing, turning to offer a glance toward Tim. "You mentioned something about being a front for crime, Master Drake? Perhaps she's... some kind of bystander?"
Tim Drake	Is that creaking Tim just heard? Another concerned glance is cast up towards the ceiling, before his attention refocuses on the task at hand. And nowhere has Tim felt as out of his depths at this moment, trying to comfort the ghostly apparition of a child.     Though he schools his expression, pushes his own doubts down, and does his best to appear friendly and non-threatening.     "I don't know," he answers Alfred, quietly. "It's more a suspicion than anything, but my gut tells me I'd find some embezzlement or tax evasion if I analyzed their financials. Still, they look..."     His sentence abruptly trails off when Tim realizes he wants to say 'older' even though this is a child. A young kid, who died. Many, many years ago, at his estimation. Slowly, Tim's brows begin to draw together, and he forces himself to take a steadying breath. "I think they might be unconnected. Too much time has passed."     "It's nice to meet you," he tells the child. It's not true, because this is very sad, but at least Tim knows how to lie well. "Can you tell us your name, too?"
Phoebe Beacon	"You're right. Look at the nightgown. Harder to date, but definitely too much time passed." Phoebe confirms, "More than a century."     The kid steps out closer. Bare foot. The mouth moves, and the voice is high pitched, asynchronous to the 'mouth flaps'. It's like watching a badly dubbed anime.     "I cannae find my kitten." the child states quietly, looking nervous. "Ma told me I shouldn't lose her. An' when th' dags showed, she ran off. I try to be quiet, sirs, an' nae pay mind..."     The small, ghostly cat rubs up (and through) Bart's cheek, an ear flicking in his cheek muscle like a spasm. The purrs are echoey and sound a bit like a dump truck at the bottom of a well.
Bart Allen	Bart Allen will try to pick up the cat and hmms a bit "Can you come with me meet my friends, we can see if they know anything that can help you." He hmms and says "I wish I could pick you up." He thinks about it for a moment, and says "Can you climb up on my shoulder, you seem to be able to walk up on things." YEa Bart is talking tot he cat like he can understand it, but he does pat his shoulder, and holds a piece of the jerky up there.
Alfred Pennyworth	An intense frown forms on Alfred's face as he regards the barefoot ghost, listening to Phoebe and Tim speak about timeframes and how things don't line up with his suspicions of a victim of crime. He pads forward in his crouch with a sudden paternal instinct and - even if the coat can't rest on the child - attempts to swing his coat about her, holding it aloft for her incorporeal form to give the show of trying to warm her. "I happen to have a friend, young lady, who can find your kitten in a jiffy, if you're willing to give us just a moment. Your mum won't be none the wiser," he offered, glancing up toward Tim. "Master Drake, could you try to find Mister Allen perhaps? I think Miss Beacon and I can keep our young friend company. I suspect if this poor girl is lurking about here we may find her kitten somewhere about, if gh-" he paused, biting his tongue in a deferential manner, "If things are as we've learned them to be, hm?"
Tim Drake	Even now, no longer a teenager but an adult of his own means, Tim immediately snaps to when Alfred asks something of him. He stands up from his crouch and bustles out into the hallway, then--without the need to make it a subtle gesture, given the situation--he taps the spot beneath his left earlobe, activating the subcutaneous trigger that ties into the Outsiders comms.     "<<Bart, you on this channel? We have a... young child looking for their lost cat. Maybe you've seen something that fits the description?>>" he asks.     Then he heads back towards the main room of the bakery, to see if he can locate Bart himself.
Phoebe Beacon	There's the sound of a baby crying again from the vent, but this time, it's the cat attempting to get on Bart's shoulder. A little more corpreal, though see-through, with glowing yellow eyes and the faint color of patterns. It hangs out on his shoulder, attempting to eat the jerky -- but the jerky somehow escape it.     Alfred's coat, this close to Phoebe, hangs on the girl's shoulders. She's more solid at the moment, though still transluscent.     Phoebe is still down in a crouch, holding the burnt mandala work in her left hand. Alfred would be able to see that there is a glowing circle on the back of her hand there, and she breathes out.     "I know we can find your kitten, darling. And then I can make sure you can get home."
Bart Allen	Bart Allen 's com will beep and luckily it is on the eat the cat it not on. He will balance the jerky on his shoulder, and then touch his ear. "I have a ghost kitty on my shoulder." He tells them over com. He will move out of the ducts. To the cat he says "You missing your person?" He will move to take the kitty back down to the main room. "I am coming to the main room again." He tells them.
Alfred Pennyworth	Nodding emphatically and offering a comforting smile, Alfred's glance turns up from Phoebe's hand and then to meet her eyes as he accepts yet another bizarre fact of his life since becoming embroiled in the life of the Bat. "She's absolutely right, young lady. My friend Master Drake is one of the best detectives we'll ever meet, and between all of us we can certainly track this stray kitten down," he offered in a levelled and reassuring fashion. "He has to help me find my marbles every other day," he quipped. Even if the joke was lost in time, he delivered it with a practiced cadence of humor that was easily understandable.     He released the coat, feeling some resistance atop the girl's shoulders, and brought his hands together with a soft clap as he side stepped in his crouch, perhaps more of a scuttle, to join Phoebe in front of the girl with a warm smile. "It's a lovely kitten, I imagine, have you had her long?"
Tim Drake	As soon as Bart reappears, Tim is quick to take him into the back room again. Well, quick for Tim. Probably not quick for Bart. (Is anything quick for Bart?)     "Luckily, no detective work needed," he announces as he holds the door open for Bart and his new feline friend. "My friend Dr. Dolittle here," and if Tim remembers right, the girl might even have still been alive when those books started coming out, "Has already found your kitty. Bart, I think these two have been trying to find each other for a while now."     His smile is a little fragile, because Tim has of course already put the pieces together. The estimated date of this young girl's last days, based on her outfit. How close that was to when the fire reportedly swept through the saddlery that once operated here.     But no one else needs those details right now. What's important is they're reunited.
Phoebe Beacon	The cat curls its tingly tail around Bart's shoulder as it rides the speedster down, the cat looking a little puzzled at the amount of people it can now register.     The girl, though, looks delighted as the cat makes an appearance. There's the sound of joy that comes from her, echoing, as she steps forward, and lifts the cat off Bart's shoulders, looking around to the others as she's given living color. She had olive skin, dark hair and dark freckles, with the brightest green eyes. The cat has yellow eyes, and is a tabby with a bottle-brush tail. The girl cradles the cat in her arms -- might be calling it a kitten, but it's probably at least a year old. Or was at least a year old. She looks around to Alfred, to Tim and Bart, and gives just the biggest smile to everyone.     "I'm... I'm Lindsay. And this is Tuffie." she introduces herself.     And Phoebe gives a nod. "Well, Lindsay -- Tuffie -- are you ready to go?"
Bart Allen	Bart Allen will try to offer the cat the jerky one last time, as maybe it can actually have it now. "It is good to have Tuffie back with you, I know how important pets are." He smiles and says "Tuffie missed you to." He looks over to Alfred and Tim, and then ponders something a moment seeming in thought.
Alfred Pennyworth	Standing up with Bart's arrival and the girl taking to her cat, Alfred's smile softens slightly as he glances between the three younger heroes. "It has been a pleasure to meet you Lindsay - you can hold onto the coat, if you'd like. I imagine you and Tuffie could do with some warmth, hm?" he offers warmly as he pulls himself up to his full height. He offers a slight nod to Tim, and then inclines his head to Phoebe and Bart. "Master Drake. I will go get the car ready while the three of you get our young friend 'home.' You're all much better at the hero business than I am," he finishes, starting to make an exit before turning and crouching down face to face with the ghostly Lindsay. "And you get home -very- safe, won't you, young lady? It wouldn't be very kind to keep an old man worrying, hm?"     Quite possibly much more unsettled than he let on, Alfred stood up and wheeled on his heel to leave in his measured fashion as if he were just working about Wayne Manor, his hands clasping behind his back as his head dipped in some quiet and contemplative thought.
Tim Drake	Tim hovers by the door rather than proceeding further. It's up to Bart to get the kitten back to the girl, and then it's done, human and feline reunited.     Unfortunately for Tim, everyone in the room--living, at least--know him well enough to see right through the mildly blank expression he's plastered on his face. It's his typical go-to for when he's fighting back some kind of stronger emotion.     "It was good to meet you, Lindsay. And Tuffie too," he says. His voice is steady, at least. "I'm glad we could help you two find each other again."     If he has anything else to say, Tim just... takes a deep breath, and decides against it, for now. He nods to Alfred and moves slightly to let him pass by, and then his attention shifts to Phoebe.     Whatever there is left to do to help send Lindsay and Tuffie 'home,' Tim stands by in case he's needed to assist. His hands clench and unclench at his sides once or twice, but he keeps it together.
Phoebe Beacon	Lindsey wraps the coat more securely around herself, and she gives a nod to Alfred. She holds Tuffie carefully, and looks back to Tim and Bart, and she gives a smile.     Phoebe gives a nod, and she crushes the remainder of the ashey mandala work in her left hand. She takes a breath, and closes her eyes, and brings her hands gently upwards, placing them on Lindsey's shoulders. She begins in a very gentle voice, and the room begins to warm. Her own braids draw upwards as energy fills the room, and the trail of a circle surrounds the back of her hands.     There is Light. There's the feather-light feeling of a hand touching Tim's and touching Bart's, and then the quietest 'Thank you!' whispered, echoing in the room.     And then in a whisp, Phoebe is left holding Alfred's jacket by the shoulders. Lindsey and Tuffie went on their next paths. The shop was no longer haunted.