[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Ghosts were very much real, and Zjarr knew this because he had quite literally been one before. Once his physical form had died, and he was not able to possess it (or any forms) for quite some time, leaving him but a lonely, desperate spirit that could not directly communicate with anyone. He could only interact with objects and hoped that those around him would take a hint. He remembered Deut resolving to bury his corpse, only to watch it mysteriously fly across the camp into Zjarr's quarters with not a (living) creature touching the damn thing. He had to admit, that had been funny as shit, but nothing else beyond that was even remotely enjoyable.

Perhaps he was a little sympathetic for the lost souls that were trapped into such horrid forms, unable to possess a physical body and directly speak to those they wanted to interact with rather than give vague signals through their surroundings. Maybe some spirits were able to talk to mortals, but the many ghosts he had seen lacked that advantage. And in a way, he did feel a little bit of sorrow for the anguished fellows.

But he didn't feel as if there were any ghouls in the Observatory...no, he would have felt them otherwise, wouldn't he? Regardless the wolf would address the situation plainly: "Hmm. Just be careful, a'ight?" On that note he'd flop down next to the young fireball, setting his head upon his prosthetic metal forepaws as he watched the dim light flicker as a n energetic dancer.

It was then that Zjarr had to suppress his amusement, for he had concocted a brilliant idea: to briefly exit his form and act as a spirit, to humor Onision and the other inquisitive folk that would arrive for the sake of participating in someone else's weekly tasks, or perhaps to see if there really were ghouls and goblins roaming the territory. Hell, if nothing was going to happen tonight, he would make something happen.

[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Well, Onision wasn't exactly incorrect with his explanation, but Zjarr was still willing to pitch in his answer to the kid as well. At the arrival of some curious and confused-looking young'un, the wolf murmured softly with an amused smile, "Oh, just what he said. A bit of some ghost-proddin'. Seein' if they're out and wanna mingle with us livin' folk." His smile only widened at Melody's attempts, finding himself struggling to maintain his composure for the kiddo. Aw, it was just...cute. Rarely did he admit it, but he really did like having kids around. Which was why it only hurt more to find Pele spit in his face, but that was not the most urgent matter here.

His heart jumped as Bastille suddenly appeared before the group, his fur just glowing for some bizarre reason, but Zjarr forced himself to hold his tongue. Bast...wasn't a threat. He was just trying to give the fireball a scare, right? Just like the cyborg wanted to. With a soft huff he would return back to Melody's inquiry.

"Poltergeist?" he offered the kitten with a twitch of his ear. "A...loud ghost, I'd say. One that might like to throw stuff. Simple as that." And the big ol' polty's about'a make y'all shit yourselves, he added silently, suppressing the devious grin that tugged at his lips. Once more he would lay himself down as if to rest, skimming over ideas as to how he were to accomplish the feat in question and what reactions he would gauge from these people. They really were going to—

Wait a minute, what the fuck is that?

The wolf's head rose as dust settled into the room, the air growing much warmer than he recalled it to be. His onyx black nose twitched as his eyes widened ever so slightly, his ears flattening against his cranium to best express his sheer confusion. No, no fucking way there was a real spirit up in this bitch. No dead hoe was going to beat him to the punch. His muscles tensing and his metal claws clicking against the hard floor, the demon watched in awe as some horrible apparition began to form beside Onision, extending its awful limbs, ready to pounce at its victim. A subtle growl erupted past his maw, which he would silence as the form of a quite living lion appeared in the spirit's place, a cackling feline.

Deep exhales pushed through the demon as he watched the lion anxiously. Okay, I am not losing my shit over this. These...pranks. With a frown he would bury his head back down and hope that he wasn't losing himself. He'd have to bring his composure back, but he couldn't magically become a big ghosty boy now. After two scares in a row, there had to be something in between, a sense of relief that nothing was there. And it was then that he would strike...hopefully.