Dead and Buried

Beetlejuice and Lydia didn't expect being 'together' to be so easy. The only hard part? Dealing with Lydia's parents.

When Delia arranges one last vacation as a family, Beetlejuice is hired as Mr Beetleman, tour guide extraordinaire, to whisk the Deetzs away on a fun-filled holiday adventure to the Neitherworld. Except, of course, things begin to steadily unravel from there.
Not only has the pre-booked resort gone bust, but the compensatory bookings have been placed at the infamous Resort of Last Resort on the River Schticks. Once there, Beetlejuice - already plagued by nightmare flashbacks from his life before - comes face to face with an old acquaintance that he had hoped would stay dead and buried…

A/N

This is a sequel to my fanfiction: Stage Pressure.
If you haven't read Stage Pressure then you won't understand this
fanfiction at all, as it's more or less a direct continuation.

Setting: Cartoon-verse (though will borrow quite a bit from movie-verse)
Pairing: BeetlejuicexLydia

References to events and characters from the show are intensive, and the episode 'In the Schticks' is
alluded to quite often. Unlike the prequel, this fanfic will start to borrow a bit more heavily from
the movie-verse with an attempt to link the two of them up, but doing so without ruining
the feel of the cartoon. I hope. That being said, this fanfiction will shape out to be quite a
bit more serious (and darker?) in places than its predecessor.

If you have read Stage Pressure then I'm sure you're aware that
this is BeetlejuicexLydia all the way. Expect smut and fluff!

Chapter One

Near to the remote hamlet of Winter River (a community later to be known as Peaceful Pines), and located on the outskirts of a town that was much less sleepy, a smoke-filled bar was catering for a steady stream of drinkers. It wasn't an upper-class joint, but not a working-class place neither. In fact, it was classy enough without being too holier-than-thou, and that's why B. J. supposed he liked it. Besides, the clientele were such suckers.

He stepped through the front door, trying to keep his head low. No matter how many times he'd been instructed to come in the back way, slinking in the workman's entrance just wasn't his style.
B. J. hoped to avoid rousing the landlord's attention, and managed to creep halfway across the room before the elderly man doubling as a bartender spotted him.
"Juice!" He snapped, though it didn't quite sound as though that had been what he'd said. Too much emphasis on the first letter, almost making it into a 'D'.
Beetlejuice froze, mid-step. He turned reluctantly, trying to keep his face neutral.
His boss was angrily waving a dishrag at him. "You were supposed to be here over an hour ago!"
Beetlejuice didn't have an excuse apart from the fact that he believed he was allergic to 'work'. He gesticulated vaguely. "D'ya want a half-assed excuse or an apology?"

"I want you to sit down at the piano,"
He did as he was told, perching on the stool and smirking down at the instrument, hands either side of his rear.
"And play!" The bartender barked, obviously tired of his sense of humour.
Spoilsport, Beetlejuice thought with an amused sniff. Then, cracking his knuckles, he extended his fingers over the keys and began to play.
He had a love-hate relationship with this piano. He despised that sitting at it was working and justified his mother's reasons for getting him and his younger sibling a tutor, but he also loved that it was the one thing he excelled at instead of his brother. Donny had the brains and the niceties, but B. J. had wit, imagination and he could play a piano goddamn well. His parents had always said he'd never succeed in anything, but had retracted that statement as soon as he'd gotten this—this- ugh– job.

Waitaminute.

Beetlejuice looked up from the ebony and ivory keys, his stomach sinking.

Whut am I doin' here?

He was sitting in a bar. A human bar. In fact, there wasn't a single ghoul in the building, except for him. … He was still dead, wasn't he? Glancing down at his fingers, he was mostly relieved to see the familiar discoloured tips to them, but also only further confused.
He knew this place. He knew this scene. Different realities had smashed together. This bar was real, or at least, it had been, once a very long time ago, but it had never existed in the Neitherworld.
This wasn't the Neitherworld. This was top-side.

Oh. I guess I'm dreamin'. Beetlejuice surmised.
At least that explained why everything was in black and white.

Staring at the piano for a second longer, he retracted his hands as though the keys of the instrument might suddenly jump up and bite him.

If this was a dream then surely that meant he was in control of it. Or, if he couldn't control it, he could easily wake up out of it should he want to. Confident on account of this safety net, he suddenly slammed his fingers down in such a clashing series of chords that everyone in the room winced.
Beetlejuice threw back his head and began to cackle.

"B. J.!" His boss scolded.
Beetlejuice ignored him. He looked down at himself, only to wrinkle up his pointed nose in distaste. What was he wearing? This pinstriped suit was too boring, too regular. He didn't think he had his magic, but dreams were usually alterable nonetheless. He pictured himself in his trademark striped suit and his subconscious mind let it be, the thin white stripes turning bolder, thicker.

Standing up and straightening at a leisurely pace, he then walked over to the bar, behind which his old boss was slowly turning red with baffled anger.
Beetlejuice rested his elbows on the countertop, smiling amiably in a way that displayed his decayed, green teeth. "Yo, Tommy, ol' pal. I'll take a martini,"
The man glared back at him, speaking tightly. "I'm not paying you to drink, Juice. Get back at the piano, before I fire your sorry ass,"

The ghost quirked a brow.
Pretty tough talk, for a dream; he reminded himself never to eat roaches on burnt toast for supper again.

"Y'know what? I think I quit," He said in a rather pleasant tone of voice before turning, eyes darting about mischievously.
As soon as he willed it, the four walls of the bar fell down, falling outwards like a collapsed studio set, kicking up dust into empty space.
The clientele looked horrified.
Yawning and stepping into the centre of the floor, Beetlejuice stretched his arms above his head. "Boy, I really know how to bring a house down," He remarked with a snigger, before noticing the human stood closest to him. He pointed at them emphatically. "You! I got fifty sheets outta you fer that anti-ageing serum scam!" He cackled, before hopping on the spot at the sight of another past victim. "And you! I got twenty outta you for pretendin' to be a private-eye. You guys were sooo easy,"

His amusement died quickly, however, when a second look-around revealed that the other people in the room had no faces, only blurry, blank heads.
Beetlejuice took a half-step back, gulping. He could've sworn he'd been able to make out features on those faces when he'd walked in. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to recover. After all, this was a dream, and logic never exists in dreams.

In a movement that had become natural to him he went to lift his legs in order to hover out of the building, only to find that gravity didn't want to let him go. Feet remaining firmly on the ground, he supposed all dreams had limitations.
Beetlejuice instead side-stepped the faceless drinkers and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Absently whistling as he made his way out of the building, he began to walk aimlessly in no particular direction. Or, so he thought. When he reached the other side of the cobbled street, determined to take a left, he found himself heading the other way entirely. Suddenly a mad realisation struck him: he couldn't control his own feet.

"Hey!"
He tried very hard to stop, but it was no good; he could only walk, and walk briskly at that. Looking down at his feet, his face contorted with irritation. "Hey! What d'you two think you're doin'?" He demanded. By the time he glanced back up, he was heading down a nondescript alley.
The objections he hollered aloud did nothing to stop himself turning a few corners in this labyrinth of alleys. Soon his dead heart began to palpitate madly. Something was awfully familiar about this route he was taking, something he was keeping suppressed. One thing was for sure, too – it was terribly dark all of a sudden.
A second alley came up on his right, creating a T-junction, and at the mouth of this turning his feet finally stopped. Exhaling with relief, Beetlejuice brushed himself down self-consciously, before movement at the peripheral of his vision caught his attention. He turned. Cowering in the shadows and sitting in an oversized trench coat was a face so familiar that Beetlejuice's heart throbbed for an entirely different reason.
His eyes widened.

"Lydia?" He prompted, dumbfounded.

His best friend and love raised her head, eyes glazed over, black streams of make-up running down her cheeks.

Now Beetlejuice knew he was dreaming. There was no way Lydia could be here. This was wrong, the whole thing was wrong.

He crouched before her, concerned. The way she looked didn't bode well with him at all; he wanted to pick her up, wipe her eyes, take her home.
"Babes, why are ya cryin'?"

Lydia's eyes were large and doe-like - she looked like a rabbit trapped in a car's headlights. Whimpering as he went to pick her up from the floor, Lydia slammed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head furiously. Leaning away from him, recoiling in his shadow, she pulled the coat tighter around her. "I don't want to see this, B. J..."

"Babes?" Beetlejuice breathed. His face lined with worry. What exactly didn't she want to see?

Then, inexplicably, the penny dropped. He realised what was so wrong about this dream.
Beetlejuice recoiled, face stricken, and glanced around himself in a flustered panic. This path that had been decided for him… whilst it hadn't been the last route he'd walked on Earth it was representative of it. This wasn't just a dream, this was a montaged flashback with bits of his present sewn in. This was a nightmare.

His pupils retracted to the size of pinpricks. This alley was the alley. The very same one that had sealed his fate.

Waitaminute. Wait. I—I know where this is going…! Beetlejuice thought with rising hysteria.
That was when the trapdoor beneath his feet opened.

Screaming, Beetlejuice plummeted into blackness, gravity pulling him down head-first. Free-falling for what felt like an eternity in this empty void, he finally began to make out the bottom of the pit, but this was of no comfort even if it would break his fall. It glistened innocently, shining almost with its own light.
Beetlejuice shrieked at the top of his lungs. "Fresh water? EYAAAAGHHHH!"

The blackness dissipated and the world opened up around him, as he knew it would. He hadn't fallen into a well, he'd fallen right into another memory.

Before he could hit the surface of the water, something tied itself around his legs, catching him.
"Oof!" He bounced a little as though on a bungie rope, long blond hair dangling, the tips of which almost tickling the flowing, bubbling water.

Trying to control his breathing, Beetlejuice glanced around, his view of the world inconveniently upside down. He was suspended over a river, and he immediately knew which without even taking his surroundings into account. This was Winter River. The same river that wound through the town of the same name, through the town that would later be known as Peaceful Pines, Connecticut. The same river that the Maitlands would drown in courtesy of a car accident in the late eighties. The same river that Lydia cycled over every day in order to reach the centre of town.

Beetlejuice's tie loosened and dangled in front of his face, where he tried to blow it out of his line of vision enough to look up at his feet, up towards the bridge he knew was there. It wasn't covered, not yet, but the structure was in the process of being built, as it had been when this memory had taken place.
It was too dark to make anything but the platform out. Blood was rushing to his head, making him dizzy.

Then, a voice he never believed he'd hear again knifed through the silence, chilling him to the bone.
"Looks like I caught me a Beetlejuice," The man jeered in a voice as cold as a shard of ice. The name didn't roll correctly off of his tongue, maybe because in life he'd never said it.
Every fine hair that covered Beetlejuice's body stood on end. In fact, it almost felt as though each of these hairs had hundreds of little ones also covering them, and these were all stood bristling too. He squirmed, dangling at the end of the rope; any minute now he would lose his self-control and scream.
This nightmare was beyond his control now, and what was worse, he couldn't even wake up.

"Aahahaha, o-oh, i-it's you," He said, voice hoarse as he laughed nervously. His character wouldn't let him be anything but cocky, no matter how much he wanted to cry for help.
It hurt to look up from this position, it made his vision blurry. The only part of his captor he could make out was their heavily booted feet.

The man made a noise that was something between a 'hmm' and a laugh. "... Do you know why you're here, Juice? You're here because I can't trust you," He said accusingly. Just like Tommy in the bar, there was a strange emphasis on the first letter of his 'surname' that made Beetlejuice's stomach knot anxiously.
He struggled against his bonds, beads of sweat forming on his brow. No. No, I don't want to go through this again…!
"LYDIAAA!" He screamed.

The man on the bridge placed his hands on the temporary, contrived railing, leering down at him. He found this outcry amusing. "Your little girlfriend hasn't even been born yet," He said with relish.

Beetlejuice's chest heaved. He grit his teeth, still fighting to get free.
No. He'd just seen her. She was here, she had to be.
"L-Lyds!" He tried again, squirming desperately. A second rope then wrapped around his chest, tying his arms to his side and preventing any further attempts to escape.
The ropes that were holding him didn't seem to be attached to any kind of pulley mechanism – they were simply hovering mid-air - but even so, the man was in charge of them, as though he'd- as though he'd 'juiced' them. This thought alone turned Beetlejuice dead-cold, but not as much as when the ropes suddenly dropped a few inches, submerging his forehead in the freezing cold water.

"Eyaghh!"

"Nobody came to your funeral, B. J.,"

Beetlejuice stopped fruitlessly struggling. He felt as though he'd been stabbed in the chest, and the blow was enough to cause his eyes to sting.

"Only Tommy, and he came out of a sense of duty. Nobody cared about you. They were all glad to be rid of you," The man was tampering with the rope, impressing his will on it as somehow, somewhere above him, Beetlejuice could feel it about to give way.

"No- No- wait-!" He tried to plead, but his cries fell on deaf ears.

"Time to clean up your act, Beetlejuice,"

"NO!" The rope snapped. Beetlejuice plunged into the water, screaming, but that only helped the liquid fill his lungs sooner.

Panicking, unable to think clearly, he felt as though a great weight had wrapped itself around his legs and was dragging him down, down, down to the bottom of the river. At the same time he felt as though the current had picked up and was taking him along for the ride. He fought against the ropes holding him but it did no good, he was running out of oxygen.

He was drowning, he was going to drown-

"Beetlejuice?" A muffled voice cried above the surface, barely permeating through the water.
He tried to struggle towards the voice but he couldn't move, his lungs were burning, his throat constricting. He couldn't focus anymore, he was blacking out. He wasn't dead, he hadn't ever been dead, he was dying now, all over again.

"Beetlejuice!" That same voice. It was pulling him out of the river without physically touching him at all, pulling him towards a safe kind of blackness, the blackness of your own closed eyelids. Back to reality, a lifeline. Lyds.

"BEEJ!"

Beetlejuice lurched upright in bed, wide awake.
Wheezing and panting in his hysteria, a cold sweat had broken out over his already cold body.
He slammed a hand over his heart as though to keep it in there, catching his breath, trying to will the nightmare - the memories - away. As soon as he'd recovered, he glanced at the empty space of bed next to him, only to recall that Lydia hadn't stayed the night. Nursing his temples, he was about to presume he'd imagined her calling his name when the sound of fingers rapping on glass stirred him into looking up.

Lydia was in his mirror, glancing in at him anxiously despite appearing to be half-asleep herself. She was reaching forwards as though about-ready to pass through to his side.
"Are you okay?" She asked with evident concern, despite her eyes being only half-open. He must have woken her up.

This reality-shock and the juxtaposition of such a comfortable present against such a horrific nightmare made Beetlejuice uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he didn't want to worry Lydia. He painted on a poker-face, bluffing. "Y-Yeah, babes,"

It was clear from her face that she didn't believe him. Lydia clambered up onto her dressing table. Since they'd been together these few months they'd taken to leaving access open to each other. Swinging a leg through the portal and slipping into his room, Lydia stepped over to him wearing no more than a black slip, slouched with fatigue. "Nightmare?" Usually their nightmares were the good kind, anticipated, like free choose-your-ending horror stories. This, obviously, hadn't been one of the good ones.

"How did y'tell?" Beetlejuice said dryly, his smile particularly weak.
"You were screaming loud enough for all of Peaceful Pines to hear," Lydia commented, gesturing with her thumb in the direction of the mirror.

Beetlejuice blinked. Oh. There was no point in lying to her then. He shrugged his shoulders. "Heh. Sorry I woke ya, babes," He reached up to her, wrapping his fingers around hers and lightly tugging her in the direction of the bed in invitation.

Lydia smiled tiredly. "It's okay, I wasn't sleeping well anyway," She climbed up onto his bed, tucking herself in beside him.

An unspoken request passed from him to her and Lydia complied, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head beneath his. She didn't ask if he wanted to talk about it, he quite obviously didn't. It was enough for her that he was letting her comfort him, and, anyway, she was sure he'd tell her in his own time.
"Can I sleep over?" She mumbled into his pyjama shirt instead.

Beetlejuice nosed the crown of her head, half-affectionately but also somewhat absently. "D'ya really have to ask?"
"Mmm… No…" Lydia said with a smile, relaxing back into the bed. Then she looked at him with her heavily-drooping eyes, the concern having not yet gone away entirely. "Are you okay now?"
"I'll be fine, babes," He said without hesitation, leaning back too. Though, sure as he sounded, he didn't feel certain. "You're here now,"

Beetlejuice reached over for the bedside clock, checking the time: 3:17am. He began winding it to set the alarm. "What time d'ya need to be up, babycakes?"
"Mm... Set it for seven… I'll slip back- into my room- then…"
"Gotcha,"

When Beetlejuice next rolled back to face her, Lydia was already sound asleep.

Smiling down at her, he brushed dark strands of her hair out of her face before settling down. He didn't think he could fall back to sleep if he tried, but at least he had something to preoccupy himself with in the meantime. He was usually too ignorant to bother watching Lydia sleep; being an unromantic guy it wasn't something that ever crossed his mind. Plus, much as he thought his stamina was nothing to be sniffed at, when he and Lydia did the deed he usually found himself falling asleep right after, but that was okay because Lydia did the same. He soon realised that watching Lydia sleep was probably the singular most soothing experience of his life. Er, and afterlife.

He wondered what she could be dreaming about, but at the same time hoped the dreams were pleasant.

At one point he tried to will himself into drifting off just as easily as she had, but quite soon gave up. Each time he closed his eyes all he could see was a river, a still peaceful river in the dark of night. And somewhere, beneath the water's surface, he knew he was slowly drowning.

Lydia had given up college for an intensive home study course. At first Charles, and Delia especially, had been gravely disappointed but Lydia had won them over. Having a darkroom in the basement had certainly helped. She seemed to be performing even better than she had in college, though that was because, even with the distractions, this lifestyle suited her better. After all, she still got to see Beetlejuice almost everyday.

It had been three months since she'd won the fashion contest, three months since she'd risen to Neitherworld fame then plummeted back down to anonymity, three months since she and Beetlejuice had become a 'couple'. … It still sounded strange, even in her own mind.

Now, winding down a lengthy telephone conversation with the promotional manager of Top Gossip, a date had been arranged for the release of her Showtime! collection. Lydia could hardly believe it was really going to happen; these past few months that it had taken to batch produce her clothes made the memory of winning the fashion contest feel like a distant dream, but now they were finally being shipped to her local store in the Peaceful Pines Mondo Mall.
"That's great news!" She exclaimed giddily, buzzing from the accomplishment. "Thank you so much!" Just as Lydia placed the receiver back down, Delia poked her head around the living room archway, smiling encouragingly.
"Well?"
"Two weeks on Friday," Her step-daughter replied excitedly, her cheeks flushed.
Delia clapped her hands together, overjoyed. Then the date struck a chord in her mind, and her face fell. "But… your father and I are in New York then, Lydia,"

Lydia had quite forgotten that her dad's former employer and fair-weather friend, Maxie Dean, had invited the two up for some fancy party and was putting them up at a hotel for the three-day weekend.
She wasn't sure how she felt about this. On the one hand, she'd miss having her parents around to support her, but on the other hand she would have the house to herself for the weekend. With Beetlejuice.
She opened her mouth to say something but Delia got there first, flustered. "I'll—I'll see if we can reschedule it. This is hardly something we can miss,"

At this, Lydia scrutinised her, but not without some degree of affection. She remembered a time when Delia would have jumped at the opportunity of returning to the city with a chance to impress, when she likewise convulsed at the thought of spending unnecessary time with her darkly morbid and unusual stepdaughter. It was funny how she and Beetlejuice meeting had changed all that, even if her parents no longer remembered.
She'd decided how she felt anyway - the appeal of an empty house proved too strong to ignore. "No, don't worry, mother. You were there for the contest, that's enough for me,"

Delia looked both hurt and relieved, as though permission had been granted but it was permission she nonetheless felt guilty for having asked for. "Don't be silly, Lydia! I want to support you in your artistic exploits. I'm just so glad to see you taking after me," She said, even pinching Lydia's cheek in the process.

Despite preparing for a weekend break in little over a fortnight's time, Delia had a holiday brochure tucked under her arm.
Lydia raised an eyebrow and pointed to it, curious. "Um… looking at vacations, Mom?"
Suddenly she felt as though someone had breathed into her ear and she tensed. She wasn't surprised when a little voice then whispered: "Vacation? Great, babes. Encourage 'em. We can get the house to ourselves! With the parents away, B. J. and Lyds can pl-"
Lydia swatted at the source of the voice beside her ear, trying to keep a straight face. "Ahaha, a-aren't you happy with New York?"

"Oh, yes, but sweetheart, New York is just for the weekend. Your father and I want to go somewhere to unwind next week. Like—Like the Hotel Hello,"

I... can't imagine Dad would agree… Lydia thought with a grimace.

"And besides, we want you to come along. It's been so long since we've had a family vacation. I know you're a young woman now and taking vacations with your parents isn't exactly your idea of a good time, but what about one last one, hmm?"

Lydia's face drained of all colour.

"So much fer a week to ourselves,"

Ignoring Beetlejuice once more, despite him having quite simply said what was exactly on her mind, she tried to look enthusiastic about the idea. "T-That sounds great, Mom. But, um, if you want a vacation like Hotel Hello then… then why don't you hire Mr Beetleman as a tour guide?"

Delia looked at her, placing the brochure down on the sideboard without giving it a second glance. "Won't that make things awkward for you, Lydia?"
The young woman winced. Unsure as to what her stepmother meant, she answered hesitantly. "W-Why would it?"
Delia pursed her lips. "Well, your boyfriend's father would be accompanying us on vacation. Unless… you were suggesting we invite B. J. as well?"

Lydia then understood what her mother had meant about it being 'awkward' and bit her lip. Ah. This was where things had gotten complicated.
She didn't know how to explain to her mother that not only were Mr Beetleman and B. J. Beetleman the same person, but that Beetlejuice was a ghost.
But, hey, don't worry, Mom. I didn't lie about him being my boyfriend. That counts for something, right?

Before her mother could suspect, Lydia had to quickly choose which of Beetlejuice's alter egos to invite on vacation. After all, she couldn't expect him to keep switching identities, it would get too confusing or, knowing him, he'd forget what he was doing and the truth would come out some way or another. No. It was as the tour guide, or the 'boyfriend'.
If she suggested 'B. J.' to come along, her parents would be unbearable, it would be the vacation from hell. But if she stuck with Mr Beetleman, moderately trusted handy-man and convenient contact, then her parents would leave them be.

"Actually… uh, B-B. J. wouldn't be able to make it. He's, uh, doing some volunteer work," Yeah, right. "But I'm sure neither of them would mind. After all, it's—well, it's one of the things Mr Beetleman does for a living, right?"

Delia, one hand on the sideboard and one hand cupped in front of her mouth, pondered this for a moment. "Well, I suppose so, but it's quite last minute. Wouldn't he mind?"
Lydia, desperate to have this vacation on her terms, skirted the question and dived in with her proposal before Delia could dither any longer. "Why don't I give him a call? No harm in trying, right?"
Her stepmother caved. "Oh, I suppose it's not a bad idea. Go ahead, Lydia,"

Yes!

Lydia was already heading for the stairs. "I'll just get his number then," With this she darted up to her room. Shutting the door behind her, Beetlejuice appeared at the foot of her bed, already smirking from ear to ear. Years ago he used to struggle to get Lydia to go along with his schemes, but now it seemed more and more that she was coming up with them herself. He was rubbing off on her, and he loved it.
"So, what's the plan, babes?" He prompted eagerly.

Lydia straightened but still leant back on the door for support, smiling. "We're going on vacation. If my parents are taking me along then I'm taking you along. Or, well, I mean, you're taking us, 'Mr Beetleman'," The last she said with a hint of flirtation.
Beetlejuice closed the short distance between them, expression one of devilish mischief. "But what about us, Lyds? What if yer parents find out that the handy-dandy man's got his hands on their little pumpkin?" To emphasise his point he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her towards him.
Lydia narrowed her eyes seductively back at him. "They won't. We'll just be sneaky," She promised, before pressing her lips to his.

To some, the idea of kissing Beetlejuice was a horrific mental image. To Lydia it was anything but. After all, seven years with him had mostly desensitised her - everything had become part of his charm and, in a way, part of his attraction. And, as his tongue swept her mouth, she was reminded that he was a damn good kisser.

Pulling apart for some air, Lydia marvelled at how the night before seemed as though it had never happened. Yet, despite Beetlejuice's good mood, Lydia was almost afraid of how well he had buried it. Glancing up at him, noticing the slightly tired look around his eyes, she couldn't help but pry. "Are you okay, Beej?" She asked carefully.
His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Yeah, babes. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well... no reason, except last night you gave me quite a fright,"

He flinched. He hadn't wanted to be reminded.

Lydia rushed on, her arms wrapped around his neck, hands resting on his nape. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" She prompted.
The ghost both rolled his eyes and averted them, covering his insecurities, as always, with shortness. "Jeesh, Lyds, ya don't have to get all sappy about it. Y'sound like my mom,"

Lydia sighed, withdrew her arms so as to fold them in front of her and raised an eyebrow. "Look, can you just play tour guide and agree to take us on vacation?"

She was to hear no arguments from him. Beetlejuice half-saluted her playfully. "Sure thing, toots,"
He disappeared with a burst of smoke and lightning. Not a moment later the front doorbell began to chime downstairs.

Lydia sat back on her bed, exhaling heavily as she heard Delia head for the door. Whatever happened, this vacation would prove to be an interesting one.