Movieverse since I've never had cable and I was too young when it was on broadcast television ~_^
Note Also: This is my first fanfiction (which you'd probably figure out on your own) so feel free to hold my ego at gunpoint ^_^ Though my ego tends to prefer whips and chains and being tied to bedposts ~_^
Thank You's: WithoutHesitation and Opal Lynn for making Beetlejuice fanfictions so well written, wonderful and inspiring...and so seemingly (and misleadingly *sob*) easy to accomplish -_-
Drew's Script o' Rama – this offered some sort of reference. Though the characters are based off of those in the movie, I think I may have changed their personalities a bit-_-
Most Important Note: I do not own Beetlejuice, Tim Burton (if I did, Sweeney Todd – a la Burton - and Big Fish – his one 'happy' movie - would have never existed), Warner Brothers (if I did, Tweety would finally be DEAD), Fanfictiondotnet (man, I am not nearly clever/sick enough to even try to claim owning the site...) or the English language. But that does not mean I can not butcher anything connected to the items mentioned above^_^ Especially since I do not earn anything except more wasted hours on the computer. Try suing that, beotches!
Summary: After the events that occurred at the Maitland's house, Ortho attempts to sue the Deetz (in yet another one of his Brillant Plans © to gain fame and funds) and in the process brings a hoard of media folk upon them. In a hasty decision, Delia decides to get rid of the press once and for all by calling upon our dearly departed (and beloved) "ghost with the most"
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"Is it true that you married off your daughter so you could keep the house? And how much did Hugh Heifner pay for the dowry?" asked a reporter before Delia slammed a door on his face.
"Damn Ortho! I'm sending him another cow heart in the mail!" she yelled while taking off her stelletos in time to the beat of media men pounding on the door. This has become the norm lately since Ortho regained his status as a Paranormal Expert (as he had been before the crash in '72). By exploiting the disasters that had occurred at the Maitland's house he not only elevated into higher social circles but also regularly fueled many tabloids with accusations against the Deetezs, claiming they housed a brothel, married off their underage daughter and are carrying unimaginably bad pieces of art.
"How's Delia?" Barbara whispered to Lydia while eyeing her stepmother hesitantly.
"I think she might be alright, considering. She's not spazzing out so easily, even with the blood hounds. Maybe Conneticut air is the miracle cure to the mind altering chemicals in New York smog."
"Well, you know her best but she seems about ready to blow," Adam said, exchanging a look with Barbara.
"What can I say about Charles' taste in women?"
On cue, as if to prove the point, one of Delia's scluptures smashed against a wall, leaving the artist responsible for its creation, as well as destruction, panting in the hallway with a disheveled look.
"I've had it! They're not afraid of us! They're not afraid of lawyers! They're not afraid of homicidal threats or fire! I want them out! And if there's only one freaking bio-exercorsit that can do the job, so help me god, I am getting him!!"
"NO!"
"Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice!" It was too late. The die had been cast, the wheels of fate were turning, and nothing could stop the events that had been set in motion. Namely Beetlejuice appearing, his fists at his sides, face upwards, bellowing --
"1,576 bottles of beer on the wall! 1,576 bottles of beer – MY EYES!! Blast me eyes, I'm free!" Barbara and Adam began to say his name when he flicked baseball sized bubblegum into their open mouths without looking around. "YEAH! Though never asked Miss Argentina's number. Oh well. Who the heck got me out anyway?" He spun around, taking in a second guessing Delia, a nervous wreck Charles, the horrified Maitlands and stopping dead in his tracks before a frozen Lydia.
He paused. "You." He grimaced and looked to the floor. Lydia looked side to side before pointing to herself and asking, "...Me?"
"You know, I really thought we had something going, I was on cloud nine - naked angels singing, the whole bit – planning our house with the white picket fence, dog shit on the lawn, cable with every porno channel, membership to the NRA. Thought we'd go on walks together and have really hot sex outside to get some fresh air. But I forgot you're an American and "husband and wife" doesn't mean anything anymore and instead of me showing you MY snake you went for another - so I guess all that's left to say is that NOW YOU'RE REALLY GONNA PAY!!"