Hello all! This is a fic I wrote quite a while back, and just never uploaded. I'll be posting it as I proofread the chapters and fix things here and there. I usually write stories in another fandom, and I loved it, but life got in the way (major, major changes) and I'm out of the swing of things. I've been gone for some time and I have an unfinished fic that I'd love to finish there as well (not Beetlejuice related), but I'll have to do some work to it first, so I figured since this was already something I'd finished long ago, that it would be a good way to get back into writing. I really hope you guys like it. Beetlejuice is one of my favorite movies of all time, and I really find his character hilarious. This is my first fic of him. Warning - it is crass and offensive quite often, with much gratuitous profanity. Lots of sexual innuendo and jokes. It's not meant to offend, just to entertain and hopefully give you a chuckle or two. This is just how I see our favorite poltergeist, and I hope it stays true to his character. I hope you like it, and if not, that's okay too, I'll just be happy that ya gave it a shot.

Mad Love

Chapter One: Hello There

Beetlejuice let out an indulgent sigh after greedily throwing back a shot of the stoutest whiskey the afterlife had to offer. He carelessly wiped his grungy mouth on a striped sleeve, leaning on his elbow against the bar. A woman, who's face seemed to be smashed flat by a... (waffle iron? A really, really fast tennis racket? How the hell should he know?)...an "unknown source", was nonchalantly wiping at a greasy glass with an even greasier old rag.

Beetlejuice leaned forward, a devilish grin looming on his slimy lips. "Hey beautiful...How's about another round for yours truly?" He looked on as she sighed quietly, rolling her eyes (Who the hell was she, anyway?), while pouring him another shot. He glared at the bartender, amused with her clear sense of defeat, while lighting up a smoke.

The bar was cast in a dim, red-hued light. The smell of alcohol, smoke, and, of course, copious helpings of various bodily odors drifted about the place. A man in a suit and tie - axe promplty lodged in skull - sat playing old ragtime tunes on an ancient, cobweb-adorned piano. Ah, my kinda joint, Beetlejuice mused. Now, what to do, what to do?

Feeling rather bored, he swiveled around on the decrepit bar stool, scanning the area for incoming females that hadn't had the chance to slap him silly yet. His eyes narrowing, he spotted a potential suspect to be the victim of his charms. She was curvy, had nice cans, and minimal burn damage (that was always a bonus), and she had plopped herself just a few seats down.

Chuckling darkly to himself, he invited himself to slide on over. "Hey there, doll." Beetlejuice began smoothly, snaking an arm around her shoulder. She startled from the unwanted touch, looking at him in (nope, definitely not disgust, no way)… admiration?

"And just who are you?" the woman scoffed, eyeing the grimy hand on her shoulder in an act of repulsion.

"Ah, ah, ah! The real question is, who do you want me to be? Either way, I can rock your world. Or, you can just rock mine. Hell, I don't give a fuck who rocks who, as long as there's some rockin', if ya get mah drift." he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. He leaned in close, whispering roughly in her ear, "And by that I mean you rockin' on mah d- "

That, of course, was the part where he saw stars. A quick, forceful slap to the face, and the woman was walking briskly out of sight.

"Oh, yeah? Fine then, be that way! Bite me, you rug-burned bitch!" Yeah, that definitely helped his mood lighten again. No, wait, it was still going down. Damn it! "CAN'T A GUY GET A FUCKIN' DRINK AROUND HERE?!" he yelled, his misplaced rage and damaged male ego still stinging.

The bartender rolled her eyes once more, bringing Beetlejuice yet another drink in a vain attempt to shut him up for more than five seconds.

Okay, now his mood was lifting. He wiped the alcohol from his lips once more, taking an extra-long drag off his cigarette.

Time had crept into the wee morning hours, and Beetlejuice set at the bar in a dazed, alcohol-infused stupor. He kept wondering to himself why the flat-faced broad suddenly had a twin, and why the fuck they had cut him off from his beloved drink of choice, when he was merely getting started? "Heh...Women." he slurred drunkenly, as the two, suddenly much hotter twin waffle chicks looked at him with that strange admiration that was written on most women's faces when they gazed upon him.

He grinned lecherously. "Hey...uh...I didn't know you had a sister. Whoa, now lemme' just say..." he rambled on, hands held out and eyebrows up. "That I don't know about you fine ladies, but I'd definitely be up for some menage-a-threesome shit right about now! Know whaddimean...? Hey! Hey? Where'd ya go?" baffled, he looked to find the two hot bartenders to be nowhere in sight. Not every woman could handle the old B-man, he thought smugly to himself.

Through the fog of alchohol, he slowly searched about the place, to find only a few stragglers left behind, most passed out or still drowning in their sorrows. The joint had been deathly quiet for the longest time, and with no booze or potential ass in sight, Beetlejuice decided to call it a night. Now if he could only remember where his house was...

He slowly rose to his feet, swaying to and fro and wondering who the fuck kept moving the floor back and forth, when it was clearly meant to be stationary. Next time, he'd have a word with the owner about that.

Suddenly, he whipped about, startled by the sudden onset of melancholy, yet hauntingly beautiful piano music. His ass firmly planting on the floor from his clear lack of balance, he grumbled, rubbing the back of his head from the impact. His green eyes narrowing in on the mysterious sound, he dually noted that a really, really hot chick was playing said piano.

As the sorrowful melody churned out, he staggered to his feet, more than willing to gain a closer look. What kinda dame would be in a place like this after hours? Most women cleared out way before this time, especially if he was present. So what if most women hadn't aquired the taste for ole' Beetlejuice? That's what hookers were for! He wobbled closer, taking note of her dark, delicate features and her pale, ivory skin. She played meticulously, absorbed in what she was doing, and never once looking up from the keys of the piano. Her ebony hair was long and silky, and damn she had a nice body! She was young, but not too young - he figured her to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but what did he know? He was shit-faced, after all.

One clumsy step after another, Beetlejuice got close enough to seat himself at the table next to her. He watched her closely, mesmerized by her intense hotness. He watched as her slender, graceful fingers moved over the dirt-laced keys, producing such beautiful sounds. He began to relax under her spell, forgetting his own problems for a bit. At that moment, he no longer ruminated over broken deals, over time served for his transgressions, or over how to find another willing victim to let him out. Just for that moment, he felt content.

Then the music stopped, pulling Beetlejuice out of his drunken trance and back into the present. The young woman looked up for the first time since she began playing, her dark, endless eyes meeting with his own. Suddenly, they grew wide, and through his inebriated haze, he began to sense some familiarity in her features.

"H...hey...doll..." he attempted to call her over, his eyes and body feeling heavier with each word. Why was the room spinning? He really needed to talk to the owner about this place. "How 'bout you come over...an' sit with...the B...man...?"

"B-betelgeuse...?" he heard the soft voice through the spinning storm inside his head. Wait, how did she know his name?

"W-wha..." Beetlejuice mumbled before his head hit the table with a prominent "thud".