A/N: The majority of this chapter takes place from Lydia's perspective, so instead of breaking it up by P.O.V. we have distinguished which section was written by TheArtOfSuicide and which was written by guidebetelgeuse.

TheArtOfSuicide:

True to his word, Betelgeuse didn't leave her until she descended back into dreams unencumbered by mischievous visitors. When she awoke, there was a light filtering through the curtains that was just a bit too orange to originate from any sun. Almost immediately, disorientation faded away and she remembered where she was and why she was there; naked, cold, and needing to pee. With quick, impatient movements, she ambled out of his coffin, donned his bathrobe, and tried a door. She really was not looking forward to using his filthy bathroom, but the call of nature must be heeded. To her astonishment, she found the previously disgusting room clean. The tiles sparkled so clearly she could see her reflection, not a speck of dirt or grime to be found on pristine porcelain. There was a sticky note attached to the mirror written in a barely legible chicken scratch that could only be Betelgeuse's script.

Sexy Bendy Little Sugartits–

When u wake up the spider & bonehead will probs make u food. Don't eat from worm bucket in fridge that's mine. I fixed bathroom for u. Soap in shower probably not the best but I don't remember what that's like. Hang around for as long as u want/can. Check dresser 4 good surprise. See u later. XOXO

Instead of signing it with his name or initials, her husband had drawn a little cartoon beetle with heart eyes. It was clutching its chest, swooning, overcome with emotion. Lydia swooned a little herself and tucked the sticky note away somewhere she wouldn't forget it. She would have to keep it for the photo album she intended to dedicate to him. The soap he referred to didn't come in plastic bottles, but glass mason jars. It looked homemade, like a bored housewife's DIY project. Briefly, Lydia wondered if he stole it from the Patels, or the live people haunting their house, before dismissing the thought. It was a sweet gesture and she wasn't about to dissect it.

The "surprise" the note alluded to almost made her cry. He got her a camera. An expensive, digital, top of the line piece of equipment. It wasn't her beloved polaroid, but something else entirely. This was professional grade, still in the box, as though he walked into a store and bought it just that morning. It took everything in her to resist tearing it open and playing with it right that second. She had plenty of time, and there other things that deserved her attention. Now that the bathroom was properly cleaned, Lydia could see that he had a jacuzzi tub, like the kind in Delia and her father's master bath. With this discovery, she indulged. She drew a bath, garnishing the water with some oil from one of the jars that smelled like cupcakes. Around the porcelain perimeter were several short-stemmed candles stolen from his room. He had a ton of them. Why? Lydia was sure she would find out one day.

The brown sugar scrub smelled delightful and she lathered it generously across her skin. She spent the entire morning in his tub; lazing, indulging, floating on a cloud of pleasant emotions. She felt so loved. So cared for. She never wanted to leave, not if this was what their life together would look like. Alas, it was a beautiful fantasy. Eventually, she was able to drag herself from the steaming waters and redress in another one of his shirts- the maroon silk top she'd stopped him from wearing the previous night. Like the other, it drowned her. Unable to resist the urge anymore, she tore into her new camera, settling down at his desk to play and tinker until she was confident she understood how it worked. Then, she grew a backbone enough to emerge from the room. Ginger was found in the kitchen, four of her eight arms hard at work, each holding a different utensil and performing a different task.

"Do you need any help?" The spider, well invested in her cooking, jumped in fright at the sound, spilling a pot of something slimy, green, and moaning all over the counter. "Oh!" Lydia jumped to action, grabbing a towel to help sop up the mess. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

"Honey, don't worry about it. This is nothin'. Ya hungry? BeeJay said ya might be. There's some leftover cookies ovuh there," she gestured across the room with a free arm, shooing Lydia away so she could take care of the rest of the mess on her own. Reluctantly, Lydia acquiesced, settling down on a bar seat and carefully picking at one of the gingersnap cookies. Given time, their hot temperament had cooled some, and they didn't attempt nipping at her fingers like the previous night. "Is that all Beteljerk gave you to wear?" Ginger inquired to Lydia, a mild scowl turning her fuchsia lips. "JACQUES!" She yelled out suddenly without giving Lydia time to respond. "COME WATCH THE STOVE FUH A MINUTE, I NEED TO MAKE MISS LYDIA SOME NICE-UH CLOTHES!"

Make?

"Oui, oui, mon amour," Jacques answered obediently, sweeping through the entryway to take over for Ginger. "Good morning, Miss Lydia! We are so pleased to be having you here. Did you sleep well?"

"Like a dream," Lydia replied smilingly, amused by their antics. "You really don't have to bother, Ginger. I don't mind wearing his shirt. It's comfy."

"Well," Ginger frowned, unconvinced, and ushered Lydia from the room, "I mind. Besides, I have just the thing fuh you! S'been awhile since I've had a model as cute as you ta work with."

The girl blushed, deeply flattered, and silenced all further protest, allowing herself to be pulled through a door that read Ginger in bright pink glitter, like the kind that could be seen backstage at a show belonging to a diva. Everything in her room was pink; dark pink, light pink, fuchsia, magenta, coral, rose, peach, and salmon.

"Wow," Lydia commented politely with large eyes, working very hard to hide her distaste. Claire Brewster would love it in here.

"Let's see," Ginger took a moment to look her up and down, "what're ya, four foot ten? Four eleven?"

"Nine," the girl confessed smallishly, blush deepening.

"Precious," the spider smiled, oblivious to Lydia's embarrassment at her size, and proceeded to flurry around her, rapidly taking her measurements. "Perfect. Okay, now sit tight fuh just a minute while I work my magic." She gathered a bundle of black fabric from her dresser, then red, and went to work. She moved with supernatural fluidity, weaving the fabric together with talented inhuman limbs. "Try this," she ordered, tossing a pile of black to Lydia before beginning work on the red fabric now. The girl slipped behind the old-fashioned changing screen and worked herself into the gifted garment. It was a bodysuit. It encased her from neck to wrist to ankle, an expertly concealed zipper running down the front. The fabric was warm, but not overly so, and quite breathable, and hugged her like a second skin.

"Thank you," Lydia breathed in wonder as she stepped out from behind the screen, unable to stop running her hands across the soft fabric.

"Don't thank me yet," Ginger smirked, satisfied with her work, and handed the girl another bunch of textile. This one was red, silken, and boasted a delicate spiderweb pattern. "Now, you can thank me." It was a hooded poncho, so light and airy Lydia could hardly feel it over the bodysuit. The ends draped down to the ground both in back and front, completely hiding her figure from view, though glimpses of her silhouette could be glanced from the sides. "Lovely, absolutely lovely. I've outdone myself. Now, come come, lemme do somethin' with all that hair o' yours."

Lydia, now completely confident in the spider's abilities, was content to let herself be used as a dress-up doll and obediently sat before the spider's vanity. Distantly, she realized that Ginger didn't have a reflection, but was too mesmerized watching her hair move by itself in the mirror to question it. The Maitlands and Betelgeuse didn't have a reflection, so this told her Ginger was definitely a dead person. Why, then, was she a spider? Why did they even have mirrors down here if they didn't work? Within minutes, Ginger had worked most of her hair into an intricate updo held in place by a rich violet ribbon.

"There. Perfect."

guidebetelgeuse:

It wasn't too long, after spending a very happy little afternoon (or, sort of however long it was ) with Ginger and Jacques, that the doorbell rang. "I wondah who that could be," remarked Ginger, hopping off the couch and tapping over to the door with her many legs. She peeped out of the peep-hole, which was sort of a weirdly shaped telescope in actuality, and paused.

"Oh," she finally said, a dour tone to her voice, "It's jus' Donny."

The skeleton standing beside Lydia huffed. "What does 'heeee want?" he asked, suspiciously, "He nevar shows up 'ere withzout Beetel-jooce."

BLINK-BLONK.

The doorbell rang again, and sighing, Ginger finally opened the door with a groan. "Yea yea, we hear ya."

Donny stood in the doorway, his candy-striped style soda jerk uniform neatly pressed, sparkling clean. His blond hair was tidily slicked, as usual, and he looked practically glowing, his countenance as pleasant and peaceful as ever, a smile settled on his pale face.

"What do you want, Donny?" Ginger asked, a suspicious edge to her voice, "Ya know ya don't usually come heah without ya brotha."

"Oh! Well, miss Ginger," the ghost happily, cheerily replies, a breezy but eager element to his voice, "It's lovely t'see you too. I'm here for miss Lydia, actually." He gestured vaguely past the door.

At that, the spider startled, and Donny's eyes raised up in a predatory flash to take in Lydia's figure past her. A vague expression played on his otherwise happy features, and his gaze hung just a little too long. Especially with that outfit she's wearing.

"Why?" Ginger demanded, still ensuring the ghost did not cross the threshold of the door. "Bee-jay didn't say anythin' about you takin' her anywhere."

Donny seemed prepared for this resistance. "Oh," he said, his voice so very apologetic, "But I have this here note from him, miss Ginger. See?" he handed the letter over to the spider, who reluctantly agreed it was indeed Betelgeuse's terrible scrawl.

Reluctantly, she turned to Lydia, and Jacque, her face not concealing her worry. "Well, ah…it looks like Donny is heah to uhm….pick ya up, Lydia. You don't have to go with him—"

"Oooh, uh, I'd hate to spread any little ole white lies there, Ginger, sweetheart," Donny interrupted, quickly, "She does have to come with me, I'm the only one who can get miss Lydia past the breach, an' back home to her own sweet lil house. I'd hate to let my brother down, apparently it's….a…. school night?" He continues to sound oh so apologetic, so genuine, innocently questioning, so concerned. And clearly, a little too eager.

Jacque clenched one of his skeletal fists, but he eventually turned to Lydia with a resigned appearance on his skeletal features. "Well Madame Lydia, it iz true Gingher nor I have ze ability to get you back to your own home. And since it iz indeed a school-night, and Donny has Beeetel-joooce's blessing, I zink….we must part ways here, and we must entrust you to his care. We will miss you, darling mon cher."

TheArtOfSuicide:

Donny was the last person in the world Lydia wanted chauffeuring her around. It was almost worth insisting on staying, missing school to not have to force herself to trudge down the walkway and fasten herself into his bright yellow beetle. But, she would rather the police not get involved with her sudden disappearance. Running away was a dramatic enough move as it was. So with a straight spine and a strong chin, Lydia powered through her unease to show Donny a modicum of proper decorum.

"Thank you for taking me home," she imparted politely, aiming her camera out the open window.

"Well don't you even dare think about even mentionin' it, lil' darlin' baby sis." His fingers twitched on the steering wheel as though he wanted very badly to reach over and touch her- pinch her cheek, bop her nose- but were under strict orders not to . "Anythin' for family." Lydia had absolutely nothing nice to say to this, and so didn't speak at all. Small talk was not her forte, but silence didn't seem to deter Donny. "Ya gotta tell me how ya met? I bet it was oh so romantic."

"Oh," Lydia panicked internally and invested herself in toying with the lighting settings. "Well, that's… kind of a complicated question. The first time I saw him, he… was trying to scare us out. My family, from our house- the Maitland's house, I mean, the ghosts that summoned him for the job. He made himself look like a giant snake. Dropped my father from the top of the stairs. The first time we ever spoke, he told me he wanted out, I told him I wanted in, and then we played charades." Saying it out loud, it was all rather romantic, wasn't it? In a twisted sort of way. "The rest is kind of a long story…" It wasn't that long, but it was deeply personal and Lydia didn't feel like sharing.

A spark of interest lit up Donny's pale blue eyes. "Evah try ta bite the big one?"

Talk about deeply personal things she didn't feel like sharing. "Yes," Lydia told the truth, unable to lie to her brother-in-law.

"Y'knoooowwww," he drawled conspiratorially, leaning too far over the center console. Lydia shrank away. "Big brothah tied himself a twine necktie all cause of some pretty lil' lass turned down takin' his last name. Swore he'd nevah love again."

Lydia's heart broke first for her husband, and then for herself. Would he ever love her? She couldn't ask him to, knowing what she knew now. Nevertheless, as long as he kept his fidelity to her, he would have hers in return.

guidebetlgeuse:

"And so y'can see, it's quite a shock that he came 'round with you, 'lil sis. Glad he got to ya before you completed your attempt successfully," continued Donny, oblivious to Lydia's discomfort, or perhaps… enjoying it. In fact, the worse Lydia seems to look, the more glowing and agitated the ghost next to her becomes. Donny suddenly lights a cigarette in the same sweeping motion as Betelgeuse would have. His are a rich black, and very long in his slim fingers. "Now, me? I was shot. Right through the heart. Y'can't see it, it's underneath m'tidy little shirt here. Big brothah says I deserved it though," he chuckles, an easy, happy noise, "Once we found each other, we used t'scare together, see. The Geuse Brothahs, theyda called us, back then. Freelancin' the bio-exorcism business. Ah, that is, before things went a lil' hinkey, an' he ….. well, ha, that's another story for another time, I'm thinkin'. Don't wanna give y'the heebie jeebies on our first family bondin' time now do I?" he smiles, wide, guiding the bright happy car through the odd, curving Neitherworld roads.

Those fingers keep twitching. They want to touch Lydia. The ghost can practically feel her tender, living warmth, and one hand starts to glide towards her threateningly. At the last minute, instead, he whips out a list from nothingness and clutches it. Unlike Beetlejuice, his hands are carefully manicured, no mold or discoloration to be seen, and no gaudy rings.

"Now, let's see," he drawls, cheerily, "Bee-jay gave me this here handy n' dandy lil' helpful list!" The list, which he passes to Lydia reads as the following:

1. Take Lydia back home in 1 piece and ALIVE.

2. Keep ur filthy mitts 2 ur fucking self u psychopath.

3. If I hear u touched her with those dirty hands I will bury u in the blackest exorcism closet I can find I'm serious

4. No funny stuff

5. There's something in it for u 2, that shit I know u like u gross fucko

On the back is a scrawled map of directions to the drop-off point. There's also a beetle, with angry eyes and multiple knives in his hands. Then there's a heart. Betelgeuse loves his brother.

"Now, ahm thinkin' that first one is easy enough. The second and third don't really apply 'cause," he holds up one of his pristine hands, "As you can clearly see, my hands are neither filthy nor dirty. So he ain't got nothin' to worry 'bout. Fourth one is a little vague, ain't clear if I'm not supposed to tell ya jokes or whatnot, but I won't take ya to any circuses on the way home. Fifth one….that's for lil' ole me to know. I have very particular tastes," the last comes out in a very slow, very insinuating drawl, followed by a low chuckle.

His finger drifts towards her on a slow hand, invading her space. It's only to touch her camera though, tilting it, stealing glances off the road to eye it.

"You a photographer, lil darlin?" he queries, curiously, as if quite suddenly interested. "That's a real nice camera. I bet you take the purtiest photographs….would you mind helpin' your big brother Donny with a teeny tiny teensy errand 'fore he takes ya home? Promise it won't take but a minute…."

The way he says it, he isn't really asking at all.

TheArtOfSuicide:

The note Betelgeuse wrote for Donny offered Lydia little reassurance. That her husband felt the need to warn him more than once not to touch her spoke more to the danger Donny presented than to Betelgeuse's possessive nature. As confident as Lydia was that he wouldn't let any harm befall her, the fact of the matter was that he wasn't there and Donny was. If only Bubby was around to growl and snarl until that smarmy, pleasant smile was wiped from his creepy face.

"Not professional or anything," she answered, sinking deeper into her seat, clutching at her camera possessively as though he might take it away from her. "It's just a hobby…" That was a severe understatement, but it was closer to the truth than anything else Lydia was willing to disclose. "Sure. I can help," she conceded to his request, well aware that he was not about to accept the 'no' she desperately wanted to give as an answer. "What do you want me to do?"

"Absolutely nothin'. See, I got this friend I need to have a lil' talk with 'bout his behavior- been causin' trouble for anothah friend o' mine. All ya gotta do is sit your purty lil' self down at the bar n' wait for me ta be done. Think ya can do that for me, sugah?"

"Okay," Lydia surrendered bravely, not feeling one bit of the excitement she once felt at the prospect of seeing a Neitherworldian bar. It was much different going there with Donny than with Betelgeuse. Her husband had plausible deniability on his side, whereas contrarily Lydia was certain that almost everything that came out of Donny's mouth was a filthy, sugar-coated lie. "Sounds easy enough."

"Beeeeaaauuutiful," Donny drawled, grin widening as he sharply turned into a parking lot. Like a proper gentleman, her brother-in-law opened the car door for her and ushered her inside, keeping his hands to himself the entire time. The Inferno, as it turned out, wasn't just a bar, but was, in fact, a strip club. Lydia was shocked Donny even knew of this place's existence. He was so prim that the idea of him getting a lap dance was as laughable as it was disturbing. "Now you just sit riigght here," he directed her to an easily visible seat at the center of the bar, "n' I'll be back 'fore ya even knew I was gone." Breaking Betelgeuse's stern instructions for the first time, he left her with a patronizing pat on top of the head before disappearing into the crowd.

"What can I get'cha, honey?" A strikingly beautiful, scantily clad she-devil asked from behind the bar. There were horns sprouting out from the top of her coiled red hair.

"Oh, uhm," Lydia faltered, "I don't have any money. I wasn't really expecting to be here today. May I please have some water?"

guidebetelgeuse:

Indeed, Donny looked like a strange ghost among ghosts. Here, he didn't fit in whatsoever – his almost pristine glowing countenance in contradiction with everything around him like a man who was yanked out of time. It only clicks a little better once he summons an aluminum bat into his hand before disappearing into the crowd and into one of the back rooms.

The music thumped around Lydia as she sat down. The bar was relatively crowded with male and gender-less seeming spirits who eagerly jeered and hungered for the dancers who were currently at their work, all dark-eyed devil girls in appearance. This was as close to a real world strip club as it probably got it the Neitherworld. Dirty neon signs plastered the club, either advertising themselves or a specific sort of liquor. Everything here was vaguely dirty, overly used, and old. The devil girl behind the bar, a Dante's girl though Lydia had never seen one, gives pause at that. Her sweet brows rumple as she takes Lydia in completely, and she finishes cleaning the smutty glass she has in her clawed hand, putting it down slowly.

"You didn't come in with him, did you, sweet thing?—hang on." she gestures to the path Donny took off in, her voice trying not to betray the concern she clearly felt but she's distracted by another customer quickly, and passes Lydia water without being able to get her reply right away. Instead, a voice suddenly slithers out from behind poor Lydia's shoulder, thick with some sort of east coast wise-guy accent. High pitched, too, with a weird sort of lisp.

"You look a lil' lossst, honey dumplin'," the voice makes itself known with a weird off-kilter giggle as its owner slides into the barstool next to her. A clown. A clown that may have always genetically been a clown, of some sort - it's hard to tell but the makeup he wears looks more like it's part of his face. He isn't tall, exactly, and his hair is almost as wild as Betelgeuse's, except its distinctly tangled in a curly way and a pinkish off-white hue. He wears a silly patterned shirt and suspenders, but everything about him is faded and gritty. Blackened soot marks extend all the way up his neck and over part of his face, and clothes as if something gun-powdery had long ago exploded there. By his appearance it can be conjectured how he died – shot from a cannon incorrectly.

"I ain't ever seen you in heah beh-fore." Like Betelgeuse, his teeth are a stained green and yellow, his eyes dark, and his face a clownish white. "What's a pretty lil young thing like you doin' in a gah-bage heap like dis…?" he suddenly honks a clown horn, loud as anything and startling, to get the devil girl's attention behind the bar. His voice goes from syrupy and curious to a commanding growl in an instant, "Yo Candy, get me another onna them cotton candy surprises, and step on it!"

A gloved hand slithers directly onto Lydia's knee, giving it a puerile squeeze. It suddenly jumps off her skin though, once he feels her natural warmth. "Oh…" He murmurs, clownish eyes going wide as saucers, and the smile on his face splitting horrifically wide, "You're one o' them breather girls— how'd somethin' so pretty and so young git so far down here….? I can teach yeh how we juggle in the afterlife, sweet'eart…."

The Dante's girl behind the bar whirls around at the sound of that clown horn to see an even worse situation than the one Lydia came in with. It brings her right back into that little situation - Lydia isn't dead, and she just came in with Donny Geuse, and now this. The entire concept of this is absolutely horrific, and she watches the scene carefully as she mixes up the requested drink, alternating looking out through the crowd. Suddenly, as if called by some sort of silent force, a number of Dante's girls from around the bar suddenly make their way in a flock back towards the bar. They walk on cloven hooves, their tails swishing behind them.

The clown's drink is delivered, and suddenly, one of the shorter, curvier Dante's devils yells from behind them a loud, clear, "Hey Scuzzo! Catch!"

He's immediately distracted from Lydia and whirls rapidly, suddenly seeming to catch something. Good reflexes. It's a Dante girl's head, and he holds it with a high-pitched laugh. The disembodied head winks a sexy eye at Scuzzo from his lap. "Wanna take that cotton candy drink n' go play seven minutes in heaven clown boy? On the house?" Scuzzo, the aforementioned named clown, hops off the bar stool and carries the head along with him cradled in his arm. He replies as he moves away, thoroughly distracted, "Trixie, you know I don't do a damn thing in seven minutes except magic tricks –" there's a tinkle of laughter in reply, "Scuz, you're about to make somethin' disappear." And they both laugh loudly, disappearing into the crowd.

The body of the devil girl is guided along by two of the others, being rendered quite blind, over to Lydia and the rest of the pack. "Trixie takes one for the team again," the bartender says, her voice tired and dry, but thankful. "Thanks Trix. Sorry girly," she says to Lydia, "I shoulda had a handle on that sooner. You doin' okay?"

The disembodied Dante's girl leans on the bar next to Lydia where she feels grounded, and four others circle around her with curious interest. Her hands raise and they suddenly sign something rapidly in ASL. The other girls laugh, "Timed it, huh?" one of them asks her. The devil girl's hands flash signs again. Didn't even make it to seven.

TheArtOfSuicide:

"No, don't worry about it, you were busy," Lydia refused the redheaded she-devil's apology, not wanting to look weak in front of these Amazonians. They were the most beautiful woman Lydia had ever seen in her life; tall, voluptuous, oozing of sex. She felt plain and ordinary next to them. "I could have handled him on my own… but thank you." Despite her bravado, she was deeply grateful for the interference.

"Honey," the she-devil smirked, leaning far across the counter in a way that made her large breasts jut out, "the word busy isn't in my vocabulary. I got an eye on everybody in this bar at all times. Sweet thing like you sticks out like a sore thumb in this dump. Us girls gotta look out for each other."

"Speakin' of-" a blonde, curly-haired she-devil chimed in, pushing her way through the gaggle of strippers Lydia suddenly found herself flocked by, "I saw you come in here with Donny freakin' Geuse at the end of my last dance. You're not…? With him…?" The horned beauty crossed two of her talons, already dark eyes darkening further suggestively.

"Oh, God no," Lydia rejected, ready to vomit up the lovely brunch Jacques and Ginger made for her at the very idea of it. "No, no, no, no, no. No. He's my brother-in-law." She might as well have told them she was the resurrected Messiah, come to offer them all salvation from their afterlives of sin.

"You are not-"

"He did not-"

"Well, it would explain where he's been. I was startin' ta wonder if he took that last session a lil' personal or somethin'-"

"Ain't no way, ain't no how. I don't believe it. Pics or it didn't happen-"

"Look! She's got the ring!"

Suddenly, they were circling even further, one of them grabbing her petite hand up to showcase the plain silver band as though it were something significant; a holy grail instead of just a stupid cup. It was very apparent to Lydia that not only did all of these gorgeous women know her husband, they knew her husband. In the biblical sense. She was going to be sick. "You… all… ?" She was able to choke out, feeling a rush of emotions she knew she didn't have any right to feel. It was one thing to be aware of her husband's extensive experience. It was another thing entirely to have its large breasts staring you in the face, serving you drinks.

It was before her. She knew that. Still, she also knew that she could never, ever compare. What the fuck did Betelgeuse see in her?

guidebetelgeuse:

"Well, yeah," breathes one of the girls as they all look at Lydia in sudden surprise. Something dawns on all of them at approximately a similar time, one of them holding her hand still, as if it were a tender sort of treasure.

"You mean….you…. haven't?"

There's a heavy pause between all of them, and they stare at her with an even greater and more intense shock than before, and then look at each other with incredulity.

Lydia's other hand, resting in her lap, twists into her poncho. "We've done other things," she mutters in a sort of half-whispered self-defense, her cheeks on fire. How dare they?

One of them stutters, and another quickly tries to explain. "No, no, doll, it ain't that. It's just….the man has a…."

"….uncontrollable….," adds another, trying to help.

"….massive, uhm, unbridled… ," adds a third, awkwardly.

"….singularly focused…." helpfully chimes in another.

"Intensive sexual appetite," finishes the bartender, bluntly, "he comes through like a force of nature and leaves nothin' but scorched earth in his wake. Now all you stupid skanks back off."

They do, easing away from clustering around Lydia, looking properly shamed. One of them, with a sweet and shy breathy voice murmurs, "It's just, we've never known any girl to be able to hold onto that buckin' bronco and keep him tame like that, but if there was one girl who could, I expect it'd be you, miss. He must be real content… .how do ya do it?"

Another girl looks at her studiously, "Are you a witch?"

"If you ladies are good she might teach you her tricks," the bartender cuts in, winking at poor Lydia. "She's a higher quality than any of you and you know it. What's your name anyway, honey?" asks the bartender, her voice much more commanding and strong than most of the others. "I'm Candy, that's Melodie, this is Hazel, that's Zaza, and these two fine ones are the twins, Sugar n' Spice."

As if on cue, the twins both cheerily add in tandem, "And everything nice!" to a chorus of groans. "Sorry," one of them apologizes, "Habit."

The headless one points to herself, and holds up a middle finger at the bartender after slapping the wood of the bar-top to get her attention. Candy rolls her eyes, "And that's Trixie, the funny one. When's your head comin' back doll? He's been banging that thing for a half hour." Trixie shrugs her headless shoulders, and taps her wrist helplessly where there is no watch to be found.

"Anyway, us girls gotta stick together, we're just excited for you," the breathy, sultry, shy one says, apparently that's Zaza. "You're the most beautiful thing to show up on our side 'a town in ….well. It's been a while, hasn't it?" the girls all nod, looking at Lydia with a sort of sad reverence. "How'd it all happen, sug?"

TheArtOfSuicide:

"Lydia," she introduced herself, playing with her hair demurely, made shy by all of their bold flattery. These women had no reason to lie to her. When Betelgeuse called her beautiful, it was easy to write it off as him just trying to get into her pants. That's not to say it wasn't genuine, but there was a definite layer of mistrust there that did not exist here. "I'm not a witch, but I have dabbled in Wicca- nothing that intense though. Are you all… succubi? Or something like that?"

Candy's grin grew fierce and she trailed a crimson claw very gently across Lydia's pink cheek- non-threateningly, as if in awe of her. "Somethin' like that."

"I'm really not- I mean, I don't know how…" Lydia trailed off, suddenly finding her water very interesting. "I don't have any tricks. I've never really been with anyone before Beej. Not really."

There was a collective gasp of shock. The she-devils were so floored by her near-virgin status they didn't even stop to comment on the adorable nickname the girl had given the poltergeist- something he never allowed them to do. Candy suddenly stood up straight, a gleam of determination in her eyes. "LOU!" She screeched, grabbing the attention of a portly bartender taking care of patrons too impatient to wait for Candy's attention. "I'M TAKIN' TEN! THE BAR'S YOURS!" With that, she hopped right over said bar to both literally and proverbially take the young kitten under her wing. "You're comin' with us, doll. You're obviously in need of some serious girl time."

"But," Lydia objected weakly as she was swept away past a velvet curtain, flanked on either side by two to three Amazons, "Donny told me to wait for him-"

"Pfft," Trixie derided, having regathered her head in the midst of the commotion, "Donny Geuse can kiss my glorious ass. Don't worry, hon. We can handle him. Ya can't let those Geuse brothers boss ya around, ya know. Especially Betel. If ya ask me, he's a big bully and could use a spanking."

Unseen by Lydia, Candy shot Trixie a disapproving look, knowing exactly what she was doing by planting rebellious thoughts like that in the girl's head, and gifted her "glorious ass" with a stealthy, punishing smack. Trixie, ever the troublemaker, winked conspiratorially, licking her upper lip suggestively with a purple forked tongue. Soon, they ushered Lydia into a lush changing room filled with rows upon rows of skimpy outfits; lace and leather, glitter and feathers, spandex and latex. Anything one could possibly need to fulfill any type of erotic fantasy was in this room. There were toys, costumes, props, and was that… a nun's habit? Everything she saw only made that constant blush deepen.

Aside from all of this, there were several cushy love seats generously adorned with large, fluffy pillows. As amorously decorated as the room was, Lydia got the feeling that men were not allowed here. A monster of a bouncer stood outside the door, ready to destroy any unwanted visitors. The slight fearful thrill she got from disobeying Donny's wishes was tempered by this. Candy took the seat next to her on the loveseat, like mother goose with her favorite chick, while all the rest of them gathered on the ground before her like children at story time.

"Now," Candy began, playing idly with Lydia's exotically dark hair. Not one of them had black hair. They were all various shades of red, blonde, and brown. Some even had visible roots as though they dyed their hair, which in and of itself was fascinating to Lydia. "We want details. We wanna know how you met, the proposal, and definitely about the wedding."

Lydia laughed, a short jerky sound, and accepted the cigarette Zaza had to offer. "Which one?"

guidebetelgeuse:

The girls' reactions to Lydia's stories are enthusiastic to say the least, chiming in at certain parts here and there with shock, surprise or enjoyment. It's quite a wild ride, and Lydia spills everything because the devil girls are fascinated and ask her sweetly – what they've done, what they haven't. It's probably the most interesting thing to happen to them in millennia, actually, and they are having far too much fun gossiping with her.

Sugar and Spice have already begun playing with Lydia's silken locks in fascination, and Zaza is leaned against one of her knees, plucking at a rose and looking dreamy. "It's so romantic," she swoons, from the floor, her cloven hoof-tips pressed against each other. It's as if she's always known them, and they her, and Candy engages Lydia in a new game once her stories are finished.

"Let's play Blackmail: Betelgeuse Edition!" she suggests, evilly, just as mischievous as the rotten ghost that visits them, "She's gonna need dirt on him, ladies." The group titters, because it's true. "I'll go first, because Zaza," she announces with confidence, "you don't know how romantic he can be!" she says this, jokingly, and a few of them laugh because they know this story far, far, too well. "Once, sugar," she addresses Lydia, "The man must have watched Romeo n' Juliet with Leonardo DiCaprio or somethin'. Wanted Romeo and Juliet. The works. Period costumes, we had the whole balcony scene goin', I was Juliet 'o course. And he did it. He read the fuckin' lines," she's already laughing, "He got as far as 'O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?' which was way further than I ever expected him to get before he climbed over the balcony and hauled me off like king kong. I think we said that line and made gorilla noises for three months straight!"

At this point, the girls are howling, wiping tears from their eyes. Sugar has almost smothered her poor face into Lydia's shoulder laughing and Spice is sprawled backwards, kicking her cloven hooves. It's unusual to see ladies so beautiful let their hair down in such a way, but Lydia has apparently thoroughly charmed them all.

TheArtOfSuicide:

Lydia couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard. These women had stories. In return for their gossip, she offered up classified information of her own, disclosing intimate secrets of her relationship that she never thought she would find herself saying aloud to anyone other than maybe Betelgeuse. They knew just how to seduce her into a girlish, talkative state. Candy had fetched her a glass- or two- of a deep, dark wine. It tasted of berries, made her cheeks warm and her tongue loose. Bits and pieces of her hair had been twined into tiny intricate braids by Sugar and Spice, the vast majority left down for them to rake their claws through. Idly, Lydia toyed with Zaza's perfect golden curls, boinging them as the she-devil melted against her knee, purring.

"I don't want to give her back," Zaza confessed in a hush to no one in particular, though her face was tilted toward their leader. Lydia was too thoroughly lulled to feel the chill of trepidation she should have.

"Not this one," Candy surrendered bittersweetly, admitting defeat even as she gazed fawned over the girl covetously. "She's not for us… but there is something we can do. Hazel, do you still have the…?" She pantomimed "horns," holding two bent digits up to her own sharp prongs.

"Uh huh!" The bottom-heavy brunette agreed readily, flying away to rummage messily through a dresser drawer. When she returned, she passed something off to Sugar. Together with Spice, the twins worked to pull back her hair just so as to tie a thick, black ribbon around at the nape of her neck. Curiously, she pawed at the top of her head, only to find a pair of miniature horns all her own. With a pleasant gasp, she turned toward one of the many mirrors that lined the wall- who they were there for, Lydia wasn't sure as hers was the only reflection present. They were red and short, as opposed to the longer flesh toned ones the women sported. Appreciating her image in a rare show of vanity, she decided they suited her quite well. Especially with the poncho.

"There we go," Trixie threw an arm around her shoulders to press her cheek in close, lifted the camera around Lydia's neck, and then grinned cheekily, taking a selfie of the two of them. Lydia was charmed enough to manage a sweet, blushing smile. "Now you're one of us! An honorary Dante's Girl! You wear that to any seedy den o' sin in the Neitherworld and you'll have eyes lookin' out for you, girly. It helps that they're awfully fashionable."

With this, she proceeded to take a series of increasingly silly selfies, until the other she-devils became agitated with her greediness. Fork it over, you camera hog!

guidebetelgeuse:

They even got a picture with Scrubs, the bouncer at the door. He loves those girls to pieces and guards them like a dragon, he was very pleased it seems that the girls had made a friend – even if she was a breather. He probably had a multitude of questions, but never asked them. After making a pretty overt overture to Lydia once fully back in the dressing room with the door closed, Zaza was distracted from her perusal of the girl – there was a noise outside.

A distinct thud. The door opened, and into the frame stepped Donny, tidy hair disheveled, sheened with sweat, his clothes splattered with….something. He taps the aluminum bat on the door itself, the end of it dripping in….some sort of gunk. He looks just as fierce and evil as his brother in that moment, his blue eyes flicking upwards from where they eyed the formerly awake bouncer to take in the cadre of girls and Lydia among them. Seeing her, his countenance immediately returns to bright and easy, "There y'are sweet darlin', I thought…." he breathes in relief, "I thought somethin' happened to ya—I was lookin' and lookin….".

In contrast, the girls are instantly thrown into a hellacious froth, and their true nature is shot to the surface. Where there once were beautiful women, there are now seething hellcats, their fangs extended, hissing and spitting like furious felines. Their claws have grown to nasty lengths, their horns protrude more threateningly. Candy, the mother hen, unfurls a large pair of bat-like wings tipped with spines and moves in front of Lydia, snarling at the Geuse brother in the door.

The look he gives them is ice cold, but a tinge of worry settles on his features. "Ah have to take her home," he says, firmly, but he's clearly outnumbered here by these beautiful monsters and surprised by their ferocity and it's thrown him off his game. He hesitates in the door. Coward.

"She's not going anywhere with you, Donny Geuse," Candy insists, forked tongue and tail lashing. Her voice is a hiss, "We know what you want to do to her."

It is Lydia that steps in and saves the day. Or, well, herself in this instance. Ever the peacemaker, she assures the girls of her safety and steps over to Donny, who seems genuinely relieved. Buckling into his beetle a few moments later after she says her goodbyes and extracts herself, he breathes out slowly.

"Excitin' times huh?" he asks her merrily, driving away from the bar and magically straightening his everything back to pristine. It's like they hadn't even been there at all. "Cute horns, though I've gotta admit, sweet lil sis, I'm awful glad y'don't have the attitude that comes 'long with 'em," he loosens his bow-tie. "I think they were plannin' on evisceratin' your poor brothah. Speakin' of evisceratin', it's prob'ly best that y'don't go on and tell Bee-jay 'bout our lil' expedition, hm?"

It isn't long before he delivers her to the door that supposedly leads her directly back home. "I suppose this you, heah, darlin' sis. Don't be a stranger, y'hear? You ever need anythin', anythin' at all, you just say m'name three times like y'do with Bee-jay. I can't come over to the other side, but I'll hear ya, be able to speak to ya. It'll get my notice."

Like she would ever want to.