IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ! What follows is a copied-and-pasted tumblr roleplay between deetz-n-beej and myself(tumblr tag: xxx-strangeandunusual-xxx/xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx). They are playing as Betelgeuse, me as Lydia. Because of the nature of roleplay, the point of view changes often and you will see each event as it was perceived by our renditions of these characters. It's being posted here so that we can have a comprehensive archive to look back on and reread easily rather than having to dig through tumblr. Please be warned going in that this may never have a clean or concise ending as that is not the point of roleplay.

Reminder that this was something that was meant to be fun, not judged. Therefore constructive criticism is not welcome.

Between Desperate & Divine

"What do you think of the house, pumpkin?"

It was okay enough. It wouldn't stay that way for long judging by the way Delia was eyeing the aged wallpaper, crimson lips curled with contempt.

"Delia hates it," she observed coolly before a perfectly formed spider web on the banister caught her attention. Drifting closer, her sharp expression softened just so while she admired the large arachnid responsible for the masterpiece, levitating dead center and awaiting its next meal. Her fingers moved with a quickness that was second-nature, snapping a shot and catching the polaroid all without ever lifting her gaze from the focal piece.

"I could live here."

Her father, who wasn't actually looking for an answer, didn't hear her. He was already off to his own devices while Delia dragged her pet Otho around to sneer and judge and decide how they were going to mutilate the farmhouse. With a heavy sigh, Lydia pinned her veil back, having no use for it indoors.

Time to explore.

The house on the hill was haunted. This was common knowledge to the residents of Winter River, the same as not crossing the Winter River bridge in a storm or walking past Bill when he started in on one of his stories.

What the people of this small town did not realize was that the house was haunting its ghost every bit as much as he haunted it. He was stuck. Trapped. No one had lived there for decades, now and he was going out of his mind with boredom.

That is, until the Deetz family moved in. He did all he could to make the fat man and the redhead see him; spinning his head, ripping it off, even in his attempts to chase them out. While he'd wanted someone here, he sure as hell didn't want this uppity woman and her boring birdwatching husband.

So he hid out in the attic, breaking things to make Delia panic and dropping bugs into Charles' coffee. Until the girl... she saw him. He was sure of it. Her big brown eyes had looked right at him and widened. Smirking down at her from the attic window, he winked playfully.

It only took one night in the house before Lydia knew that something was off. It was too cold in some places, too hot in others. She would chalk this up to faulty air conditioning if her father hadn't had it updated before they moved in. There was chaotic energy everywhere, like any room was subject to blow and at any moment… but didn't. Her father and Delia seemed oblivious that anything was amiss.

The attic was the only room anyone had yet to tread. It was locked, and even Lydia's deftest picking with a bobby pin late into the night didn't do the trick. Something was pulling her there and she couldn't quite put a name to it.

"What happened to the people who used to live here?" She asked Jane Butterfield, the former proprietor of the house when she came to drop off the skeleton key one day. It was perfect timing. There were movers everywhere. Minutes ago, Lydia stalked had been stalking the yard in an oversized sunhat, trying to avoid getting squished, and snapping photos of the apathetic, emotionless muscle men.

But then she saw it, in the top floor window; a man.

He was only there for a moment, but she knew what she saw. Wild blond hair, sunken pits for eyes, and bold black and white stripes like a prisoner from the past would wear.

"They moved," Mrs. Butterfield brushed her off, "and so did the ones before that and before that… but don't you pay any mind to the rumors. It's not true, not a word of it. Ghosts. Have you ever heard anything so silly? I tell you, the things you city slickers come up with. Why just the other day…"

Betel's mind was racing. If she could see him, maybe she could hear him too. He waited until it was late one night to creep down and stand outside the room that the girl had claimed for her own.

He hummed softly when he peered into the parents' room on the way. The ginger was passed out, clearly aided by some kind of sleeping pill. He took a moment to rummage and turn as much as he could upside down.

Then, the girl. He let himself in, stepping into the shadows at the edge of her bedroom. There were plenty. This teenager seemed to thrive on anything black, and her room reflected this well, save the vibrant walls that her mother had put in.

She was a looker, for sure. Pale, soft-looking skin and long dark hair. Combined with the old fashioned nightgown she had on, she looked like something he might have dreamed up for the spank bank back in his living days.

That night, Lydia was too worn out from chores and homework to bother with exploring the attic. It could wait for this weekend. Miss Shannon's sucked just as much if not more than the fancy school her father had her attending in New York. There were at least some girls on the fringe there; punks and emos and other weirdos that tolerated her presence well enough. Here, she was the only one.

A wave of cold washed over her as she slept, sending her jolting upright in her blankets, gasping. She could see her breath. The door she remembered closing was open, a vague murmur of the television in her parents' room audible from the hall.

"Hello…?"

She whispered, not really expecting a response, but urged nonetheless. She wasn't alone.

Now or never. She was scared... he loved that. It had been far too long since he'd heard someone scream. He stepped closer, peering at her. If this girl could be woken by his presence, she was definitely something special.

Hello...?

He paused. Who spoke into an empty room unless they knew someone was there? He took a moment to adjust his suit, tightening his tie and running a hand over his hair before stepping into the light.

"Why, hello little girl..."

From the darkest corner of the room, something moved. Once it fully stepped into the thin stream of moonbeam filtering through the curtain, her breathing stopped entirely.

There was a man in her room.

Reason dictated she should scream, but her lungs wouldn't cooperate. Instead, she remained frozen, chest still and gaze unwavering as a rush of adrenalin shot through her system. More than just a man, he was the vision from the attic; a conglomeration of mold, bloodless flesh, and dirt pushed together into something vaguely human-shaped.

This was the energy she'd been feeling in the house. This was the reason no one stuck around. What was he going to do?

"Are you the one who's living in the attic..?" She finally hushed, still quite stationary and wide-eyed in her sea of dark sheets—a small animal caught between fight and flight.

Are you the one who's living in the attic..?

He scoffed and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. His face was illuminated with the click of his lighter, green eyes peering from his sunken sockets.

"I don't live anywhere, babes. I'm dead." He shook his head and took a deep drag. "But I am the one ya saw the other day. And I got questions about that."

He fixed her with a firm look. "How long ya been able to see dead people? Seems like a unique skill. Ain't never met someone like you before, and I've been around a long ass time."

"Oh," she murmured politely at his admission that he was dead. That made sense. "I didn't know I could see dead people."

That seemed like something she would know about, right? Especially if he was the standard for what dead people apparently looked like. He was smoking a cigarette now.

"Oh! Uhm, actually you can't… I guess it's okay… just let me…"

Through her shock, Lydia scrambled to cross the room in the dark and crack her window. It would just be great to get accused of smoking again when she wasn't even guilty.

With the curtains more fully opened, she could really see the fine details of the moss growing around his mouth, the thick coat of scum on his teeth. Gross. Fascinated nonetheless, she withheld any questions or comments that might have offended him and tried to keep her staring to a minimum.

"Is this your house?"

He rolled his eyes as she opened the window. He could see the way her eyes flashed to it and he took a second out, lighting it and holding it out toward her. "Might as well if the window is open."

He settled at the edge of her bed, his legs spread wide as they often were. He looked her over again now that there was more light. Cute. Tiny.

Is this your house?

"Hell no. I'm just stuck here. It's a load of bullshit, babes, I'm tellin ya. I'm Uh... cursed. Cursed! That's it. I'm just a wanderin' soul that got trapped here in this sad nursing home of a house."

Without a blink of hesitation, Lydia took the cigarette he offered with a genial thank you. When a ghost offered you something, you took it. It was only polite. The bed was his territory now, it seemed, and Lydia conceded without a thought, settling at the stool in front of her vanity.

Trapped.

That was sad. That wasn't what the afterlife should look like.

"I'm trapped here, too," she related back before she could stop herself, then frowned at how emotional and vulnerable a thing that was to say to this man she just met. "Not the same way, but… what's your name? I'm Lydia."

I'm trapped here, too.

Sweet little drama queen. This was going well so far. Better than he'd expected. "Well, it's real nice to meetcha, Lyds, but I uh... Funny story."

He held out his hands as though telling a joke. "I can't tell ya my name! It's uh... it's part of the curse. Say, if you help me with my little uh... mobility issue, I can get you outta here! Easy."

"Ya got a... a notebook or something I can write it down on or... hey! Ya played charades?"

Cursed? Couldn't say his own name? This was getting more and more exciting by the moment.

"I can't actually leave," she intoned with disappointment, "but I'll help. You don't have to do anything for me. Here, write it down."

She handed him some vanilla-scented stationery and a fountain pen from her vanity, the nice kind she used when writing letters to mother. Unfortunately, his handwriting was horrendous.

"Bartholomew?" She guessed, squinting at the paper after he was done. "Benjamin? Burgermeister?"

"Aw, come on, babes. Yer what... 16? In my day ya woulda been popping' out babies by now. You can leave! What the hell are yer mom and dad gonna do for ya that you can't?"

He scribbled down his name, his handwriting terrible as ever. He'd never been good at penmanship. He hadn't needed to be.

Her trying to read his name made him growl. "No! Not fucking Burgermeister I... hey!" He pointed to a book on her shelf, hurrying to get it. "Astrology! Ya like stars? I'm named after a star. Or it's named after me‒ it's a point of debate but just... here! Orion. Ya know the names?"

What in the hell are yer mom and dad gonna do fer ya that you can't?

"Pay bills," she sighed in answer, wishing very much to be an adult already and not under their thumb. Or better yet, for her mother to snatch her up and let her come live with her and her boyfriend in Europe. "Own property. Drive. Besides, in your day, I probably wouldn't have been able to vote or do anything fun without some stupid boy's permission. How old are you anyway?"

When he related his name back to astrology and Orion, Lydia knew it immediately.

"Betelgeuse?" She didn't wait for confirmation, confident that she'd gotten it right. "That's a weird name. I guess it's still better than 'Deetz.'"

The sound of his name made his blood sing. He grinned and reached out to take her hand, perhaps too tightly. "That's it! That's it, babes. And ya just gotta say it twice more for us to blow this popsicle stand."

He squeezed her hand, his expression frantic, nearly manic. "Come on. Come on! Just say it!"

He had been here too long. Fifty years of the same boring house, many of them with said house empty. He was tired of being in time out. Ready to be unleashed... and this little mortal babe was gonna be his salvation.

Once she uttered his name, the thin thread of patience he was apparently holding onto snapped. He gripped her hand tight, enough to make her wince, and tugged her toward him on the bed despite her resistance. Her heart jumped in her chest at his sudden ferocity. It reminded her that she really didn't know anything about him.

He was talking about taking her somewhere, demanding she release him, almost angrily now.

"You're hurting me," she whimpered, trying in vain to tug her wrist out of his ironclad grip. His hands were large, calloused, and cold, every bit as cold as she'd expect a dead man's to be.

"I already told you I can't go anywhere. Just— just wait a minute!"

Just wait a minute!

He growled and pulled her firmly against him. He was more solid than he perhaps should have been, more real than he should have been.

"I've been waiting longer than you've been alive! More than three times your lifetime, do you understand that? I've been alone here for fifty years. You know what that's like?!"

He let her go with a shove, standing up to pace the floor. "This is bullshit! You hate it here, I've seen it on your face. Your father is an idiot and his wife is a bitch. Why would ya stay when you have an out?"

She caught herself against the dresser when he shoved her, wincing as the knobs dug into her back painfully. He was unhinged. If he kept on like this, it might wake her father and Delia… who wouldn't be able to see him and would accuse her of throwing a fit for attention. If she started spouting off about seeing ghosts, they would throw her right back into that psych ward without a second thought.

Never taking her eyes off of him, she inched around the perimeter of the room to shut the door, provide a bit of muffling for whatever else he might do.

"I'm sorry," she implored, not quite sure what she was apologizing for, but seeking to placate him before he blew a gasket. "No, I don't know what that's like. I'm trying to help you. Just calm down, okay? Please?"

He ran his hands through his hair, steam floating off of him as though he were a heat source doused in water. "Calm down. Right... right. I'm calm. I'm cool."

He held his hands out to her, a sly smile sliding over his face. "Common. Help a guy out here! I'm a good guy, I mean. I've been real good to you and yer family so far, ain't I?"

His hands shook slightly, the urge to wrap them around Lydia's throat for teasing him like that making him vibrate. "And I can help ya! Anything you need, babes you just say the word. Say the fucking words."

The longer she held his name trapped between her teeth, the angrier he got. He kept flittering between demanding and pleading, rage and desperation, unable to settle on just one. The sheer intensity of his energy left Lydia confused and cautious. He really wasn't asking for a lot, but he also seemed quite set on taking her with him wherever it was he wanted to go.

"I'm just trying to understand," she rushed out, still trying to calm him, not at all fooled by the play he was putting on. He was pissed and she wasn't sure what she did to earn it.

"I don't know you. You just show up in my room in the middle of the night and shove me around and try to force me to say your name and honestly, it makes me not want to say it at all. I'm not saying I won't," she reassured, seeing the way his heckles rose at her blunt honesty. "But— but you don't get to just act like a jerk and expect me to do favors for you. I don't know if this is even real. What if this is a dream? Where do you want to go? Why do you want to take me with you?"

"I'm not a jerk you little... angel... and this ain't a dream. I want out. Outta this house and back to the world of the dead."

It was a lie, but how was she supposed to know that? "I just wanna be free. And I can take ya anywhere ya want. Get ya set up real nice. Sixteen's old enough who needs parents!?"

And if all else failed he'd just kill her. Easy. "Besides there's a uh... a little more than the name thing that I need. But we can talk about that later!"

Lydia considered him carefully from across the room, keeping her distance for now. He was holding information back on purpose. She knew when she was being bullshitted. Still, she did want to help him. It wasn't every day a freaking ghost woke you up in the middle of the night and asked you to say his name.

It was true that she hated her father and that woman, and a life without them seemed attractive on the face of it… but what was he really offering?

"So what… I say your name and you take me somewhere I never have to see them again?"

That sounded an awful lot like murder and-or kidnapping. But... he wasn't that bad, was he? He didn't seem all that bad. Rude, cantankerous, and lacking boundaries, sure, but not evil. He just wanted to return to the land of the dead. That was reasonable. It was probably cooler than this dusty hole full of nothing.

"If I say it, do I have to go with you now? Can I think about it? I want to leave, but… but you're talking about disappearing."

"Nah! No... let's call it services rendered and you can gimme a call when yer ready to go. How's that?" He was getting antsy. If this didn't work he was going to have to step things up and chase the whole damn family out.

Again.

He started to pace. "Listen, I told you this shit is complicated. I don't even know why I'm trapped here, just that I am. And I wanna get out." Another lie. He knew exactly why he was here.

She was starting to look skeptical. "Baby, just tell me what ya need for me to prove myself to ya. I'll do anything, really!"

Lydia nibbled furiously at her bottom lip as he started to pace, then came to his knees before her, pleading and calling her "baby." Again, he pushed boundaries, but it was flattering to Lydia, who had never had a man other than her father call her sweet things like that.

"You don't have to do anything," she faltered, cheeks glowing through the shadows, shrinking further against the wall. "I just… wanted to understand. Just… 'Betelgeuse' two more times? Or… one more now, I guess."

Maybe he was the bad guy. Maybe she would live to regret this. In either case, the temptation was too great, the thrill too exhilarating. Before she could talk herself out of it, his name was spilling out for a third time.

"Betelgeuse."

The moment his name left those delectable pink lips, a crack of thunder and strange green lightning hit outside the window. He cackled as his power was returned to him. He would still be trapped on the mortal plane and far from most of his belongings, but who gave a shit. He was free of this house, of the Maitlands' shit in the attic, and from...

The Deetzes weren't an awful family as far as his inhabitants went. He pulled the teenager off the wall where she was cowering and against him, kissing her roughly. She was surprisingly soft and lush, her young flesh giving way to his own in a way he found he had missed.

"Thanks, babes. You got no idea what this means to me."

If the blinding flash of lightning wasn't enough to set her on red alert, his malicious cackling definitely was. This wasn't the laugh of a man with good intentions. Before she had a chance to speak, he was on her, prying her lips apart with a strong, serpentine tongue and thieving her cruelly of her very first kiss.

After an eternity, he pulled back, muttering something about gratitude and how much he appreciated it, but Lydia could scarcely hear him. Her ears and cheeks burned, rage simmered at the base of her skull, and before she knew was she was doing her palm was whistling through the air to land flat and sharp on his cheek.

She gasped at her own audacity, curling the offending hand back against her chest only to recall that no, actually he DID deserve that slap, thank you very much.

"Jerk!" She cried out, a bit too shrill, a bit too loud. Still brimming with humiliated rage, little wet droplets forming in the corner of her eyes against her will, she pushed him. He barely budged, so she did it again, harder this time to similar results.

"You can't… do that! That was my first kiss, you absolute jackass! Now it's gone and I'll never get it back and it's your fault!"

"Woah! Babes, it's okay...It's just a kiss! Yer gonna have a million of 'em in yer life... I mean look atcha." He grinned lecherously and ran his hands over her sides.

"Matter o' fact if ya don't shut up soon I might have to shut you up. C'mere." He pulled her close and in a flash, they were in the attic. He pushed her down onto a musty couch and started to pace.

"Okay! Game plan. I still need yer help, and you clearly need my help... especially if you're sixteen and that was your first kiss. Let's see..."

Pushing her down onto the mystery couch as roughly as he did released a cloud of dust into the air, consequently making its occupant go into a sneezing fit that lasted entirely too long for her to adequately hold onto her indignation.

Blinking herself clear again, she puzzled at their surroundings, until looking through a window at her back revealed her parents' cars in the driveway. This must have been the attic no one had been in yet. It didn't look like anyone had been staying up here, but he was a ghost. He could rot up here for a hundred years and the room would be none the wiser.

"It's not just a kiss," she murmured back at him fussily once she had her bearings, removing herself from the couch to explore all the dusty knick-knacks. It wasn't his stuff and this wasn't his house, so she didn't feel any trepidation about crossing the boundary. He wouldn't in her shoes. Jerk.

"It was my first kiss and it's important. It's supposed to go to someone I care about who cares about me. Not some gross, rude, old man that doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself. Whatever."

It was done and gone. She should probably thank him. It's not as though anyone else was interested in doing the job.

"I don't know what else I could possibly do to help you, you greedy man," she continued her insults breezily as she stalked the perimeter of a miniature model of the town, unconcerned for his feelings or consequences of such disrespect. "You already took my first kiss. I said your name. I'm not going to get any sleep tonight so school's going to be a bitch tomorrow. What else do you want?"

"Nothin additional, I swear! Still just tryin' to get back home to my good ol land of the dead. Tricky thing, though... see uh... to do that, well."

He scoffed and held his hands out dramatically. "I gotta get married! Not my rule, of course, but uh... come to think of it. I ain't got any rules!"

He advanced on her, grinning. "Just think about it, babes. You n' me can go anywhere we want... do anything we want! I'm dead, so we don't gotta worry about buyin' plane tickets or shit like that and up here? I can make money like that."

He snapped and a large wad of cash appeared in her hands. It was easily a thousand dollars, probably more. "And if ya hate me, hell. Maybe we can divorce, I don't got all the details right now, but come on! I'm so close."

Married? Lydia recoiled at the prospect but bit her tongue on the hard No that wanted to escape, letting him speak his piece. The money didn't spark any feelings of greed or lust within her like it might have on most. At first, she was confused by it, then disgusted, shoveling the crumpled bills off onto the dusty model.

"I'm not for sale," she intoned quietly, the contempt she felt at such a notion clear with her low timbre. Nevertheless, he made an interesting proposal and Lydia was intrigued. She stayed silent for a long while after he made the initial pitch, weighing the pros and cons.

"So… assuming I have everything clear here… you're saying we could get married, and then you could take me to some country on the other side of the world where they don't care how old I am and I can own my own property. I get a house, a car, my own place, and we get a divorce? That's it? That simple?"

He nodded eagerly along with every bullet point she listed, obviously ready to strike up the bargain. Her eyes narrowed.

"If it's that simple, then why haven't you done it already?"

If it's that simple, then why haven't you done it already?

He grimaced, gesturing around them. "I don't meet a lot of women bein' stuck here, okay? And the ones I did meet were either hideous, already married, or both. Like your mom."

He paced, wondering what he could possibly offer her to sway this deal in his favor. "I can take ya anywhere. Getcha a house, stick around to make sure ya got a job, send ya money every month until we get divorced."

He held out his hands. "Come on, baby it's a good fuckin' setup. Whatcha waitin' for?"

"Stepmother," Lydia corrected harshly, incensed by his continued way of referring to Delia. "My mother isn't married or hideous. She's beautiful and has lots of boyfriends."

His impatience grated further on her nerves, but she refrained from snapping at him again, instead pulling at her hair and worrying her bottom lip.

"It's a big decision, okay? I'm not a gold digger. I don't… do that. I always thought if I ever got married it would be because I was in love, not— whatever this is…"

How long would it even take to get divorced? Her own mother and father battled it out for years before he and Delia could make things official. Would it take even longer for the dead? What if she died and was buried before ever seeing the marriage terminated? Wrought with anxiety, she traced the scars on her wrist beneath the long sleeve of her nightgown— a nervous tick.

"You've had fifty years to think about this, yeah? I've had about five minutes. Just… smoke another cigarette, shut up, and let me think."

Sassy. He liked it.

"Oh yeah, yeah. You bet, babes." He sat on the couch, none of the prior dust disturbed by his presence. He took out his cigarette case and held another toward Lydia.

She didn't take it right away, so he waved it in the air like a baton. "Hellooo... Lyds. Have a smoke. No one can smell a thing up here. Better yet."

As he spun the cigarette between his fingers it became a joint, neatly rolled and ready to go. "Clear yer mind with this."

She raised an eyebrow first at the joint, then at him.

"I've been warned about men like you," she drawled, taking the joint like any proper rebellious teenager and wrapping her lips around it. Damn, that tasted good. Whatever was in here was medical grade and ready to drop her on her ass. Two hits had her flopping down onto the couch opposite him, the middle seat providing an ineffectual barrier between them.

"I just thought you'd be in an alley or an unmarked van. And, y'know, not dead."

Silence ensued as they passed the burning joint back and forth, the girl's eyes dark with thought. Finally, once the cherry hit the end and he disposed of the roach, she sighed heavily, collapsing back against the cushions and running her hands through her hair.

"What the fuck am I doing…?" The question wasn't meant for him, but it was encouraging nonetheless. "… I have conditions."

"Oh, babes. I guarantee that ya never met a man like me. No one has."

He took a deep drag when it was passed to him. He couldn't feel the effects, but it was comforting nonetheless. The paper was warm from where Lydia's soft lips had wrapped around it.

I have conditions.

"Of course ya do. Well? I'm ready. I'm all ears." With the words, his ears grew exponentially until they took up most of his head.

"I want to go to Italy," she began. "Somewhere close to Milan."

That's where Mother was the last time she checked. Would she be excited to see her? Surprised? Happy? Lydia hadn't seen her in so long, she wasn't sure what to expect.

"There will be no kissing, no hand-holding, no sex, no nothing. This is not a romantic relationship. We are not a couple. You fuck around with whoever you want and I'll do the same."

Not like there was a line of guys rushing to get at her, but Betelgeuse clearly needed some firm boundaries in place.

"Lastly, I want twenty-four hours. In case I change my mind. There. Deal or not?"

He considered her requests for a moment. "How's this. We won't do any of the lovey-dovey bullshit, but what happens... happens. I can't make promises. Seeing other people, fine."

He took another deep drag. "Twenty-four hours, agreed. And Milan should be easy, though I don't know why the hell you'd want there. Italy's old hat. Nothin there for a young thing like you."

He smiled. "Agreed?"

"I have my reasons."

She left her motivations for choosing Italy alone for now. This was a business arrangement, after all. It's not like they were friends or anything silly like that. Also, she was still pretty pissed at him for stealing her first kiss as it was.

"Deal," she agreed, foregoing a handshake for a curt nod instead. "It's midnight now. Jane Butterfield gave me the key to this room today. If I'm not in here by midnight tomorrow, consider your proposal rejected."