Auther's Note: What follows is a copied-and-pasted roleplay between TessMonster and myself, TheArtOfSuicide. She is playing as Betelgeuse and I am playing 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 messages and docs.
Taming the Exoricist
This was never the plan.
Betelgeuse didn't even like to go to the part of the Neitherworld that bordered on Saturn. Too much sand, a high chance of sandworms, and it was the ugliest part of the afterlife this side of Hell‒ short of maybe his own home. It was, however, where the fighting pits were located and it had been too long since his last job to keep up the bills, as well as afford his own vices. So gambling it was. Betelgeuse was just lucky to have gotten a good tip on a fighter with the odds stacked against him, and was able to secure himself a small fortune in winnings.
That was part of the plan. What happened next, not so much.
It was time to celebrate and with his pockets flush with cash there was really only one place that had everything he wanted. Hands in his pockets and whistling cheerfully, he headed for the Inferno room, passing by the slavers' market the same way he had a hundred times before. Today, something caught his attention and had him glancing up, whistle dying on his lips.
The woman? Girl? The breather that was up on the block was a tiny thing. Her long dark hair was a matted mess, dress and skin so covered in filth there wasn't much to see in her appearance. Then, they made eye contact. He froze. Her honey-colored orbs burned right into the grimy pits of his soul. As if she knew him, as if she hated him and was actually brave enough to display it unlike anyone else in this hellish purgatory.
"She's got all her fingers and toes!" The slim vaguely reptilian man was calling, forcing the girl to show her hands. "...And her teeth! Full set of teeth!" The slaver fishhooked the girl's lip and she snapped her jaw at him.
That brought an abrupt chuckle up his throat, in spite of himself, and he stepped closer to the block, listening to what the auctioneer was saying. Breathers didn't attack spirits. It just wasn't done.
"...Not much meat on her bones, wouldn't recommend her for labor. Would make a good house maid, or an excellent addition to any harem, as she's still untouched…"
When he said that the girl snarled like an animal, whipping her head around to glower at the auctioneer as the slaver that was demonstrating her finer qualities ripped her dress to show off her breasts. She didn't take it lying down. Her little naked heel came down on the man's foot, and instantaneously she was backhanded so hard her eyes rolled back and she collapsed in a heap of dirty fabric and skinny limbs. The slaver's leg moved to kick her but before his foot could connect he froze with a snap of Betelgeuse's fingers.
It was his turn to be furious. This girl had spunk and this fuckwad was trying to beat it out of her. Pushing through the crowd, he approached the auctioneer stand, mind made up before he could even begin to factor out the logistics of such an impulsive decision.
"Don't even start. Name yer price."
The auctioneer gaped his mouth moving soundlessly before stuttering out. "I...I can sell her to you for the same price she sold for last time…"
"Gimme a fuckin' number!" The small amount of good humor Betelgeuse held before passing by the auction block was gone. Patience exhausted, the slaver intent on beating the girl exploded, gore and body parts raining down onto the crowd and the auctioneer.
In fearful shock, the auctioneer managed to give Betelgeuse a number and fumbled with the cash and bugs and snakes forced on him from the depths of his striped coat.
The poltergeist gathered his purchase up. She was a much lighter weight in his arms than expected and that stoked the flames of anger already building behind his eyes. Calling up a thick electric wave of power to swell around them, Betelgeuse stepped right from the stage in the slaver's market to the dingy living room of his house.
This was never the plan. Fuck.
This dead man must have been especially stupid. He just paid outright without even sticking around to listen to the warning, the "user's manual" so to speak. There was a reason this mortal was such a steal, so cheap and easily passed off.
Years ago, a time so far away it barely seemed real now, she was a normal… well. That was a lie. She was a freak of nature little weirdo living her life on the mortal plane, where mortals belonged. Then, as weirdos were prone to do, she stuck her nose where it didn't belong one too many times and drew the attention of spirits beyond her realm.
How was she to know that the abyss would suck her in so completely? She was almost done now, so close to the end. One more exorcised master ought to do it. Then, they would be rid of her for good. She wouldn't ever have to bow to another's demands or try to fit in somewhere she never would or could. It would be a one way ticket to the Lost Soul's Room for her; freedom.
Sweet oblivion was on the horizon.
The pressure of the arms carrying her aggravated the lashing wounds on her back‒ red and angry with infection. The dead were not good at keeping things alive. Once she realized she was no longer in the same place, that the stranger had used magics to whisk her elsewhere, she attacked.
Thin, weak arms struck out, overlong nails scratching at his moss-besottled face. He was an ugly one. They were all ugly to the mortal. Surprise from her sudden assault forced him to drop her loose, and she couldn't help the agonized cry that echoed following her descent and hard landing onto grimy hardwood floor.
"Fuck you!" She seethed, anguished, all of her great rage and animosity lasering in on her newest master. There would be no confusion here about the type of girl she was. Never in her life had the mortal ever been or would she ever be a "slave."
He would just have to learn. The way all the others did.
Betelgeuse's feet barely hit solid ground before the girl in his arms was clawing at him weakly. The abrupt sensation of her going from limp to feral startled him more than it actually hurt. Not that he felt sensation the same as a breather would have but all the same her attack caused him to start and drop her unceremoniously to the floor.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, what're you doin'?!"
He leaned down as if he was going to try and pull her back upright, when she turned that hateful gaze on him and shouted in his face. The hand around her wrist‒ it felt more like skin stretched over bone than an arm‒ pulled her in closer so he could see her face better. She was thin and filthy, not that he minded that really. Her face was gaunt with malnutrition and she was incredibly pale under all the caked on filth. He caught her chin in his fingers, forcing her to look at him.
"No more o' that." She didn't listen. He let go, stepping back as she swiped at him again.
What the fuck was he doing? He was in no way prepared for, or even capable of taking care of a breather. With a flick of his wrist a blanket appeared on the floor next to her. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with her… fucking girl and her fucking honey colored eyes. The room was quickly filling with the heavy static of his power in his irritation.
"I'll deal with you in the morning, just...fuckin'...stay put." Brushing past her, he headed away and further into the house, towards his bedroom. He needed to think.
The girl swiped and swatted every step of the way, practically hissing whenever the striped stranger made the mistake of coming too close. She was little more than a wounded animal in this moment, thoughts only of survival. Before too long, she realized her strikes weren't landing.
Was she… alone?
When was the last time she had been alone? Truly alone? Not counting her time in the cages. It must have been back long ago when she still had a name and a family and people who cared about her. Her back burned. As much as she would have liked to stalk after him, watch until he slept and then put him out of his misery… she physically couldn't. It took great effort to drag the blanket on the filthy ground around her shoulders, cringing when the scratchy quilt met open, infected wounds.
Twice she was beaten before standing on the block again; just that morning before going on stage, and again the night before. Both for the same reason. Insubordination. Try as they might, they couldn't break her. They wouldn't break her. Couldn't break what was already broken. At least this one wasn't actively torturing her but the girl had her guard up nonetheless. Paranoia and hatred weren't enough to keep her awake, however, not against fever, dehydration, and exhaustion.
"No no no," she murmured deliriously the next morning, completely out of it, when a cold hand caught her fiery cheek, inflamed with sickness. "I won't. You can't make me. I won't."
He could hear her heartbeat even in his bedroom at the back of the house. He had no intention of going to bed when he came back here, he just wanted space to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to manage a feral girlchild.
After hours of trying to decide what he should do with her, he landed on that she definitely needed to get cleaned up. That, and she very clearly needed breather food. She was so light and fragile in his arms until she started clawing at him. The memory made him snort and shake his head. Feral little hell cat. Once he got her healthier she was going to be so much fun.
When he strode back to the living room with the intention of getting her name and feeding her, he noticed the unnatural way she was laying.
"Oh fuck. I ain't even had ya a day. Goddamnit."
Betelgeuse knelt next to her on the floor. Her heart was still beating but it was too fast, and when his cold fingers cupped her cheek the heat coming from her burned him. He scooped her up and even through the blanket she was wrapped in he could feel and smell the infected wounds on her back.
"Ya won't what? Ya ain't gonna take a bath like a good girl?"
Draping her against him carefully, he got her into the bathroom with minimal issues. A flick of his finger had the tub clean, not willing to further aggravate any of her wounds. Carefully, she was set on the edge of the porcelain as it filled with cool water.
Whatever was under the blanket was bad and he knew he didn't have the tools to deal with it. As he slowly peeled the blanket and what was left of her rags from the girl's back, he sent a message out to Ginger. She hadn't been dead as long as him. She would know what to do, how to take care of… oh holy fuck her back was a mess of whip lashes, some old, some fresh, and all infected.
"Ginger, c'mon… Hurry the fuck up…"
It was just her luck that he caught her on an off day. Any other time, busy spider that she was, she would have ignored bossy demands from that no-good lech she begrudgingly called her friend. But. She did call him her friend.
"What is it this time, Betel?"
The arachnid arrived in a shower of shimmering hot pink glitter that the poltergeist would find haunting his home for months to come, hiding in every crevice.
"You know I have better things to do than‒" she broke off with a gasp, magenta gaze catching the dirty skeletal thing hanging off of Betelgeuse, the seeping red wounds on her back. Red. Alive. Just as she was about to ask how and why, he swept a matted mop of black hair gently over her shoulder to reveal the rest of the crusted, pussing wounds and Ginger was again horrified into silence. A collar.
Betelgeuse didn't do this, she knew that much. The girl didn't have time for Ginger to berate him for buying her at all. His reasons were his own.
"Move."
He did, and when a hysterical amber gaze turned on her, Ginger shushed her in a gentle mothering tone that seemed to work better at calming her than Betelgeuse's raspy baritone.
"Shhh sh sh sh… It's alright, honey… Nobody's gonna hurt you…"
A glare was shot backward, Ginger silently threatening the poltergeist to keep her promise. Eventually, she was able to ease the nameless girl into the water, bit by bit, until she was almost completely enveloped, ears and hair saturated, eyes closed, and breathing even. Then, Ginger set hot water to trickle so that the bath might warm slowly. Those wounds needed to soak. With the girl seen to for the moment, Ginger backed off, signaling BJ to follow her to the doorway so they could conversate without being overheard‒ not that the girl was even in her right mind enough to fully understand them.
"Where did she come from?!" Ginger whisper-yelled, furious with the entire ordeal. "What are you doin' buyin' some little girl?!"
Slavery was a common but disgusting practice, both above and below. Ginger didn't think Betelgeuse's blood was luxe enough for such a barbaric past time but he apparently existed to disgust her.
The girl tried to struggle against him as he picked fabric from the wounds. Fuckers didn't even have the decency to strip her before giving her lashes. That she was as starved down as she was probably explained why she went so cheap. He could count her ribs if he wanted. Where the fuck was Ginger?
It surprised him how much relief he felt at the sound of Ginger's voice. He was both happy and grateful to pass the half-dead girl off to the spider. He stepped back out of her way and watched as Ginger was able to sooth her in a way he couldn't. He was fuming, and conjured a cigarette to hide the subtle shaking of his hands.
Betelgeuse followed Ginger to the door when she signaled, gaze lingering on the girl, but snapped out of it when she started in on him.
"Where the fuck ya think?" It came out as a low hiss.
Betelgeuse blew out a cloud of smoke, his electric energy starting to crawl through the room. Slowly he stretched his neck and his old robe changed into that all too familiar striped suit.
"That's my business. You get her cleaned up and take care of her wounds." He adjusted his tie as he spoke around his cigarette. "I got some errands t'run."
With one last glance at the girl, he disappeared. He definitely had business to attend to.
He was gone for a long while, long enough for Ginger to make a lot of leeway in bringing the mortal back to a state of normalcy. The water was drained and refilled several times, until it ran clear, each time the girl acclimating to warmer temperatures. The spider used her own bit of magic to whip up gingersnaps out of nowhere, the still-quiet girl nibbling down three of them in quick succession; shoulders hunched, cookies gripped close to her mouth as though someone might take it away.
"What's yer name, honey?"
Ginger was met with silence, though the girl was done flinching away from her. Stitching her up had been a process but luckily the little thing was tough, had a high pain tolerance that made up for their lack of painkillers or anesthesia, and seemed to understand that what was happening was for her own benefit. Ginger would add those to the list of things she needed that Betelgeuse would have to procure to care for his new pet mortal. The spider was still furious she had been roped into this at all but refused to take it out on the girl.
"That's okay. You don't have t'tell me. I'm Ginguh. I tap dance n' sing n' I own a bar n' a boutique where I sell my own clothing line..."
The girl had gone even more still and quiet somehow, gazing back with quiet solemnity as the older dead woman went on about her life and accomplishments, opportunities she had been robbed of. The thought knocked Ginger into silence just as deep as the mortal's as she set to work on her hair. The bathtub needed to be drained again, and the girl slumped tiredly against the edge as even warmer water surrounded her, the arachnid's many legs a soothing element working the tangles in her hair.
A good six inches of dead, scraggly ends needed to be cut, but that still left her with a long swathe of thick, raven hair that curled and waved when saturated with balming conditioner. The girl ate two more cookies, then half a cup of chamomile tea with honey. She was almost asleep on the edge of the tub when Betelgeuse returned, still naked and Ginger's magic exhausted.
"Done with your errands?"
The girl was up and alert in an instant, cowering away from him at the edge of the tub and glaring in that hateful way again.
Betelgeuse didn't really want to leave but it was a necessity. His first stop was the slaver's market where he gladly freed the few breathers left before ripping their captors apart bit by bloody bit down to the joints and banishing them to Saturn. Once the complex was devoid of creatures, alive and dead, he leveled the entire area.
Then lit it on fire. For good measure.
It wouldn't help her at this point but it gave him somewhere to direct his anger. Once the edge was taken off, his next stop was to get the girl some clean clothing, and breather food. They had markets for that sort of thing down here but the pickings were slim. A visit would have to be taken topside to collect the appropriate gear.
Betelgeuse was able to find an apothecary that sold medicines‒ useless to the dead‒ he was sure the girl needed. He could have had four hookers for the price of her alone, and now he was blowing the last of his winnings from the pits. She had better heal up and be worth all this.
He arrived back at his house to find the women still in the bathroom.
"Yeah. All done…" A large sack full of assorted medical items and clothing were pressed into Ginger's arms. The food, crackers and canned soups and other non-perishables, was left in the kitchen before he came to look in on the girl. "N' it's gonna be a while before any more girls get sold off in that condition."
Betelgeuse dusted some ash and dirt from his jacket sleeves. It would be a very long time if he had anything to do with it. The laws dictated that slaves could only be sold publicly in the one place, and they were gonna have a hell of a time rebuilding. There was nothing to be done about black market trading, though.
"Ya get a name outta her?" He leaned against the door frame, watching the girl shirk away from him even as he stood across the room from her.
"I got the couch made up fer her…" Pressing off the door frame he stretched his back, then started for the living room, speaking over his shoulder. "N' brought back food fer once she's out. I'll leave ya to it. Girlie keeps going fer my eyes."
The door closed and tension left the girl long enough for Ginger to coax her out of the tub, pat her dry, and get her into one of the nightgowns from the bag Betelgeuse offered. The clothing therein was surprisingly practical. Before dressing her in one of the softer white night dresses, Ginger got two strong lortabs down her throat with a small glass of water, and permission to apply healing ointment to her stitches.
"I'm not a doctuh, BJ," Ginger reminded, guiding the wary girl from the bathroom and out into the living room where both saw that he kept his word. The couch was covered in soft downy comforters and pillows, a heavenly looking little nest of coziness. The girl swallowed, legs trembling, panicked gaze flickering back and forth between the couch and the spirits‒ waiting for the bad part to come. This was just a trick. They wanted something from her.
"‒ but yer gonna wanna keep her stitches clean. Antibiotics for the infection, painkilluhs to keep her nice n' calm, and fevuh reducuhs. I think‒ I think that's right. Read the bottles real careful, n' don't mix nothin' ya shouldn't be mixin' or give her too much. It could kill her ."
The spider was speaking ever calmly, guiding the girl to the couch-comforter-nest with gentle insistence. Painkillers had left her too wobbly and drowsy to put up much of a fight when Ginger pushed her head down onto a pillow and pulled the heavy weight of a blanket over her skinny frame.
"Make sure she gets lots o' rest n' watuh. Too much food right now'll prolly make her sick."
This was about the extent of work Ginger was willing to do here. Betelgeuse had gotten himself into this mess and he wasn't about to drag her down with him. However, her heartstrings tugged for the poor little girl in his clutches; what she had gone through already, and what the future had in store for her under Betelgeuse's care.
"If she starts lookin' bad, call fuh me again, but don't‒ don't let that happen."
She was still awake and silent, taking in every word of the spirits' exchange despite the heavy weight pulling her eyelids down, damp hair splayed over a towel to keep the pillow beneath her head dry. Removing the dirt had made her comely features shiny through, if marred by fright and malnutrition, and it was very clear why slavers had taken her from the living realm in hopes to make a profit. There was something exotic about the natural deathly pallor of her flesh, rosier now from a long hot bath, paired with a liquid honey gaze and that long, thick swathe of midnight hair. She almost looked like one of them.
"You take good care o' that lil girl, BJ."
With that, Ginger was gone.
Betelgeuse collapsed into his beat up old chair and lit a cigarette. He could hear Ginger talking softly to the girl down the hall. As he pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside a small glass of water and a mug of chicken broth appeared on the coffee table. The apothecary had been more helpful than he imagined and got him lined out with basic care instructions.
"I'm not a doctuh, BJ,"
At some point in listening to the women in the bathroom his eyes had drifted shut. Sitting up to Ginger's voice he watched her guide the girl to the pile of blankets and pillows on the couch.
"I got one comin' by t'look at her tomorrow. Didn't expect it t'be this bad when I called for ya."
He was on his feet pulling the blankets back for the girl as Ginger helped her lay down.
"Yer gonna wanna lay on yer side n' front, doll. Don't want yer shirt stickin' t'them stitches…" He draped the blanket so it would keep her warm but not put too much weight on her.
"I owe ya one, Ging. I'll do my best."
Dimly glowing eyes flicked over the fresher of the bruises on the girl's face and the anger from earlier was back. Once the spider left Betelgeuse sighed and knelt down offering the broth to the girl. Making sure the table was close enough she could reach the water cup, he retreated back to his chair, where she could see him and he could keep tabs on her.
With a flick of his wrist the television in the corner flicked to life low and droning, the poltergeist kicked back in his chair dozing. Betelgeuse had expelled a great amount of energy destroying the slaver's market. He had a few hours to kill before it was time for her next dose, and he knew her breathing would change when the medicine started to wear off.
She fought sleep like Hell but it eventually took her. She was just far too comfortable, too warm and tired. This same self-indulgent comfort kept her glued beneath the blanket when she awoke before her captor the next morning, the chill of the afterlife warding off everything beneath the comforter. Her back was stinging, though, drawing a low moan up her parched throat. When she tried to reach for water on the table, just a few inches in front of her face, it pulled the raw skin and stitches on her back so much that she just couldn't, the weak limb falling prone between the table and the couch onto the ground.
The pitiful whimper crawling up from her belly couldn't be choked back. It wasn't fair. She was completely free, nothing holding her back or down, her victim in her sights… and she was too weak to even move. The pretty spider-woman was alright but the mortal didn't trust this one in the striped suit. His name was not unfamiliar to her. She didn't miss the way the others in the audience had flinched away from him, frightened. He must have been terrible, the worst of them all.
Whatever he was keeping her alive for was not going to be pleasant.
"Kill me," she demanded, hateful as always, as soon as it became clear he was no longer sleeping. "It's not suicide, it doesn't count."
This was a truce of sorts the girl didn't often offer. Either way, she would be getting her freedom, but this way he didn't have to enter oblivion with her.
Her pain filled whimpers pulled Betelgeuse back to consciousness. He stood, stretching his back and neck before moving to perch on the edge of the couch, offering up the cup of water.
"No can do, Dollface."
A lit cigarette had appeared in his lips as he rearranged the blankets so she was still covered but he could lift the night gown in order to get to her back.
"Suicide or not, I ain't in the habit o' killin' girls." He let out a small hiss as he realised the material was stuck to her back. "Okay, Girlie… this is gonna sting some."
Betelgeuse conjured a dish of warm water and clean rag, with careful touches he started to dampen where she was stuck to the cloth peeling it up slowly.
Once her back was exposed to him he checked to make sure she hadn't pulled any stitches before applying a thick blue ointment along the wounds. Finished with that job he forced her to sit up and pressed a steaming cup of broth into her hands.
"Drink it. Ya keep that down, I got crackers for ya." Smoke pooled from his nostrils as he eyed her face. The swelling was starting to go down.
Betelgeuse pushed heavily to his feet and retrieved the medication Ginger had set out in the bathroom. Taking the time to read the labels and carefully count out the pills before pressing them into her hand.
"Take these once ya finish the broth."
Having no other choice, she allowed him to tend to her back, not strong enough to fight back and unable to resist the nice cooling sensation the ointment provided. There was a strong analgesic in the formula that numbed her back enough for sitting up to not be excruciating. When it came to the broth and pills, however, she was nowhere near as agreeable. They would only incapacitate her further, make it easier for him to do whatever it was he wanted to do to her.
The water was swallowed down with gusto out of reflexive thirst, but she turned her nose up to the pills and broth, molten amber gaze narrowed on him.
"Fuck yourself."
He was so full of shit. This nice guy act was just that‒ an act. As soon as she struck out at him again or tried to escape or called him a name, he would snap. Her fist purposefully unclenched, letting the mug of warm broth splash to the ground, and she dropped the pills along with it right into the broth puddle, never breaking eye contact with him all the while.
It was a dare. She was calling his bluff, betting that he was just as shitty as she thought he was. With one last wave of defiance, she ground the pills into the dirty floor with her bare heel, sparing energy she really didn't have.
"I'd rather die than take your help."
"Funny that...you just asked for m'help in ya dyin'..." He drawled slowly, ashing his cigarette before leaning in to her space.
"But currently, doll, I don't give a flyin' fuck what you want."
His hand shot out quickly to the nape of her neck, fingers fisting in her hair. Betelgeuse put just enough tension on it so if she moved it would pull at the wounds on her back.
The very same mug of broth she just shattered reappeared at her lips and he gave the girl a nasty smile.
"Either you drink it, or I'll make ya." A large cold hand caught her jaw, the thub sweeping along her chin. He licked his lips suggestively and cocked an eyebrow at her.
"So, Dollface, how we doin' this? The easy way or the fun one?"
Far too proud to give in now, the girl held her ground, lips glued tightly shut while the fire in her gaze burned darker. Wincing, she hurt herself to lean further into his grip and really dig her point in. She was not a slave. His grin only deepened and a shiver of trepidation ran up her spine.
There was no way of anticipating his next move. Just as quickly as he took her hair, he took her mouth, the pointed tip of his tongue spearing past her iron-clad lips like a hot knife into butter. It wasn't a kiss for pleasure's sake. His tongue gave his fingers the opening they needed to pry her jaw open and literally pour broth down her throat.
He managed to get two large gulps down before she bit down hard on his fingers and freed herself, falling into a harsh coughing fit that made her stitches scream in pain. There wasn't any sympathy in him as she recovered and he held the mug up to her mouth again, once more giving her the option of drinking of her own free will.
Reluctantly, she obeyed, nostrils flaring as she seethed and sipped the light frothy drink down. The pills were swallowed just the same, the same threat of an unwanted kiss keeping her momentarily submissive.
"I hate you."
He needed to know. She already hated him on general principle, but now she hated him more. He didn't have any place keeping her alive. Oh well. He would get his eventually.
The kiss had worked better for him than expected and he grinned as the girl finished the broth and took the pills. He anticipated the bite, after seeing how quick she took after the slaver but at least now she had something in her stomach.
"That's a good girl." Her water cup was refilled and he moved back out of her personal space. Hopefully the pills would knock her out before the doctor showed up so he wouldn't have to tie her down.
"I hate you."
"Awww baby-cakes, you say the sweetest things t'me." He feigned swooning before chucking. With a wave of his hand the mess on the floor was gone and he lit another cigarette.
"So ya gonna tell me yer name now?" He cocked his eyebrow at her as he leaned on the arm of the couch above her pillow. "Or are ya jus' gonna keep cussin' at me?"
Her name? For a split-second, her constant mask of seething, unfiltered rage wavered, replaced with a panicked sort of confusion. When was the last time anyone called her by a real name?
"I‒ I don't‒" Her eyes shut, head shaking subtly side to side to try and make sense of the question. "Number six-thousand-nine-hundred-and-twenty-four. Exorcist. Beware."
They never were as wary of her as she was of them, though they should have been.
"You should just kill me already." The angry girl was back but she wouldn't look him in the eye, instead zeroing in on a far spot on the wall. "You'll last longer."
Masters never liked to be threatened. That should earn her a beating at the very least.
Well, that threw her for a loop. Gone was the angry hell cat and in her place sat a confused kitten. Fuck, what was he doing with this girl?
"I ain't callin' ya that." He blew out a plume of smoke shaped like a skull and crossbones, and studied her.
"So yer an exorcist huh?" He snorted and pushed away from the couch. Was she threatening him? The fucking nerve this girl had.
"That supposed t'scare me?" He laughed. "Jesus kid, is that why they were sellin' ya so cheap? How many ya send t'the Lost Soul's Room?"
"It should scare you," she corrected matter-of-factly, nonplussed by his amusement. She said it like she meant it. She was going to slaughter him. She was going to get her freedom.
How many had she sent to oblivion now? The drugs were kicking in, making her lull back on her tummy on the comfortably dressed couch, her back still exposed to the cool air. It felt nice. She thought for a long time on her answer before saying;
"Thirty-two. They all deserved it."
Would he deserve it? What wrong had he done to her yet? Yet.
"That why they were sellin' ya so cheap?"
Sharp tongue ready to get herself in trouble, she spat out; "I wonder what you would go for? I wouldn't buy you with the change in my pocket."
Again, she challenged him, all fire and brimstone as she dared to meet his electric green gaze and hold it, the animal in her waiting to see who would look away first.
"I probably saved ya from the sandworms then." That was a fair number, but he wasn't some low rent ghost. He flicked ash from the end of his cigarette.
"C'mon, Girlie, ya can do better than that. The change in yer pocket… I'll chock that one up t'the drugs."
He arranged the blankets over her so they would keep her warm but not weigh down on her wounds.
"Sleep 'em off and ya can try again. I do have a doctor coming t'check Ginger's work, try not t'throw hands at 'em would ya?" He gave her a wink as he finished tugging the blanket around her.
The doctor was a woman. She came while the girl slept but when cold, feminine hands ran over the delicate flesh on her back, she jolted awake, a heavy hand on the back of her neck keeping her plastered to the pillow and out of attacking distance of the doctor. However, when the mortal came fully to and realized it was a female doctor examining her, she relaxed somewhat. Enough to increase the confidence of the person holding her down enough to release her.
"‒ nasty infection‒" she caught words here and there. "‒ should have called me sooner‒"
She was weak, but not necessarily compliant, and worked herself up to exhaustion again fighting off the doctor and Betelgeuse both. When she awoke again, she didn't fight the water and pills held to her mouth, the cool temperature refreshing.
"I want to die," she reiterated plainly, pleading almost. Didn't he get that? Why be this way if he only meant cruelty later? Horror for what he might possibly have in store for her, as well as fever, sent her trembling in his arms, her slight form shaking like a leaf. "Please…"
The doctor's visit both went better and worse than anticipated. Better in the fact that the girl was too drugged and weak to fight them too hard. He wasn't worried for himself or the doctor, they were both dead, but the girl's stitches didn't need to get popped.
Apparently, her body was worse off than he or Ginger had guessed. The doctor, a newly-dead physician bribed for her services, said she was sending more medication and left a care and feeding list for him. Not that he had done too bad of a job thus far.
Once the doctor left the girl had fallen into a fitful fevered sleep. Betelgeuse hated to wake her to make sure she got her medication on schedule.
"I want to die…"
"Ya say that now…" He ran his fingers through her hair. "I ain't gonna kill ya, kitten, or let ya die."
Seeing her like this made his gut churn. He shifted back into the couch, making her to settle against him in a way that was comfortable. Cool hands trailed along her hot skin. This wasn't something he was good at. His job was literally to terrorize breathers and here he was trying his best to soothe one.
What the fuck was he doing?