Author'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.
In the Vast Dark
Lydia's heart sunk like a stone into a dark lake with each bump and jostle of the car down the unmaintained road. Her entire life was spent in New York City. New York was what she knew. Here, she would be a freak‒ not that she wasn't a freak in New York, but the obstacles she faced there were familiar and could be overcome. Winter River was a mystery, and the blind had enough mysteries to deal with, thank you very much.
The windows in the back were tinted dark especially for her, but a nearly opaque veil was still drawn across the top half of her face to shield from any stubborn sunlight fighting its way in. Every few minutes, the camera in her lap was aimed out the tinted window to snap and document the journey. She wouldn't be able to actually examine the photos until much later in the evening when true darkness fell, but it was a comfort to take them anyway.
"... please can I be homeschooled…?"
"No." She flinched though her father's tone wasn't necessarily harsh. "We've been over this, Lydia. Miss Shannon's already been paid full tuition, it's non-refundable, and they can accommodate you just fine."
It was the answer she expected, but Lydia couldn't help the way her chest panged, bottom lip trembling. She knew the real reason they weren't willing to spare her the torture of socializing with other teenagers. It was easier to have her gone from the house most of the day than to keep her around them all the time. She was a burden and an inconvenience and she knew it. It was a wonder they hadn't just stuffed her in an institution and been done with it.
When the car rolled up to the house on the hill, the movers were already there and things were in full swing. Even before exiting the car, Lydia could sense the hustle and bustle around her. It would have been easier making it to the front door with her father and Delia's assistance, but her stepmother was already busy shouting at movers and her father was already missing. Very slowly and cautiously, the way Lydia had to do everything, she eased the car door open, cringing at the bright light that got through her veil to sting her sensitive eyes.
The parasol she opened helped, as well as encouraged others to stay out of her bubble as she squinted through the burning light to distinguish the blurry shape of a house and baby-step her way to the front door, taking aimless photos every couple steps. These would help her learn the space. The steps of the porch were counted in her head, the number committed to memory, Lydia thankful for the presence of handrails.
She was on her own to explore. Several of the movers bumped into her as she wandered the halls, short and small and in their way, but she recovered each time, centering herself and swallowing familiar panic at the disorientation of not knowing exactly where she was. Pale, delicate fingers traced over everything in her path. The photos she took would build a solid image in her mind later, but for now, this is how she would set the base of learning her new nest.
As she navigated up to the second floor, something told her to stop right as her mapping hands were about to ruin an intricately built spiderweb. She took the time to stop, peel her veil back, and press her face in close, admire the beautiful creature whose home she almost destroyed.
"How do you like the house, pumpkin?"
It seemed her father had remembered her existence. Her stepmother could be heard loudly critiquing the decor in the dining room, her snobby friend Otho apathetically approving each snide comment and offering his suggestions for improvement.
"Delia hates it."
This spider was venomous. If it or one of its friends bit her, would they notice and be able to get her to the hospital in time?
"I could live here."
A fucking empty house. Juno stuck him in a fucking empty house. Was it better than the godforsaken grave? Oh, fuck yeah, by a long shot. Juno knew exactly what she was doing, giving him just enough of a taste of the living world but no breathers to scare.
Well, there was that one obnoxious Butterfield woman… he cheerfully sent her running the few times she dared to come up and check on his haunt. This morning, however, the annoying woman had only shown up long enough to unlock the doors as several large moving trucks had pulled up the drive.
He watched from the attic windows. It was the best view in the house, and besides, he'd scared her off how many times now? No point in interefering when he had curiosities that needed indulging. The floor creaking at the bottom of the main staircase without his help ended up sending the traumatized woman screaming anyway.
The shit the movers were hauling into the house was ugly enough to almost give him nightmares, load after load of it. He leaned against the window, smoking and watching the living scurry about below. He grinned as he came up with plans for how he was going to terrorize the new tenants.
A newer-looking sports car with dark tinted windows pulled up.
"Must be the new family," he muttered before pushing away from the window, flicking away the cigarette, and melting through the floor. He materialized at the top of the main stairs and spotted a middle-aged man and a… girl? She was so wrapped up in skirts and lace with a veil that he could hardly make out the person underneath,
"I could live here."
But her voice was soft and sweet and it made him feel. The rare moment was ruined by a red-headed woman coming around the corner, heading for the stairs, and talking a mile a minute. Her voice could give the dead a headache. As she and the fatso with her moved past him towards the second floor, he sent out a wave of power causing all the lights to flicker and then suddenly burst.
There was a tangible sizzle of static in the air. Lydia heard an abrupt crack followed by shouts of surprise from the people all around her. It wasn't so bright anymore, so she flipped her veil back fully to reveal pale eyes centered on an even more palid, but lovely face.
"What happened? Did the electricity go out?"
No one answered or seemed to take notice that she even spoke. Delia was shouting too loudly, irate that one of her sculptures was dropped in the confusion, and Charles was trying to clean up that mess. With an equally ignored sigh, Lydia continued exploring, having an easier time of it now without any glaring lights hindering her as she went. A bedroom without any windows was chosen for herself, the girl not caring that it was smaller than the other she had to choose from. She could tell by the number of steps it took to walk the perimeter of each room.
Lydia didn't make a habit of hoarding material possessions. Her mother's old vanity, a bookshelf for reading and displaying trinkets, a closet for her clothing, and a bed was plenty enough for her. Moving men were bustling by with heavy steps, and it took three tries for her to successfully get the attention of one of them and politely request the boxes marked "Lydia" be brought to this room. The only reply she received was a grunt that vaguely sounded like agreement. Satisfied, she moved on.
The second set of stairs was a surprise. The basement was part of what her father used to help butter her up to the prospect of moving, but no one told her this place had a third floor. As before, she counted each careful step, holding onto the rail with one hand and her long skirt with the other. Unfortunately, the handle on the lone door she found at the top remained rigid when it was turned.
"Shoot," she pouted in disappointment. This was the last room on the roster but she didn't particularly feel like attempting to navigate the circus on the ground floor to find someone willing to spare time to unlock a silly door for a curious little girl. However, just as she was preparing to give up and return to her empty room to wait in silence in the dark for someone to notice her, she heard it.
Click.
The handle turned, and the door opened.
Chaos.
Just what the doctor ordered. It was nice having living people to play with. He cackled wildly for a moment trying to decide what he should do next as the small figure swathed in black moved past him on the stairs. She was ignored almost as much as he was. Once he caught sight of her delicate pale face and eyes he had to follow her.
As he floated along behind her, he noticed how slowly and carefully she moved about the second floor, and when she chose the small windowless room as her own he was just confused.
"Ya' know this room ain't got any windows, right kid?" he didn't say it horribly loud knowing she wouldn't hear him anyway.
After watching her try and talk to the movers several times he got sick of watching her struggle like a newly-dead and pulled the rug from under one of them, causing the man to stumble and finally notice the girl. The way all the living in the house treated her, it was almost like she was just another ghost haunting this house. If it weren't for the way she obviously couldn't hear him, he would be convinced she was playing for his team.
When she headed for the attic, he was right behind her. Watching her feel her way up the stairs, half waiting for her to slip on her skirts and truly end up haunting the house with him. When she reached for the door he flicked his wrist to make sure it was locked. The attic was his space and he wasn't about to share...
"Shoot."
… Until she said that. It tugged at him irrationally like her comment about living here did. Letting out a frustrated growl, he flicked his wrist again making the lock click and the door swing open.
It was a single room, as large as the whole second floor. To one side there were dusty boxes and crates. The furniture consisted of an antique chaise lounge, a pair of wingback chairs, and a large roll-top desk. He moved past her to flop heavily on the lounge causing dust to rise and making the springs groan, before conjuring up a cigarette. With a snap of his fingers, the roll-top desk popped open and the record player inside began to quietly play Mozart.
Eerie but beautiful notes began to play from a device that made the source sound aged‒ a record player? This was one of her favorites… but who started the music playing?
"Hello?"
Searching, against her better judgment she broke away from the wall that kept her grounded to step fully into the attic and immerse herself in the room. Not a moment later, the door slammed shut behind her, the lock clicking into place. Startled, she scrambled back but there wasn't a latch or turn to be found on the frustratingly smooth knob. The door locked and unlocked by key only. From the outside.
Someone was in there with her. Someone dead.
This wasn't the first time a ghost had made contact with her, but this was her first experience with a presence so hostile and aggressive right off the bat. Despite trepidation, she forced her expression to remain calm even as her pulse fluttered. Getting angry or scared wouldn't help anything. The smell of cigarette smoke began to fill the musty, stagnant air.
"Is this your house?"
Nothing changed in the environment that Lydia could discern enough to call it an answer. Minor chords continued to sound, the orchestra's increasing intensity lost on the medium through which the music was forced to play. That must have been a No then, or the spirit just didn't feel like chatting. In either case, Lydia did and as she didn't see herself leaving this attic anytime soon, she kept talking.
"I don't really want to live here either, but it's not up to me. If you want us to leave, you'll have to take it up with them. Good luck."
Hopefully, the ghoul wouldn't take this as an offer of free reign to torment Charles and Delia Deetz, but Lydia wasn't particularly pressed if it did.
"Since this isn't your house, I guess you won't mind if I go through some of this stuff then."
As before, everything remained the same, almost as if the presence had changed its mind about toying with her or was trying to make her think she'd imagined it all. Fat chance. Humming along to the sad notes, Lydia continued the exploration she began in climbing the steps to the attic and allowed herself to touch, little fingers leaving a trail in the dust to mark everywhere she had been.
"Mozart died while he was writing this."
If this ghost thought it could scare her with classical music, it had another thing coming.
"You can tell because unlike his other pieces where every bar is different and unique, after a certain point in this song his students had to just keep repeating what he had already written because they couldn't conceive anything great enough to finish it. Isn't that sad? That we'll never know what it was supposed to be?"
She frowned melancholic, running both hands over a flat, smooth object buried under boxes in the corner… a piano! That frown morphed into an almost-smile, and she filed this information away to be explored later.
"I think it's sad, but I like to think that he got to finish it the way he wanted. Eventually."
Slamming the door and locking it had been a whim. But when the girl barely even panicked, he wasn't sure if he was interested or pissed. Granted slamming doors was a cheap scare, but still he'd used the juice to do it right? The little cream puff shoulda at least squeaked right… Right?!
"Is this your house?"
That made him snort and flick away his half-smoked cigarette. He rose slowly and moved up behind her, pulling shadows to him and trying to make his form slightly visible. Without someone saying his name, this was as solid as he would get. He followed almost on her heels as she ran her small hand over all the junk left by previous inhabitants of the house.
"Mozart died while he was writing this."
What? Wait, was...the old record he last left on the player must have been Mozart. It, like the rest of the contents of the attic, was leftover from previous tenants of the house and he had only started it on whatever to try and call the girl inside.
"I think it's sad, but I like to think that he got to finish it the way he wanted eventually."
That made him shrug, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. Cool fingers reached out to run through her pale hair.
"Of course he finished it. Probably wrote a buncha other shit once he was there too. Most artsy types don't let death stand in the way o' creatin'."
That made him freeze, his fingers still tangled her soft fine hair. Was he trying to comfort her? It left a nasty feeling In his gut that he didn't understand and therefore pissed him off. The temperature in the attic dropped enough he could see her breath. The needle was ripped off the record, the desk slammed shut and the lights began to flicker.
He took a few steps back from the girl as something downstairs made a crashing noise.
He cut the song short before it could end. "He" seemed right. This energy felt very male to Lydia. It was short-tempered and pushy, entitled to her emotions. Though, she considered, this was probably equally strange for him. Most people would have been scared by now, wouldn't they? The very tangible sensation of fingers running through her hair sent shivers down her spine. That felt almost affectionate.
Then, there was another crash near her, the music coming to a jarring stop, then more clanging and bashing below her feet. He got a fraction of the reaction he wanted, finally, as she flinched back into the shadows that comprised him, losing her grounding touch on the piano to cover her eyes in sudden disorientation.
It was dark when she came in. The flood of fluorescent bulbs overhead flashing on so suddenly sent a few tears running down her cheeks from the sting on her irises. She gave a pained shout, covering her face with her hands to protect against the onslaught, rendering her truly blind.
"I'm sorry!" She offered, hoping to appease. "We don't have to be friends if you don't want! You're the one who locked me up here! Let me go and I won't come back, I promise! Just please stop, it hurts!"
A hand steadied her shoulder as she fell back. It was heavy and covered a large expanse. Her outcry of pain startled him enough to pull his energy back, making the lights go out again.
"The fuck?"
A wave of his hand and the door unlocked and popped open again but he didn't let go of her shoulder yet. He was trying to get her to scream, not cause pain. What had he even done to cause pain? He squeezed her shoulder softy before moving back towards the lounge, dispelling the shadows around himself and conjuring another lit cigarette perched on his lips. Adjusting his suit jacket, he turned back towards her.
"Ya' wanna be fuckin' friends?" He spat the words out around his cigarette. "Jesus fuck, kid, yer strange. Wantin' to be friends with a goddamned ghost." That makes him chuckle, and the temperature return to normal.
"I mean ya look like one an' the livin' keep ignorin' ya. Shame ya' can't hear me." He slipped his hands in his pockets, grinning over at her, smoke rolling out his nostrils.
That firm squeeze knocked the breath from her. As soon as she heard the door open, she was ready to bolt, but the invisible hand on her shoulder was steadfast in insisting she stay, and only fell away once it seemed convinced she would. Now more than before Lydia was sure this spirit was a man, judging by his strength and size alone. She herself was overly petite in stature, but the weight of his touch encompassed her entire shoulder.
Baby hairs at the back of her neck tickled warning of danger even as snowy cheeks flushed at his desire to keep her near. Safe in the dark again, her hands fell away to reveal teary, cloudy blue eyes, clearly irritated. Lydia took a moment to gather herself and wipe the dampness from her face, but it would be a little while before the watery bloodshot look faded.
"I'm not fully blind," she explained self-consciously. Her body was panned slightly toward where his spirit stuff had settled, almost as if she just knew where he was. "... it's called 'hyper-photosensitivity.' I see okay up close with just a little bit of candlelight, but the best time is at night when the sky is clear and the moon is really big. Something about it is just perfect. I still can't see like‒ like a normal person, but everything glows, and it doesn't hurt."
Her blush deepened. She was sharing an awful lot about herself to this strange dead man. It couldn't be ruled out quite yet that he wasn't something more sinister than a mere ghost and deserving of more caution.
"I don't usually talk this much."
"Lydia! Where are you? We're ordering Cantonese, come tell us what you want!"
"I‒ I should go." The temperature spiked again, and she continued on as if worried she was offending him with her rejection of the generous offer to share his space. "I'll come back! I live here now."
A careful, yet hasty retreat was made toward the door before she had a chance to fully map out the room, but Lydia needed some space to process this new development. Living with a ghost like this was going to be challenging indeed. In a last offering of peace, she flashed a rare smile over her shoulder before leaving.
"Thanks for talking Mozart with me. I'll bring some of my records once they're unpacked. Then you can let me know what you think of my music."