"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Beetlejuice didn't like staying in one place for very long.
He had helped Zain retrieve his spawn from the Dale and deliver them back to Pangea. It was a mundane task, not exactly one he was expecting to do. Still, he was not sure what plans Zain had in store for his offspring, and to be honest, he hadn't really asked. It was best not to question Zain, that much he knew well. His rotting friend was older, and more worldly than Beetlejuice, who had spent most of his life in seclusion. That, coupled with the imminent risk of getting killed, kept the pony in his place.
Zain seemed to have grand plans for the twins, and the wraith was fine knowing that much for now. He decided he would travel back to Pangea after he had made a little fun on his own. Beetlejuice, of course, had a strange definition of the word "fun." It mostly consisted of killing creatures much smaller than he. Today, he decided to travel to the forest to see what types of chaos he could cause.
* * *
The forest brings a certain sense of comfort to the ghost. It was a sick, demented sort of comfort - one that could only come from lurking in the shadows, from being the apex predator. He weaves effortlessly through the dense wood; a phantom, a specter. Beetlejuice hardly makes a sound, seemingly floating above the fallen autumn leaves. He was hunter for nothing more than sport, and a hunter always knew how to camouflage themselves...how to exist quietly.
He hears the squirrel before he sees it. The ghost stops, ears pointed towards the treetops to hear its chittering. His icy eyes scan the forest canopy, alight in shades of copper and ocher. Finally, he spots it. The creature is fat, having stuffed itself full for the upcoming winter. It stands on its hind legs, using its paws to groom behind its ears. Beetlejuice glances above it, to the branches above; if he is quick enough, the thing wouldn't even hear the limb break.
The phantom doesn't hesitate a moment longer. His eyes lock onto the bough above him, and with a nod of his head, Beetlejuice hears a crack. The squirrel pauses for just a moment before BJ lets the large branch topple onto it, launching it from its resting spot. There is no chance for recovery - the rodent falls from the towering maple onto the forest floor. Beetlejuice can't help but giggle as it lands with a sickening thud. The vermin squeals in pain, and BJ is soon standing over it, head tilted. Its chest moves rapidly, but it can't seem to move much else - its back must've broken. The squirrel's beady eyes stare at the ghost in fear, and he smiles. "Poor thing," He says sarcastically, still laughing. "What a freak accident! Someone has to put you out of your misery."
Beetlejuice looks around and finds a large rock. Using his powers, he lifts it towards himself and the squirrel. "Bye-bye." He says quietly before dropping it on the rodent's head, silencing it forever.
god called in sick today
beetlejuice
@kalika just BJ doing BJ things...like killing innocent animals.
Excitement shoots through her body as she wends her way down the Mountainside, unable to hide the self-satisfied smirk that had appeared upon receiving her quest from the fairies. She is sure that her perseverance and increasing determination finally convinced them that she is worthy of their favor, and she is foolishly prouder of herself than she is grateful for their generosity.
But such is the way of naïve youth.
As it has been the last few times, the descent is far easier and faster than the ascent, so she finds herself at the edge of the Forest before she really has time to think about the tasks she had been given. Now that she is here, staring into the darkness that weaves through the trees, she realizes that she has no idea where to even begin. Still, that is not enough to deter her from plunging headfirst into the shadows. She will just figure it out as she goes.
She wanders for some time, unaware of how noisily she moves until she sees several small creatures fleeing before she can get close enough to get a good look at them. Her brow knits in frustration, knowing that toxic creatures are acceptable offerings, and here she is, scaring them off with every step she takes. Then, she remembers the gossamer wings at her back and how quiet they are, despite how quickly they move. Annoyed that she did not think of them sooner, she wills them into the fast fluttering that pulls her body just high enough for her hooves to leave the littered forest floor.
Encouraged by the faint hum that could easily be mistaken for the drone of a lone insect, she begins to zip through the trees, scanning carefully for anything that might be suitable enough to collect for her mission. She knows that she must find others to take with her to gather the poisons, but surely there’s no harm in doing some preemptive scouting.. right?
Suddenly, a distinct cracking noise rings in the cool air, startling her enough that she flits sideways and scrapes against the rough bark of a tree. It’s enough to send a sharp sting of pain through her system, but thankfully, she does not feel any breaks in her skin. Her head turns to where she believes the noise to have come from, and against any reasonable being’s better judgment, she heads in that direction.
She does not go far before she sees the bright blue that seems to float in the darkness, and that alone is enough to give her pause. It does not show any signs of magical origin, but it is clearly out of place here, and she stares for a long moment before the realization clicks into place. It is only because he turns his head that she finally appreciates the outline of the stallion. Immediately, a wave of delight washes over her; perhaps he could be the first willing participant in her quest!
But first, she wants to see more, to discover why he is standing alone in the forest. She moves to shrink back a bit, to remain concealed until she’s ready to approach, but then at the periphery of her vision, she notices movement. She turns slightly to see a large rock floating in midair, much as she still hovers in place; she watches curiously as it crosses, seemingly of its own accord, until it floats in front of the dark-coated man. Then he utters his farewell, which confuses her, and the rock falls.
A sickening crunch is audible despite the rather loud thump of the rock hitting the ground and she finds herself wondering the reason for the noise. However, a new thought pushes the puzzle to the back of her mind; she wonders if this man somehow is capable of moving things without touching them and the idea rouses a thrill in her shallow soul.
Driven by the irrepressible need to know, by the irrational belief that such abilities make one special, she moves forward as she calls out in what she believes an alluring purr, “Having fun, are we?” The corners of her mouth lift into a small, simpering smile as she flits around, resembling a glowy pink hummingbird that stares at him in utter fascination.
all I want is a party doll to come along with me when I'm feelin' wild
It takes a few moments for the creature's crimson ichor to start seeping from its fatal wounds, but once it does, the ghost can't help but tingle with excitement. It pools steadily around the rock, almost as if the plasma is coming from the earth itself. A ripe metallic odor emits from squirrel's busted veins, and Beetlejuice lets out a low giggle. He flicks his head, lifting the heavy boulder to reveal the slaughter beneath.
Bits of flesh and sinew stick to the rock, and the wraith can't help but let out a harsh, howling laugh. The rodent has been flattened, bones crushed up on impact. Its tawny coat was stained a scarlet, its eyes still wide with agony and horror. Beetlejuice leans down to examine it, but is suddenly startled by a voice behind him - he had been so focused on the dead specimen he hardly noticed someone approach. He drops the rock back onto his kill, crunching it even more.
Beetlejuice, ears pinned defensively, turns to meet the gaze of his unwanted guest - he wants to curse at them, to lunge at their throat. This was his kill, and he wanted to revel in it. However, when he sees her, his azure eyes meeting her emerald irises, he softens. He was nothing if not a sucker for a beautiful girl, and the ghost straightens his posture quickly.
"Oh-um," He begins, clearing his throat. "Yes, very much so."
Beetlejuice is aware that he is not the most attractive horse in these lands, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit intimidated by such a pretty mare approaching him. The ghost was short and stocky; his ebony coat showed signs of his age, gray flecks dotting nearly every inch of him; his icy mane and tail were overgrown, tangled messes. He was unclean and unkempt, smelling of moss and decomposing leaves. His voice had an unpleasantly low, gargling cadence - not the flirtatious purr the mare speaks in.
His fleeting moment of self-awareness vanishes as he remembers what aggravated him in the first place - she interrupted his squirrel dissection! His brows furrow, but his ears stay pointed curiously at the mare. "What do you want?" He asks, what little decorum he had disappearing in an instant.
The sharpness of his laugh sends a shiver creeping down her spine, though not for the reason one might think. Oh, she can absolutely sense the dangerous aura that surrounds the dark creature, but the shiver originates from an irrational excitement, rather than typical fear. No one ever said she was a prudent little powder puff.
Even when he spins to face her, looking as though he might crush her skull with a rock too, that smile remains firmly in place. When she sees the way his eyes falter when they find hers, a rush of adrenaline sweeps through her veins and sends her heart into a quickened beat that has nothing to do with panic. The refining of his carriage and the unsure quality of his voice produce a soft, tinkling laugh, a deepening of her smile, and a keen sparkle in her eyes.
He might worry over the comparison of his appearance to hers, but such things are of little concern to her. All she sees is his susceptibility to the only bit of power she’s ever held, however superficial it may be. She’s had enough success in manipulating the boys back home, but she hasn’t had much chance to hone her craft with the men of this land. In the moment, she doesn’t see how this could be a more perfect opportunity for that, as well as completing one of her tasks.
He does not step toward her threateningly when his tone sours, and she’s honestly heard worse, so she does not flinch. Instead, she gently touches down, though her wings still flutter energetically at her back. Her head tilts inquisitively as she scans him from head to toe, still deciding how she wants to play this. Her gaze falls on the sticky pool of red that has gathered at his feet.
How intriguing.
She lowers her head slightly, nostrils flaring as the coppery scent drifts toward her. She knows that she should be disgusted by his murderous tendencies (and maybe she is, just a little), but she feels like she might be able to use this to her advantage. Without lifting her head, she looks up at him through her lightly colored lashes and using a low, lush voice, she says, “What would you do if I said I want to watch?”
all I want is a party doll to come along with me when I'm feelin' wild
Recognizing social cues wasn't the ghost's strong suit. He had spent a majority of his life alone, and what little experience he did have with others was plagued with deception, greed, hatred, or all of them combined. He knows not to trust this mare - her alluring gaze, her fluttering wings, her beauty (of which he has little experience with). However, Beetlejuice was never the most perceptive stallion, and the suggestion of her watching him kill something sends a pleasant tingle down his spine.
The ghost's snarl turns to a sickening grin, and he laughs that awful, howling cackle. He glances down to the blood pooling around his hooves, and then towards the rock that covers his kill. He flicks his head, bringing the boulder off the squirrel and throws it to the side. The poor thing, having been smashed multiple times, lays pitifully flattened in the leaves.
"Well, my dear," He starts, looking back to her through piercing eyes. "It looks as if this specimen is...inadequate, for a girl like you..."
He moves suddenly, darting into the treeline, circling her as if she is his next target. Perhaps one day she would be...but for now, he derives a sick pleasure from her suggestions. He lets out another haunting cackle, and it echoes around the still forest, surrounding them with the sickening hum of his laughter. He pops his head through a thick patch of hawthorn, close to where she waits. He tilts his head, staring at her.
Beetlejuice's next words are quiet, an evocative whisper, beckoning her further into the woods with him. "...but I'd be happy to provide you a new kill."
