Lydia Deetz

[there's a new face in the library stacks, today, but she moves between them like she belongs there: a long black skirt and top, with a wide purple belt, and her hair up in the frizziest ponytail ever created. she almost looks like, somehow, even at 16, she hasn't quite learned how to dress herself. but she's got the Goth eye makeup down to a tee - purple eyeshadow, liner. no lipstick, no blush. she's carrying one of the few books Daria missed: a compilation of the works of Shirley Jackson.

she eyes the spines of the stack of books, and just quietly helps herself to the far end of the table, walking past just in time to hear Daria's muttered commentary. leaning in, she whispers, with a cautious sort of glee, the sort that suggests she wants this conversation, but is unsure if it's allowed]

Between their ears, maybe.

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[...Oh, there was a guest here other than her? That was new. She was so used to being here totally alone; and that made this place completely perfect. But if there was going to be something disagreeable in her circle, maybe there was that smoky gray silver lining that Jane mentioned at one point. What she heard from the person was certainly agreeable.]

Nah, that would imply there was anything inside there at all.

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[Lydia smiles, knowing better than to actually laugh in the library. it's for quiet, after all. she settles into the chair and cracks open the compilation, finding The Haunting of Hill House without even having to look at the table of contents. it's an old friend, even in a new library]

A vaccuum. ... If only their heads would actually implode.

[she dips her head down to read, a silent signal that she respects why they're both here. but if Daria wants to banter quietly every other page or so, she's down for that]

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[It was okay. Daria was still reading Catch 22 as she seemed to welcome her new guest with some ease. Which was odd for her. It was just not an every day occurrence to hop into conversation. Especially in the library with strangers. But she seemed to pick up really fast. She sat with her book and respectfully picked her head up and down, making very natural chatter. Daria did the same.]

They do every day in class.

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How strange, that it keeps happening and somehow they aren't dead yet.

[a pause, and then a look of delicious, mischievous glee over the top of her book]

Unless they're undead.

... I haven't read Heller yet. Is that assigned, or are you reading it just because?

[there's no judgement in her tone, simply the curiosity and appreciation of a fellow literati]

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[A small hum in her voice. Interesting, it all was.]

You're giving them too much credit again.

[That also didn't seem too critical at all really, despite her deadpan couldn't-care-less monotone. Proven a bit further as she looked to her book before looking back at her.]

Reading is a pastime of my people. I just sometimes prefer outside it out of my house.

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You're right, if they were undead, I might have to consider giving them my actual attention.

[Lydia's got a few more tones in her repetoire than Daria, but she's not about to let that cow her. she reads a few more pages, letting this nice balance between banter and reading stretch and have room to grow. she's read this one a thousand times, so it's mostly a comfort read in a crappy situation.]

Your people, too, huh. If I didn't have a distraction from how cookie-cutter suburbian this is, I'll probably lose it even more than they already thought I did in Vermont. And my camera's out of film.

[she used up most of it taking artsy gothy photos of her empty room before she unboxed everything. and that awesome dead tree in the yard.]

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So it is true, Lawndale is the dead middle of nowhere. Spoken from a ex-Vermonter. Now at least I'm not crazy. Yet.

[Turned the page.]

Better get more film when you can. I can at least attest you'd find depressing subjects for photographs.

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Maybe they'll give me a discount if I buy in bulk.

[she lets them both read in silence for a while, before... deciding to test the waters]

Is there anything genuinely weird around here? You know ...

[a signifigant glance toward the Poe in Daria's pile to remind herself she's possibly not likely to be judged for asking]

Spooky?

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[She won't be judged, but there were some wheels turning. Something scary?]

That depends on what you mean by "spooky". What's going on here in the library is a horror story. Lawndale High is another.

[Wait...hold it. She took her finger to her chin, completely engaged.]

Since you're new, I guess no one told you about Tommy Sherman?

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No, never heard of him.

[hook, line, and sinker, Daria. she leans forward]

He's not the school ghost or something...? Or is he just a sicko?

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Just an old jerk face quarterback that graduated and came back just so he could be renounced a Great Hero.

[Deadpan leaning in, dramatic whisper.]

Until the very goal post dedicated to him fell on him; did the touchdown.

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Oh my God, no way.

[the words are a stereotypical teen's, but her tone is still a little flat, fascination creeping in at the edges, with a tinge of quiet glee, the certain flavor only certain macabre personalities can pull off.]

I think some people would call that karma. Let me guess, certain zombies in close proximity consider it the equivalent of glorious death in combat...

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If by "zombies", you mean, "most of the football team, the principal, and most of the cheerleaders". Then yeah. They thought he died as he lived; gloriously, and in perpetual narcissism and misogyny.

[Whoa, she was in this. Daria couldn't lie and say she wasn't. She didn't care if such a football person was in the library right now. Brittany was safe, Daria knew she hated him.]

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Numbskulls.

[Lydia cracks the tiniest of smiles]

Please tell me they leave little offerings to the spirit of his ego on the anniversary of his death so I can take pictures and give them ironically witty titles.

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Be on the look out for a black rabbit with wings, last seen eating Ace's hat, he might need some Princess healing if you can catch him. Hel's looking for him too.

[ Crowley sighed and added this like it was almost an after thought. ]

Don't let him bite you his vampire teeth are amazingly sharp.

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Whoa! Okay ...

[a pause]

You're not just telling me this because it sounds amazingly cool, are you...

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[ The snake on the other side of the mirror could not have given Lydia a blanker stare. ]

No.

[ Maybe it was amazinglying cool but Crowley was too overcome with concern to think so. ]

I think it's Aziraphale. He sass talked some witches...

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Damnit.

[she immediately feels very sorry]

I went to see Leia last night after she made that announcement - she said he'd been with her. Maybe there's a part of him who remembers who he is, and he's checking in on his friends.

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I did catch up with him at Leia's but he took off again... Not sure why.

[ His snake tongue flicked as a wild idea came to mind. ]

Do rabbits migrate? I know, normal rabbits wouldn't... but ones with wings?

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I never heard of anything migrating except birds. ... He might just be embarrassed, or scared that we don't recognize him and think he's Corroded or something.

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[ This was considered before... ]

NAH! That's not it. Even if he was Corroded he wouldn't have any reason to be afraid of me.

[ Aziraphale would be cared for anyway. ]

Point is. If you see him try some healing?

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Of course! As long as you understand that I have to try and take his picture first on principle.

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It's a small price to pay.

[ He actually wants a copy. It would be amazing blackmail. ]

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Deal. ... Let me know if you find him, okay? I'll do the same thing.

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Yeah sure.

[ He gave Lydia a final look before adding, slightly sarcastically given the subject on which they had been speaking. ]

Happy hunting.

[ It was Wabbit season. ]

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smilingarmor

Promptly at the arranged time, Sylvando knocked on Lydia's door. He couldn't say he was particularly looking forward to reiterating the particular tale he'd come to tell her, but she deserved to know, and he'd had quite enough of the ominous hinting that he had to do to avoid the discussion. He knocked, then called, "Lydia darling? It's Sylvando. May I come in?"

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She'd prepared lunch - chicken and egg salad sandwiches, with a bowl of potato chips and a big pitcher of the Gibson Girl's infamous lemonade. A small box of petit fours from the candy shop, filled with raspberry jam and piped with delicate rainbows of icing, were set aside for dessert.

"Of course!" She swept the door open with a smile, then greeted him immediately with a hug. She'd daubed sandalwood oil on her wrists to chase away the smell of her developing chemicals.

"Thank you so much for coming, I don't get to have friends over nearly as much as I wish I could."

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smilingarmor

Sylvando returned the hug with a smile. "Well, we'll have to try and change that then won't we?", he said, giving her a bit of a wink. Over her shoulder, he noticed the food she'd set out. "Especially since you're such a gracious hostess."

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"I'd like that a lot," she beamed, letting go of him and stepping back so that he could come in properly.

"How was your morning?" She moved for the table and started pouring out the lemonade. "Been doing a lot of practicing?"

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smilingarmor

"Practicing, and busking too," Sylvando said. "This morning was mostly the latter. It's getting a bit chilly, but with things getting back to normal, people have been in a more cheerful- and generous- mood than usual, so it was a good morning in every sense."

"But performing is hungry work, so what say we sit down and try some of this lovely lunch that you've prepared, hmm? Then I can tell you that story I promised you."

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"Don't mind if we do." She gestured for him to help himself to a seat and a plate. "Take as much as you want, it won't be hard to make more if we eat it all."

So saying, she settled into her own chair and slid his glass of lemonade toward him, raising it in a toast. "To friendship and stories."

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not_so_different

[In early October, Lydia will find an envelope slipped under the door of wherever she's staying these days. It has her name written on it in fine calligraphy. Inside is a hand-written letter.]

Lydia,

I've deserved your silence. And likely whatever punishment your colorful headed friend wants to dish out. I had no intention of hurting you, or anyone for that matter. Boredom and the desire to act on a wild idea got the better of me. I don't expect your forgiveness, but I believe I owe you an explanation.

The people in this place had grown so complacent. Everyone living day by day, walking through their lives in some twisted sense of normalcy. I've been watching. The others are so wrapped up in themselves that they've slipped further away from why we were supposedly brought here. Marriage, arguing, pranks, jobs... they're all lost in their own little worlds and the drama or events in their tiny little orbit. Meanwhile, the corrosion persists and more arrive only to become trapped in the same doldrums. I thought if they had a new enemy, a new cause to unite against and bring them back into the jungle it would reignite their desire to work together and fight.

And I was incredibly, brain achingly, bored.

Some old habits are hard to break. Once the plan began to form, it was like slipping into a perfectly broken in pair of shoes. It felt so good. Until I took a step back and realized what I'd done.

There. Do with that what you will. I've no plans of returning to my flat for the time being so you're welcome to use it if you need a place to stay.

Sincerely,

Missy

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