TRUST ME, BABY!

When the coffee machine beeps, Eleanore pauses, her brows knit before turning to give the stranger an inquisitive look. “What did you say your name was?”

She’s starting to question just how well this guy knew her ex-husband. Generosity wasn’t really one of Rick’s stronger suits. Eleanore supposes it doesn’t MATTER at this point.. This random guy is already in her house; she’s alone and at his mercy. She should probably be more CONCERNED than she is.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I doubt he talks about me much anyway. I’m only the MOTHER of his CHILD.” A dry joke.

At his question, Eleanore again laughs. “I kind of thought he might miss me. We didn’t talk much about…that last night. A no-man’s land in our old living room.” She retrieves the coffee pot and pours her guest’s cup. “Maybe he just left some tech here that he wanted back, and then thought ‘hey, let’s make El think she died! Ha, ha, ha!’” It didn’t really sound like Rick, to be fair, but her brain couldn’t quite come to terms with the reality of the situation just yet. “You want cream or sugar?”

      “ Huh, well, uh... I didn’t. ”   He mumbles it, rubbing idly at the scruff on his chin. The little red coffee machine light blinks on.   HOT CONTENTS!!!   He stares blankly at it. It doesn’t matter. He tells her,   “ It’s Lawrence. Ain’t got a last name, uh--- last names, on my planet. It’s just that. ”

He watches her now, smile wry as he straightens his crooked posture. Asshole men. Yeah, he knows about asshole men.

“ Sure, ”   he says, cream and sugar and a little cocaine, if you’ve got it. The steaming mug’s as cold in his hands as it had been in the cupboard, but he remembers to take it with a discreet wince, that hazy memory of heat. Nice touch, right?

He appears to turn her words over in his mind.

                his entire face scrunches up at the smell– only seeming to get worse the longer he stands there. he’s going to have to light a candle– or six. oh and now he was going to have to replace the couch– and whatever other furniture was about to be desecrated the other’s touch. not that he couldn’t afford it– it was just such a fucking hassle to get big shit in there. “ jesus– do you have NO manners? or access to a shower? ” he nearly gagged. “ what are you doing in my home, anyways? who let you in? ”

      “ uuuuuhhhuh, huh. huh. ”   it’s a diplomatic start, for this guy. he sits up, he sits up entirely too fast.   “ woah, uh--- no and no can do, buddy.  HEY!  don’t ya know? well, hell, then i won’t spoil it for ya. ”   he’s up and at ‘em in another second flat, throwing an arm around freddie’s shoulders and pressing an overly friendly hand to his chest. sure, it’s a little intimate for a first impression, but if this old dog knows any tricks, it’s that breathers draw to southern charm like moths to flame. right? right? are we right?

*     @betelguide​​​  said…     ‘ listen, bucko. as much as i admire you trying to get yourself killed, don’t. ’

                                                ‘ what? ’   for a second there, eddie’s hands feel kind of like they’re turning into those clamps that would be most commonly found in a father’s garage turned workshop or, maybe more accurately to eddie’s experience, maybe in the shop class that he absolutely resented in school, and the thing is that they (his hands) clasp onto the railing so hard that the blood flow to his finger tips threatens to stop altogether.  it dawns on him about a second later how he was leaning too bravely and leniently over the barrier to get a good peak over to the lower part of the mall after beej here pointed something or someone   (eddie hadn’t quite caught onto his speech patterns yet to understand whether this was a who or a what beej was telling him to look for),  and how if he had thrown himself any further to get that good look, he may well have gone cartwheeling to his death. a second after that, his heart starts pounding harder than it has in quite a little while. precaution with this kind of stuff felt like it had been thrown out the window a little when a ghost / demon / eddieisn’tactuallyquitesurewhatbeetlejuiceis showed up in a suit eddie didn’t quite understand equally as much as he couldn’t this random supernatural presence, but, when an anxiety is remembered, like muscle memory, it hits just as hard. 

                                                   eddie throws himself from the railing and gets a good couple of feet back from the drop.   ‘ you… ’   he whispers, though doesn’t mean to be so quiet. he supposes that would be the whistling in his chest threatening to shut him up for good just like the fall that could very well have happened would have done. he shakes his aspirator out of his pocket, readies it for use, and whistles out,   ‘ you could’ve … you could’ve told me i was leaning so far. ’   puff, puff!  the whistling is put to a stop, now the heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s inflating and doing the job of nervous lungs is the only real thing to worry about (perhaps besides company).   ‘ told me ‘stead of … instead of joking about it and letting me … letting me face death in the mall. ’   he holds his hand over his chest, tries to settle it, and then looks at the railing like it now has an electric pulse.   ‘ — jesus. ’

a look to your left, eddie, will show you the ghost / demon / dead guy  ( or whatever he says he is today )  having a sick little chuckle to himself at your expense; ah, maybe that’s why he sticks around with this kid. just yesterday, a rogue, crip-cryptoco-cryptoccosis-whatever!-infested pigeon flew inches from sending little eddie straight to his grave. beej marked the pigeon’s scream down ten for ten, eddie’s twelve-for. and that’s the THING! he needn’t have sworn off jump-scares and grotesque faces for anything but eddie’s peace of mind, it was no loss on his part -- the kid didn’t require anything so luxuriant as  the actual undead  to put him into a scare and therefore beetlejuice into good humor. it was the lazy way along.

he slaps a hand on poor eddie’s back when he’s finished having his latest brush with death and his other latest brush with death and seems strong enough in the knees  ( and the lungs )  to take it.  “ huh, too bad, ”  says beej.  “ you were too busy dyin’ and ya missed it. bugs bunny went by. shoulda seen the ears. ”

whether bugs has finally had enough and ripped himself off the screen or some low-paid schmuck has found themselves stuffed into a costume, beej doesn’t elaborate. he never elaborates, not about the things that could actually use a little elaboration, as far as your average breather was concerned. but after all the trouble, maybe it’ll only have been a dog with long ears. malls weren’t where the real shit happened anyway, eddie, just some real shit. beej had elaborated it all out earlier that day.

@betelguide​ gets the boys from the dwarf and it’s horribly late im sorry

“That should do it, sir. All charged up, and good as new.”

Kryten retracted a set of miniature tools back into his arm, holding up the newly repaired light-bee for all to see and beaming with pride. They’d found it aboard one of the derelicts while scavenging– though it wasn’t like any light-bee Lister or Rimmer had ever seen before. Kryten had practically squealed with delight once he opened the thing up and got a look at its electrical entrails; it seemed to run off its own internal power source, needing only the occasional charge instead of (like Rimmer) needing to maintain a direct link with the ship at all times. Whoever they were, they’d be able to run their holographic projection without infringing on Rimmer’s share of Red Dwarf’s power reserves.

There’d been a buzz of excitement in the air all the way back to the ship. The prospect of another crew member - someone else to keep them company in the endless slog through empty space - was certainly an enticing one. 

Well. Enticing to Lister and Kryten, anyway. The Cat had - as usual - lost interest within seconds, and slunk off to wherever it was on the ship he’d designated as his Nap Spot for today… and Rimmer had, in Kryten’s words, engaged Sulk Mode.

“I still say we chuck it back into the asteroid belt it came from,” Rimmer grumbled from his chair on the far side of the room– he had his feet propped up on the table, his left heel and calf clipping through the wooden surface an inch or two. (Only Kryten had noticed, but as usual was too polite to comment.) “Or better yet, strip out the useful bits and use it to upgrade my light-bee. Did either of you even think of that?”

“It’s still a person in there, Rimmer. A person who’s been floatin’ in space for smeg-knows how long, and needs our help.” 

Lister promptly engaged eyeroll number 47  (I’m-not-even-surprised-by-how-much-of-a-heartless-bastard-you-are-anymore) before he turned his attention back to Kryten’s handiwork. It seemed to all be in working order, and the little green light on the side probably meant it was holding its charge fine…. 

“Come on– time to wake up, fella.” He paused, head inclined, and reconsidered. “Or non-fella. Ey, it might be a bird, y’never know.”

That seemed to lift Rimmer’s spirits a bit; within seconds he’d exited his designated Sulking Corner and moved over to join the other two. He leaned in close to the light-bee, cupped his hands around his mouth… and spoke with the loud, slow enunciation of a British tourist trying to order food in Costa Almeria and wondering why none of the waiters speak fluent English.

“Hel-lo? An-y-body in there?”

The device sat quiet and stubborn and by all accounts fully functional. Did it require an OS update? Perhaps the start-up file had corrupted, after all? But then the little green light on the side flickered and died.

       “ Boo. ”

Harsh laughter crackled from the shape that had appeared   ---   a fella   ( or a bird trying determinedly to pass as one ),   pale as a ghost with wild green hair and, quite ostentatiously, a stitched suit of black and white stripes that ran collar to booted toe. He may as well have been a large, unkempt bird, or more likely a raccoon. He certainly shook like one trying to dry off after a dip in the sewers.

“ Ughn, my god, ”   he groaned, stretching ‘till something popped.

Satisfied, he threw an arm around both Rimmer and Lister and drew them in close. He nodded toward Kryten as well, looking between the three.   “ Listen, you guys. I love you guys. Can’t tell ya how long I’ve been trapped inside that thing; you know there are no windows?! It’s just been me and my brain in there and I am tellin’ ya, I'd kill for a whopper, okay. There are a lot of other things I’d kill for, too, but right now, whopper’s the dream. Boy, I could just kiss ya! ”

And he did try to live out that last tacked-on thought, poor Rimmer arbitrarily getting the brunt of it with an ice-cold, tip-toed,   “ Muah! ”   to the cheek. The stranger clacked back onto his heels with a splitting grin and eyes for Kryten when he caught up with himself.

“ H-oh! ”   he cried, snatching up Kryten’s hand instead. He shook it vigorously.   “ Look, I’m just so thrilled ya let me outta that thing, ya didn’t have to do it, but ya did, and now I’m here, and I’m not al-- uh, hey, hey, hey, woah, okay, shut up, shut up, shut it. ”

He let go, absently gripping Lister by the sleeve instead. Until now, he hadn’t seemed to have even noticed the room they were in.

               “    HA   !!   like  hell  you  are   !   you’ll  have  to  KILL  me  first…  b    uut ,  i’m  open  to  NEGOTIATE.   ”