The Leader (H)

Ricky nearly sighed of relief as the Grateful Dead was turned off, remaining quiet as the other man fiddled with the records. And suddenly, ’Sunshine Superman started playing. “Better,” he said with a wider grin. “This is one of my favorite songs, actually,” the cannibal motioned with one of his hands towards the record player. “I remember when I first heard this, back in ‘66.”

Bobby smiled at the man’s reaction, glad to have been able to please him. “Oh yeah? I remember ‘66. Those were the days,” He reminisced, letting out a sigh. “Sometimes, I wish I could just go back there, y’know?”

He stared at the male, unsure if he was being laughed at. It made him a tad bit self conscious. “Bobby.” He mused with a nod, deciding on the nickname instead of the mess of names he had tried to decipher. “Uh, y-you too.” He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like it was getting difficult to breath down in the basement. It was the pressure he felt of Bobby asking him to sit again. He didn’t want to be that close to the stranger. “I-I’m good right here, really.”

“Alright. Suit yourself,” Bobby replied, nodding his head once. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, what brings you down here, Declan?” He asked, looking over the boy. “I can’t help but notice you seem a little... tense. And you definitely don’t look like a kid who spends a lotta time down here.”

His eyes traveled to the seat offered, but his feet felt rooted to the floor. Deacon felt stifly paralyzed, caution making him keep his distance. After one quick glance around the area, he noted that the person he initially ventured down here for wasn’t around. At least, not anywhere he could see. “I, uh, I never understood that whole Robert-Bob nickname. I always think how Robby is closer to Robert. Rob. Er–” The young male shook his head, trying to snap out of his rambling. He looked at the outstretched hand, realizing this was the part where he cooperated with the formal gesture. He knew he might already be rude for staring, so slowly breathed in to calm down and move forward. It was like taking candy from a stranger–the way his eyes suspiciously examined the hand before quickly shaking it. “Deacon.”

Bobby couldn’t help but laugh at the boy’s observation, and the fact that he seemed to be rambling out of nervousness. “You know, I never quite understood it myself,” He agreed, an amused smiled on his lips. “But I never really questioned it, either. Everyone always just called me Bobby.” He continued to smile as the stranger shook his hand and introduced himself. “Pleasure to meet you, Deacon. Now please, take a seat,” he offered again, pointing back down to the chair.

“I didn’t think you did, with this thing being so old.” Everthing was technology these days. Knickknacks and gagets that were sleek and effective. “So…do you always do this? Linger alone in the basement.” Her drawl was slow, aware that she was further disrupting his one-man song session. “Brooding?” Sure, he had mentioned some sort of tranquility, but in such a dank space she found that difficult to fully believe.

Bobby couldn’t help but laugh at the girl’s assumption. “No, definitely not brooding,” he answered, shaking his head. “It’s just nice down here, ‘cause it’s quiet, y’know? As fun as them kids upstairs are, sometimes it’s just nice to be alone.” Bobby gave the young woman a small smile and gestured to the open seat beside him. “But, you’re more than welcome to join me, if you want.”

Fuck, Ricky hated the Grateful Dead. Why the fuck was it playing in the basement? Materializing in the the corner beside the guy, he furrowed his brow at the comment. “It’s… alright,” he said after a beat, forcing a light, easy smile to grow on his lips despite his annoyance. He sat down, leaning his back against the seat before adding, “But, I prefer Donovan over this.“

Slowly, Bobby opened his eyes and turned to look at the man who had joined him. When he expressed his preference for Donovan over the Grateful Dead, the spirit smiled a little and stood up from his chair. “Well, you’re in luck,” he started, moving over to a small pile of records he had beside the record player. “I snatched me up a Donovan record from a young girl who lived here in the seventies.” He pulled it out of the pile and took the vinyl out of the sleeve before stopping the other record that was currently playing and replacing it with the Donovan one. “Better?” He asked, turning to the other man once it started going.

Anya knew that the basement wasn’t a place to casually hang out in. She never bothered herself with rules, welcoming the adrenaline that came with doing something–anything–that could be potentially dangerous. It was the music that drew the brunette downstairs. The fact that whoever was playing it didn’t exactly have bad taste brought on a small, careful smile. Her gaze landed on the record player first, a short laugh erupting. “Oh my gosh, this looks ancient!” She had neared for a closer look, but didn’t touch. It was only when he spoke that her eyes sought him out. “Sure.” Anya agreed, staring him down from where she stood. “Though I’ve always been more of a Green Day junkie.”

Bobby’s eyes shot open at the sound of a female speaking. At first, he thought she was calling him ancient, and was about to protest, but stopped himself when he saw her attention was on the record player and not on him. “Green Day?” He repeated, trying to see if the name rang a bell-- it sort of did. “I think I’ve heard of ‘em before, but unfortunately, I don’t believe I got any records.” 

The young male had initially gone on the property to visit a ghostly acquaintance, or at least he hoped she was. Naturally he headed for the basement, but with caution. He didn’t get a pleasant feeling surging in the pit of his stomach at the sound of music. Go back! Turn around! This was the part where he should listen to his conscience, but after already making it down the dark steps, he felt forced to continue. He didn’t want to come all this way for nothing. Deacon wished to be met with a familiar face, but deep down he already knew it wouldn’t be. Stopping a great distance away from the figure sat on the ground, he pocketed his hands as a way of doing something with them. Twiddling his thumbs and picking at the edges of his trimmed fingernails was a nervous tick he was working on quiting. “Um, I-I guess…” No. Not really. But he didn’t flat out say that. His head wasn’t relaxed enough to be more open minded to the song. “Who’re you?”

As the young man spoke, Bobby finally opened his eyes and laid them on the visitor. Immediately, he could tell the stranger was nervous, but what about? Certainly, someone who would be afraid of the basement wouldn’t bother to venture down into it, but Bobby never really knew with the people in this house. Smiling, the spirit sat more properly in his chair and gestured towards an old, worn couch that was beside him. “Take a seat if, if you like,” he offered, hoping it would make the boy more comfortable. “I’m Robert, but you can call me Bobby.” He held out his hand. “And who might you be?”