exactly the way you wanted

If you like a response I made, you are more than allowed to just take it and make it into a thread. Some of you do this already, but others might need a bit of a verbal confirmation to let them know that they are more than allowed to do so. When I put a lot of effort into something, I really do enjoy when it sparks the need to turn things into threads with people. Whatever random situation I put our muses in normally something that I’ve wanted to write for a while, and I assume that you do too because you sent me the thing in the first place!

He hadn’t struck her as the type to take them to heart; there’s a little grin in return, relieved that she hasn’t misjudged his character. His question prevents her from completely settling in to watch him work, which has become more or less a step of routine. Grin widening, she hums her thought. 

“I guess the ratio doesn’t sound as good as it does in my head. They’re supposed to be intellectual, creative, well-intentioned, a little eccentric – and you’re all of those to a t, but there’s usually…I don’t know. There’s usually this emphasis on their being very aloof and detached, and it’s possible I’m crossing wires, but you don’t strike me as particularly detached. You’ve got old-fashioned manners and you might not be clingy, but through that you’ve always seemed pretty warm.” He’s not once sounded anything but incredibly serious about his family - affection can’t be mistaken for anything else - and he’s yet to be anything short of friendly, kind, toward her. He knows himself better than she could, of course, but she can’t help but think she recognizes a certain need for consistent company, however complex the curating process. 

“I could see a little Taurus in you, but I’d be surprised if it were the case. Dependable, you know, but you’re too airy for it. Virgo - respectable, witty, hard-working, curious, proud. Capricorn was my first impression, I think. Slow and steady type, likes to be contributing something tangible and get what recognition is earned. Pragmatic. And funny, but that’s me talking.” He’s an interesting person to puzzle out. To solve isn’t her intention, but she’s happy to think out loud if and when he’s curious. “I’m not really an expert on this, mind you. It’s interesting, but better for chats like this than it would be for anything important.”

Already pleased, his second question brightens her considerably. The resulting nod is immediate and unabashedly enthused. 

“I’m listening, Miss Day, I promise you, even if I don’t look up.” He stops long enough to meet her gaze, imparting his sincerity, then returns to the task at hand. “I used to drive my mother to distraction with this. She accused me once of not paying attention while she read to me -- I was taxidermying a bird and the eyes are a delicate task, you know. At any rate, I was able to tell her all the plot points to prove I was listening, but that only made her angrier, unfortunately.”

He laughs with some rue, but mostly with mirth that’s genuine and warm. The vindication of being right, he supposes. But it’s nice to be around someone who’s interested in what he’s doing as well as what he says.

Miss Day’s attention to his work makes Charles happier than he’s been in ages. It’s ghastly and grisly to most with a non-medical background, and fanciful to the point of delusion to those with medical training. But for whatever reason, Misty enjoys it, and Montgomery enjoys her response.

“I like listening to you work things out,” he says after a moment of digesting her opinion on his star sign. “Your critical thinking skills are quite impressive. Everything is well-reasoned and you stand up to questioning. Newspaper horoscopes are so much fluff, but I wonder sometimes about star signs -- the proper practice of it, I mean. 

“It’s presumptuous to assume we know the nature of the universe. In my day, we didn’t know molecules, or atoms, or even germs, so what conceit is it to think those things are fully understood now? Are those things influenced by matter in the universe? Quantum sciences suggest ‘yes’, so then why couldn’t there be some consistency to star signs?” Montgomery realizes he’s monologuing and waves a gloved hand. “You take my point, I’m sure.”

The best part of the conversation comes at the end, when Miss Day all but glows at the suggestion of going to the pictures for Halloween. In fact, the doctor is quite a homebody. When the other ghosts leave the premises on Halloween night, he always stays behind. If she stays and they do take in a moving picture, it will mark the first time in over ninety years that he’s left the property. Why? Because he admires her sense of adventure and longs to share it. Simple, yet not.

“I would be honored.”

Misty hadn’t grabbed it with the intention of serious reading material; the news does little for her. But it was free at the store she’s been frequenting for what odds and ends she needs as needed, and far is it from her to turn down free comic strips, horoscopes, and kindling all at once. What little left that must be unbagged will wait. With a smile and significantly more flourish than is truly needed, the paper is lifted high and opened to the proper page. She reads:

“‘You believe you’re a pro when it comes to managing your schedule today, but you experience a rude awakening if the support of your close friends and family isn’t there when you need it. At first, you may wonder if your expectations are too high but then you remember all the times you’ve shown up for others. Honestly, you’re not keeping score; it’s just that you know you’re not asking anything you wouldn’t do for them. Epicurus wrote, “Freedom is the greatest fruit of self-sufficiency.”‘“ 

The thought isn’t given voice, but one does wonder what a ghost would need to manage any of their time for. But then, they’re a touch outside the intended demographic. The family portions she wisely decides to refrain from commenting on, too. Blue eyes re-skim it and rise to seek out Cancer –  ( Someone’s actions or words may trigger old issues of abandonment today… ) – and roll as she flatly closes the paper. 

Montgomery returns to his work: formaldehyde into an empty jar and then...

. "What traits make me seem as though I'm not an Aquarius, Miss Day? And what would you have guessed?"

It's a question in mild tones, curious rather than defensive. The small arm is removed from the yellowish preservative of the old jar and inserted into the new one.

“ Don’t worry about it, old man. Those spies would be even more annoying as ghosts, I have no intention of killing them in this house” for a very long time he had refused to believe that ghosts existed, but he had seen too many things in the house that there were impossible to explain otherwise. The first time he had hid inside what seemed like an abandoned building, he had shot the man that he saw there, but the bullet had caused no real damage. He was lucky that the ghost didn’t hold a grudge against him. 

Charles is in his 40s, but does’t consider himself particularly old. He places the monocle over his right eye (more affect than effect, in this case) and inspects the younger man with an expression that falls just short of haughty disdain. 

“You do realize there was a time when men your age were considered old. And I have a distinct advantage over you -- I’ll never age, while you have retirement communities in your future. Let’s see who’s snide then, shall we?”

The ego is never a good place to strike Doctor Montgomery. His wife does it often and well, but mostly his physician’s pride is grand enough for two people and not easily deflated.

“I’m flattered that you recognize me, though. So few people do.” He does not, however, relate the tale of how he sewed back together his dismembered infant son’s corpse, resulting in his murder.

The monocle is still in place and he points to a newspaper on the end table. Unlike most paper in the house, it’s still white and not yellowing with age or sun exposure. “And yes, I do follow the news. Or I do when the paper girl misses her throw, at least. I saw you in there.”

“You mustn’t do that to yourself, Charles,” Misty echoes, tone cut short of playful by the solemnity of his contribution but unmistakably warm. “If you asked me something so off-putting I was uncomfortable answering it, I wouldn’t have answered it.” And even had he been met with stubborn silence, he wouldn’t have needed to ask for forgiveness. She attaches quickly, and that kindred spirit sentiment is wholly mutual. Short as her time there has been, he’s earned at least the privileges of a very intimate friend. 

“That’s part of the danger, I suppose. People are meant to want it so much it’s easy to settle for what might be the wrong person, or indulge it to the point of hurting someone accidentally.” Unwise unions are something she can’t speak on with anything resembling experience ( her parents, of course, but they weren’t the result of any passion ), but his words seem to hold water and it isn’t hard to believe. “Social animals, and all. It’s tempting to leap at something that looks like it’ll come easy or try too hard to overcompensate when the stakes seem so high. Loneliness is scary.” Falling victim to that temptation is one pain she’s been spared, but the fear is certainly familiar.

It’s intriguing and a touch worrying that he jumped so quickly to the negatives, but there’s no way she can think of to call attention to that fact without derailing discussion. Soft ( or perhaps just carefully ) spoken and reserved as he may seem, he strikes her as someone of similar emotional depth. An easy type to be concerned for. Deciding the creature’s been interrupted enough, the spider-bearing arm is extended to the wall to provide a means of exit. 

After decades or Nora cutting him down to the bare surface of his soul, Miss Day’s gentle chiding is painless and Charles accepts it with good grace. He’s happy to accept it, in fact. It means she cares about him, as much as she’s able on short acquaintance. Care for his being is not something to which Montgomery is accustomed. But then, Miss Day has never seen him at his worst. She’s never seen him arrogant and condescending, playing God. She’s never seen him unshaven and nodding in an ether haze, never seen him fall asleep drooling on himself while his drink spills onto the floor. And to date, she’s not seen what he did to his son (not that he’s aware, at any rate). Perhaps if she knew that Charles Montgomery, she’d care a great deal less. 

Still, it’s impossible not to smile back when she bestows one upon him. There is a freewheeling sort of joy in it that makes him happy by proxy. For a time, that light will banish away what’s dark within him and his smile grows from uncertain to luminous. 

“You’re an unusual lady, Miss Day, but I’m glad for it. I seldom encounter anyone who listens as well as she thinks, and then shares what goes on in her head. It’s quite refreshing. I’ve been told for so long my head is in the clouds, I’m not really sure what to do with someone who listens -- other than simply enjoy it.” Of course, he very much likes listening in return and wastes no opportunity to engage in discussion with her, whether it be about the mundane or the fantastic. 

Montgomery peels off his smock to reveal a smart dress shirt beneath, baby blue with fine stripes. Its Arrow collar is stiff and resplendent as the day he obtained the garment. It was one of his favorites.

“I love my wife, you know. I remember everything about our courtship, everything about our honeymoon. My memories don’t turn hazy until we moved here. Which is a shame, because Thaddeus was such a lovely baby.” He itches for a drink, fingers twitching as if they hold an imaginary tumbler. “Love is a beautiful thing, but it can be terrible too. Let’s hope you know only the good sort, Misty, and that you do always.”

He is quiet for a time, thinking about her and her wonderful ability. At last he smiles again, cheery despite the grim ‘what if’ on his mind. Montgomery thinks for a moment that he ought not to say it aloud, but he considers Miss Day a friend -- the only one he has in this nebulous existence as a spirit.

Interview The Muse

An odd request by their usual standards, but then, they seem to get a great deal of mileage out of meandering through broad topics; Misty isn’t caught particularly off guard, but it’s not a quick answer regardless. He’s had plenty of time and experience to understand it himself, at the very least in theory, so she doesn’t assume he’s asking in the hopes of filling a gap in understanding. Opinions, then. Her own personal interpretation. 

“There’s a difference between what it is and it ought to be - what I’d like it to be,” she murmurs, sorting her words as they come with little time to think ahead to the next sentence. “What it is is just liking someone to a more intense degree, and to the point where it turns physical and not just compatible attitudes or skills or – what have you. Which I don’t mean solely as–”

Her hands tumble over one another in the air, a vague gesture that in no way properly indicates what she wishes to get across. “– you know, just physical attraction. Physical, period. Whatever point that makes pupils dilate and hearts beat faster out of affection or worry or anxiety, when being around them actually makes your brain start messing around with whatever chemicals make you happy. When muscle memory would steer you at them or in a split-second of danger you’d move toward them. It’s not aligned with anything – people can do horrible things and still technically love each other. It can be as destructive as any other emotion, intentionally or no.” 

It’s tricky, being so large a thing. Already she feels like she isn’t doing it any justice, but then, it’s a sudden discussion rather than an essay. He’s proven himself unlikely to be a particularly hard judge, so in the worst case scenario she knows she’s a far cry from the verge of being mocked. 

“What it ought to be, in its best form, the one that matters the most, is some impossible sort of favoritism, if that makes any sense. Someone has to have seen a good deal and had legitimate opportunities to take another route, but instead settled freely on this person, for whatever reason. It should be consistent, based on a solid understanding of one another, and loyal. Taking little pains to keep the other happy within reason, and appreciating everything the other person has done in turn. Trusting them with some of your own well being, practically and sentimentally. It’s – I don’t know. Warm, and reciprocal. Beneficial and contenting. Ideally, anyway.”

Having located a spider while speaking, she settles on the bottom stair and keeps her eyes on it as it irritably treks across her arm. The line between ‘honest and acceptable’ and ‘over-idealistic and vague’ interpretations is, in her experience, a very thin one she all too often trips over. Watching something unrelated creates some comfortable distraction. 

This isn't entirely true. They both posses curious and questing minds, with ample imagination. They're both grounded by a unique brand of pragmatism, as well. These factors are crucial to their compatibility, Charles thinks. Differences in gender, appearance, age, generation, socioeconomic status, and education don't overshadow the fundamental ties which bind them.

"Idealistically, I quite agree with you. That's what love ought to be -- warm and reciprocal, supportive and unconditional. We should all aspire to it. Then again, that's my opinion, not fact."

The dutiful spider continues its trek and Charles watches it trundle along without really seeing it. He is thinking of love and how easily it can break an individual.

"An overprotective mother might love her son dearly, yet cause him harm by worrying to excess over his health. And love unrequited or unreturned may spawn lasting, legitimate grief in the one spurned."

This is all more autobiographical than Montgomery intends, but Miss Day has no way of knowing, so Charles presses on. "The tragedy is how often we confuse it with the zest for novelty, or with infatuation. Heaven forbid we enter into a union on the back of such fleeting emotions."

He clears his throat and sneaks a glance at her sidelong. It's bold conversation for a gentleman with a lady friend who's not his intended, but he likes Misty very much. Perhaps more than he should. But then his entire monologue becomes that much more autobiographical. Not to mention inappropriate.