— LA PETITE MORT .

[she is here under false pretenses; they made it sound like it was a mandatory business meeting.] needless to say, she is sorely out of place, once again dressed a lot like an old photo of someone's grandmother back when she was in her beatnik era.

"i can't walk on stage in shoes. i would always wear socks, but never shoes. have you ever broken an ankle?"

they're easier to walk in than most would think. calamity thinks it helps if you're already tall as fuck in the first place. less of a learning curve. she waits for a ben frank to be deposited in her waistband before tucking herself in against the wall, her full attention on alice. half the job is just being able to talk to people. she enjoys it just as much as the other half.

biting her lower lip in an attempt to stop herself from grinning (unsuccessful)

hanging her head to the side so that her curls fall into her face and partially obstruct her view

rolling her ankles / pointing her feet at things rather than gesturing to them by hand

when in her work heels, clacking their plastic bottoms together to make a fun noise

smushing her cheek against someone’s head, face, hand, etc. (telltale sign that she loves u)

spinning around at random when walking side-by-side with someone, likes to walk backwards and face them

THE CRACK WAS ENOUGH TO WIDEN HIS SMIRK. It was now something vaguely noticeable. Even he, with his stoic, ironclad exterior, wasn't immune to a little humour.

❝ I'm sure they'll survive. ❞

IN FACT, THERE WERE TIMES WHEN HE COULD DEAL AS WELL AS WHAT HE WAS DEALT. Ghosts and ghouls were already dead, after all. He maintained the rather amused expression on his features as he silently took the allocated seat.

HEAD SLIGHTLY TURNED, HE REGARDED HER DIRECTLY AS SHE SPOKE. Eye contact wasn't always easy for him, but he did his best to maintain it - although it did wander every now and again when it became a little too much.

HIS FOCUS FELL ON THE GROUND IN FRONT OF THEM WHEN THE MEDIA WAS MENTIONED. His lips began to harden once more, although the sparkle didn't completely disappear. The topic hadn't upset or angered him - but, like any pest, journalists had a tendency to irk.

❝ They can say and write what they want about me. I don't care. They have no relevance in my life. ❞

A SENTIMENT HE SUSPECTED CALAMITY SHARED. His considerations for the opinions of others only applied to those he considered friends. Otherwise, it was little more than white noise.

REACHING INTO HIS INNER SUIT JACKET POCKET, HE PULLED OUT A SINGULAR TWINKIE. Clear plastic wrapping intact, he offered it to her. His tone of voice lowered somewhat when he spoke again:

and dr. spengler's got jokes ! she didn't see that coming, but she catches it, exhaling quickly through her nose as it lingers in the air.

anyone with functioning eyes in their skull can tell from their TV ads that mostly all of the other ghostbusters are more excited to be on television than he is. it's all performance, and she knows a thing or two about performance. how it fights to swallow you whole.

❝  oh, if y' cared, you'd go insane !  ❞ she lightly swats at the crown of her head for emphasis. ❝  people will act like they have y' all figured out based on so little. best to just say fuck it.  ❞

there's another tangent sitting on her tongue, ready to fire off when the crinkle of plastic redirects her attention. brown eyes widen at the sight of the treat . . . as if it were a bar of solid gold rather than sponge.

she cocks her head to the side, confused. his words stupefy her further. for a moment, she just stares.