betelguide ( bastard . )
he snorts. waves a hand without so much as glancing up from behind a magazine cover flashing DANTE’S ‘78. the windows are all flung wide open and the breezy spring air couldn’t be more pleasant but with it, of course, comes the pollen. ( there are also, of course, the fresh hoards of snackful ladybirds. ) it’s really somethin’, too, how much dust has stirred in the ol’ married couple’s attic. betelgeuse sneezes. he snuffles and spits something ungodly and wet on the ground before he settles back comfortably into the sofa again.
“ oh, babs. ‘course ya don’t. but i can bet right now you’ve never thought much about how havin’ respect for a thing doesn’t mean it can’t also be vile. i respect nature, sure. i leave it alone. it leaves me alone. trust me on that one. doesn’t mean i wanna… make out with it or nothin’. ” there’s a nasty little laugh in his voice. “ same way you respect me, i s’pose, ‘cept you’re just missin’ out. ”
dead woman flinches at the sound of infection slapping against wooden flooring. manners shift gaze away from window, the warm sun and soft grass, the blooming flowers and town below. her heart aches for it. she instead looking at rotted spirit, careful not to sweep across the floor and catch sight of whatever puddle he’s spat there.
barbara’s nose wrinkles as he speaks, the idea of making out with the ghost leaves a foul taste in her mouth, and gives her what can only be described as the creeps. no offense. she chooses to ignore that specific comment, a tradition long practiced by barbara maitland when it comes to annoying things men do. “ i put up with you, i don’t respect you. ” she corrects in a tone far too harsh for her to feel confidant about using it, but after everything he’s done she can’t help the anger that bubbles toward him. “ but i do wish you’d practice respect toward us the same way you do towards nature. ” and that is perhaps a nicer way of saying leave me alone.
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