un poco loco

ber-bonfamille-lyons​:

.

Well, that was a bit much.

Berlioz blinked and his eyebrows pulled up. He wasn’t actually that offended. He’d gone through worse really, than a ghost possession or getting locked in a creepy basement. Though he wouldn’t like these things and he supposed it really was a possibility, so he should not piss off the medium frosh he’d found gettin’ bullied over a mixing program and a posse of ghosts. 

It was a bit annoying though. Getting snapped at. Maybe that was his mundus privilege though, so he didn’t scoff or get defensive. He wanted the Groove Room to happen, didn’t he? That was more important than tellin’ some kid off. Also he really wasn’t the type to pick arguments.

So, okay, he just sort of nodded. He did get it. He’d not want anything fucking with his future either.

“Yeah, completely. Uh. Can I get your number then? Wanna try to go down soon, I’d like to try to get the Groove Room goin’ this semester if I can.” 

He held out his phone for Miguel. Maybe he’d just enter a fake number and ghost him (lol) but Ber would deal with that then. 

Unlike the ghosts, Miguel didn’t distrust Ber. He just also didn’t trust him. There was nothing he could do about Ber knowing he was a medium so...the best thing to do was keep him close. Don’t give him any reason to want to tell his aunt or anyone else what he was and ruin his life! Hopefully he was a nice person and it wouldn’t be a problem, but Miguel didn’t even trust his friends or anyone in his family with the secret--

So, trusting a random stranger made him highly uncomfortable. Which meant he was going to follow through on this whole Groove Room thing. If only to keep Ber happy. Hopefully it was an easy in and out sort of deal. Especially because Miguel hadn’t actually helped anyone move on before. He knew how to do it...sorta...in theory. There wasn’t exactly a manual for that, considering it was different with each ghost...

But, hopefully it would be easy to unlock what it was this ghost wanted and get them to move on. Though, even more easy: maybe they were just benevolent and didn’t have any signs of going maligno.

claraeuterpebaudry​:

Clara, on the other hand, did take offence to Shorty since she and Miguel sat at the same height. But she had always been self conscious about the way she looked so it wasn’t hard to get her riled up— even if it wasn’t her the woman was attacking. 

But that was the catch of customer service, trying to figure out how to please the entitled and self absorbed without losing all of one’s faith in humanity. 

Karen’s were a special breed. They were never self aware enough to understand the situation. Their general lack of empathy usually made it impossible to explain the situation at a level they would understand. They also had this weird expectation that just because someone worked somewhere, they had the power over everything. Until, of course, that power came to kicking them out and refusing to serve them any longer. 

This woman seemed to fit that bill perfectly. If she was anything like the worst of them then they were one wrong move from a screaming rant or her using some sort of physical violence against them. (Much like a child throwing a temper tantrum but worse, obviously, since it was being done by a grown ass adult.) 

“Okay! Well, we can always fix it by put in an order for that style in your size that you can come pick up at a later date.” She kept her tone from sinking into condescending. “Is there any other style you liked that we could help you with in the meantime?” 

“A later date?!” The woman’s voice climbed up another octave, which Miguel thought, frankly, shouldn’t be possible. 

He winced at the sound.

“I cannot wait for another date! The event I need them for is tomorrow. So, either you charm them to be the right size or I will write you the most scathing review you’ve ever seen!” 

Miguel couldn’t help it, he snorted. Seriously, he couldn’t imagine that review. What was she going to say? They didn’t have her size and the Magicks refused to do anything about it? It would only make her look stupid. Sure, this was the only Zapatos Rivera here in England, but back in Mexico City, they had quite a few shoppes and had an excellent reputation. So, a single one star review wasn’t even going to put a dent in all of that.

“Okay, Karen,” Miguel snorted sarcastically, hoping to make her, y’know, at least a little more self aware of her behavior. “You do that.” 

“How do you know my name?!” shrieked the woman, who, apparently, was actually named Karen.

Great.

The ghosts howled in laughter. 

“Are you in my head?! Are you some sort of psychopath?!”

“That’s--not what it’s ca--”

ber-bonfamille-lyons​:

.

Oh whoops. 

Honestly, he didn’t know why’d he suggested Clara. Well. Yes, he did. He discovered that old Groove Room with her. They’d met the ghosts together. When Berlioz thought of the Groove Room, he thought of her, almost like they had been connected for longer than Ber had known. He’d been keeping her in the loop during the whole process too– letting her know about the illusion charm that Vanessa and Ly were gonna do, along with the different environments they were gonna cook up… 

Keeping her outta the loop on the ghost band was, like…wrong. 

But where else was he gonna find a medium? His only other option at this point was Hades. And Hades wouldn’t do something like this. Also, the idea of being alone with Hades in a basement with some ghosts sounded like literal Hell (not because Hades was not trustworthy, though Ber didn’t like him, but because it would be awkward as fuck and Ber wouldn’t know what to say). 

“Sorry–sorry, I uh– dunno why I said that. I mean she wouldn’t tell either but, of course, yeah, you don’t want anyone to know. It can just be us then,” Ber said quickly, even though he still felt…really bad. 

He’d maybe give Clara the update after? Just say he found a medium who wanted to be anonymous? She’d understand, right? 

Miguel regarded Ber suspiciously. His arms were crossed over his chest and his brow was furrowed. The ghosts were back to chattering inside of his head. Fucking with the sound had entertained them for about five minutes. They’d gone silent watching the interaction, or fucking off because they were bored, but now they flocked back or spoke up.

I don’t trust him.

Yeah, me neither. He basically just said he was going to tell everyone!

No he won’t, he knows better than that. I recognize him! Isn’t he a friend of our lady?

Like that means anything. He’ll definitely tell anyone just for fun. 

Miguel is totally fucked now. 

It felt claustrophobic in this booth. Like it wasn’t just the two of them, but twenty people all shoved together like sardines. Miguel’s nails dug into his arm.

“Shut up,” he hissed and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

ber-bonfamille-lyons​:

.

“Shit, really?” 

Berlioz hadn’t expected Miguel to offer. If anything, he had hoped that Miguel might say something about the ghost– maybe he knew its name, or the name of its band, just something more to go on than the initials stamped on the guitar case. Or maybe he could just confirm that the ghost really wasn’t some kind of evil poltergeist lookin’ to possess a couple of bodies and rock out (though honestly, getting temporarily possessed by a musician from the 1960s sounded sick). 

If he seemed interested and wanted to talk mor about it, Berlioz was prepared to offer him the Groove Room as a … gig? 

Not a musician gig, a medium gig. Like. Exorcism or whatever. 

Though hey, if Miguel was good (at music, not ghosts), then maybe Ber could offer him that too.

“That’d be brilliant. I’m workin’ with a couple of other people to get the room ready again…mostly Clara–have you met Clara? She’s in your year, so you might already have met her. We could all go down there when you’re free. Oh, I’ll pay you of course,” he was quick to ad. “I mean, if you want.”

“What?! No,” Miguel said, cutting across Ber’s offer to pay him. (Which--he would absolutely take him up on, don’t get him wrong. Miguel was not above getting compensated for checking out some haunted place. Especially if what he had heard was true and Ber was actually the son of some super rich singer or whatever.) 

“Are you loco? Did you not hear me? No one else can know! Clara works with mi tia. She cannot know.” 

Miguel’s heart rate increased just thinking about it. If Ber knew...it wasn’t the end of the world. He may have a famous singer mom, but he was far enough removed from his aunt. At least, as far as Miguel was aware. But Clara? No way. Clara spent way too much time around his family. Her knowing might as well be Imelda knowing. And it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Clara...

claraeuterpebaudry​:

The cringe was strong with this one. And not even the good kind of cringe that came with good natured earnesty. It was just that pure awkward and terrible feeling that made Clara wish those black holes in Toon Town were real so she could pull it from her back pocket and escape these sorts of situations. 

She could have achieved the same goal and walked back behind the desk, ignored the situation, and let Miguel take care of it. It would have been easy, too. He wouldn’t have any reason to blame her without making himself look bad. 

But she was not going to be like many of her past co-workers who had left her out to dry. It was a shitty feeling, knowing that the people you had to see so often didn’t care about you. She liked Miguel— she didn’t know Miguel, of course, but he had given her no reason to not like him.

(And the music that played when he was in the room was pleasant, if not a bit disjointed, like it was still in the middle of being written.)  

“Hi!” She cut in, stepping around to stand beside the two. “Welcome in! What’s the question here?” 

And this was why Miguel hated working at the shoppe. He hated it here and he hated it in Mexico. He wanted to tell this woman to proper fuck off. Not only was she rude, but she was also being anti-Magick and Miguel did not have time for that. Sure, he wasn’t proud of being a medium. He did not like the fact that he was a medium, but he had grown up with a family full of Magicks. Both his parents were sorcerers.

He would rather fight this bitch than be nice to her.

The ghosts were getting a kick out of all this, which wasn’t helping Miguel’s temper. Some were cackling and some were egging him on, taking bets on if Miguel would yell at her or throw a shoe. Even though they didn’t even have any money. The nerve. (They didn’t actually have any of those either.)

Which meant it could only be a good thing when Clara stepped in. 

The blonde woman’s attention snapped to her. 

“It’s not a question! I need a different size in this shoe and Shorty here is telling me that you don’t have it and that none of you Magicks can fix it!”

Miguel rolled his eyes at the nickname. It wasn’t the first time he heard that, and definitely one of the least creative options. He couldn’t even be offended because it was so basic.