#cbvn

There's hardly anything left of him when they arrive. 

He's little more than a whisper in the wind, so weak soul-wise that even the ghosts in Ramshackle can't perceive him. Ghosts, after all, are spirits, and what are spirits but desires and drives? He cannot remember what he desires, or why he lingers. There is nothing for a fellow specter to recognize in him, thin and empty as he is. He thinks though (when he does think, which he doesn't do often since there's so little of him to think), that he must be waiting. That must be why, no matter how long he sleeps, or how time wears away at what little remains of him, he still wakes in Ramshackle. 

There's hardly anything left of him when Ramshackle becomes home to a living being for the first time in years, but there is enough for him to ache at the sight of them. 

They look terribly downtrodden, and terribly frightened by the state of the building. Perhaps it is a good thing that he is so lacking. Perhaps he'd only frighten them further into a grave with his looming self, and the thought of scaring them so when they are in such low spirits feels cruel.

His fellow ghosts, more lively and present than he's ever been, have no such qualms. He cared little before, for how they'd scare away ruffians and vandals from Ramshackle, but the human is neither. It sparks an aimless anger that he can't do anything to put out. Let the ghosts protect the property all they like, but this human is. . .

Familiar, in a way he cannot place, with how hollow he has become. 

Magicless, he finds, as they depend on a feline direbeast to fight their foes with flame.

Lonely, he learns, as all he can do is watch, as he waits for their return to the rundown building at the end of every day.

They have their beast. They have their friends. They even have the other ghosts who have grown fond of their living housemate. But Ramshackle isn't their home, though it might be his. They bring back tomes plentiful and heavy that they pore over deep into the night, trying to find a way back to their world.

He'd help if he could, but he cannot turn a page any more than he can brush the hair from their tired face as they blink blearily at their books, and he so does want to do those things. He wants to help. It's only right for him to, after. . .

He has not slighted them, beyond his helpless neglect, but he feels sorry for them, and just. . .sorry. They deserve another friend. They deserve someone else to help them if the Headmaster won't. Someone to speak to when their friends are back in their dormitories. Someone to hold them steady, or at least be by their side when they wake in the dead of night, sweating and stifling their voice for the sake of their sleeping familiar.

Their dreams are full of ink and monsters. 

He knows because he's checked. He's not much of a ghost, but he's more magic than mage, more power than person, an ancient thing that's been idly amassing the mana that flows so thickly on the school grounds for centuries. He has plenty of magic for a touch of oneiromancy, and he's found himself wanting things enough to deal in matters unphysical. So he takes those night terrors away when he finds that he can, and the nightmares of blot and harm are pulled and crushed as easily as one steps upon a worm. When they sleep soundly after, it is soothing to watch them. 

He rather likes watching them regardless of the state of their consciousness. They are so sincere and sweet and yet a spark breaks though sometimes, especially as they speak to their friends, and he finds himself smiling as he looks at them. They're patient with their friends, and determined to help, and endearing as they are, and he can't he can't help but fear that the light they are will be snuffed out soon.

It's a pity he can't follow them out of Ramshackle. Such a bright soul should be treated better than they have been, magicless or not, but they are always tired, always a little sad, and their hopes of home fade day by day, faster than their scars do. He hears enough from Grim and the Heartslabyuls, and all the others who come after, on how they are picked upon, or how they get into accidents. Overblots, an unbelievable three of them, are quite the accidents to have. He'd give them his magic if he could- what use does he have for it, dead as he is? Even if it's not some forgotten desire but magic that's keeping him anchored in the world of the living, he'd gladly give it all to them. 

He can't give them anything though. All he can do, really, is watch those he thinks he was waiting for, and be company in Ramshackle that can't provide any true comfort, and pretend, sometimes, that when Ramshackle's prefect waves goodbye to Ramshackle's ghosts as they leave for school, that he numbers among the younger specters.

That's all he can do, until they bring in the painting. 

He's never been fond of the way he looked. He'd have avoided mirrors if he could see his reflection in them, he knows that then-

Because once he sees his face, captured in pigments and time, and he remembers.

He remembers sketching the painting on campus. It was an rather ugly thing when it began, but he'd learned by and by, bit by bit. He'd improved over time, and he'd painted over it between his travels, filling the canvas with brushstrokes and magic and the memories, driven by the odd need to leave something of himself.

He remembers the sudden inspiration that struck him that day he went to the book fair at Foothill Town. He'd thought it might leave, but it never did, and it drove him to spread Halloween throughout Twisted Wonderland in a festive manner that would keep it beloved and celebrated for ages to come.

He remembers the strange loneliness that had haunted him since that day too, a feeling like he'd forgotten something. It waxed and waned as the years went by, every new town bringing with it a curious hope that had him looking forward to new faces and never quite finding the ones he sought.

Skully J. Graves turns to Yuu, and to Sebek Zigvolt beside them, and he remembers a spiral hill and moonlit days, kingship and kinship and his idol's blessing-

"I suppose," Sebek says, stepping back to see the painting in its entirety, how it hangs against wall, how it looks with the meager furniture in the dim light. "That this room is not as terrible as the others."

"That's because I cleaned it."

Sebek shoots them a look. ". . .this is cleaned?!"

"As it can be." 

A sigh. "I cannot believe the Headmaster allowed you to bring it here!"

"Well it wasn't easy, but it's better here than hidden away in a storage room right?"

"I think it looks perfect here! The King of Halloween in Ramshackle- it oughta bring in a lot of sweets like a good luck charm!"

Yuu chuckles. "I don't think that's how it works, Grim. But I think he fits in just fine."

"That is only because Ramshackle resembles a haunted house!"

"Well this room doesn't. And I'll take good care of the room and our dear king until I go."

"You must! The Headmaster spoke of its rarity. This portrait is an irreplaceable treasure-!"

"I'll treat it like a friend. I think that's a pretty good standard of care- I treat you well, don't I?"

Sebek opens his mouth. Then closes it. The boy sputters and Yuu laughs, and when he reaches out, his hand passes through them still.

"Well, I think we would have been friends," Yuu says, gazing at the painting, and what a terrible thing it is, to be a ghost.

"I'm sure you would," Sebek grumbles. "You are an incredibly brazen human- if you could befriend my liege, you could certainly befriend a King of Halloween through your stubborn insistence- "

"I think he would have liked you too."

Sebek casts them a baffled look. "Why? "

"Just a feeling," Yuu smiles.

"Would have made a good minion too," Grim nods.

"Why you little-! "

"Come on," Yuu laughs. "I'll treat you to something from Mostro as thanks for helping hang it-"

"I do not require compensation for something as trivial as this! Only a weak human like yourself would struggle with such a simple task!"

"Well I'd still like to treat you anyway - and you Grim, yes, you too. Gotta treat my friends well, right?"

They do. They have. They will.