#ghost fics

The festivities were in full swing.

The hall was splendidly decorated. The straight lines of the gold ornament blended exquisitely with the draperies of black velvet. Here and there on the walls flowed waterfalls of sparkling threads - a recently fashionable decoration. Two marble staircases bent around the hall and converged into a balcony with a railing of bronze geometric patterns. Under the ballcony there was a canopy that shaded all the space below it. The furniture was reminiscent of ancient Greek and Roman times, but at the same time it bore the hallmarks of the latest technology: the glare of light shimmered on the streamlined metal surfaces, reflecting and echoing in the mirrors.

But the true most spectacular decoration of the place was the bills.

Green dollars clung to wall sconces and draped from floor lamps, crawled up the railings, and lay across the sofas like paper blankets. Along the walls, they took shape as sculptures and vases, and in the center of the hall stood a fountain, also made entirely of money. From its top, the bills flew in a continuous stream, falling down in a cloud that settled into a wide bowl where, from time to time, one of the servants scooped them away.

The bizarre luxury of this room was no match for the appearance of the people who made merry in it. Men in black tails, women scantily dressed in mottled costumes, flamboyant, adorned with ostrich feathers, in short dresses of glass beads and tinsel, richly studded with gold sequins... Some wore masks, others had only bathing suits on. But what peacock tails rose above them! How much metal and feathers were on their heads! Each guest's costume had some element made of money bills - it was a whimsical whim of the party organizer. Some dresses were made up of them a little less than entirely. All this motley, noisy, flamboyant crowd twirled, danced, and laughed to the sound of a jazz band playing live.

It was almost midnight.

Papa Emeritus sat beneath a heavy canopy on a low sofa, surrounded by plaids and tasseled pillows, one leg tucked in and his head leaning on his fist. The draperies overhanging from above cast a shadow over his face. At his right hand stood a nameless servant. He held a round metal tray with glasses and an uncorked bottle of wine in the palm of his hand. Papa's gaze drifted through the crowd of merrymakers, as he thoughtfully twirled the stem of the glass in his fingers. Finally he threw back his head and said:

“I'm bored, imp.”

The servant stood still, his face hidden by a metal mask, staring forward. His rigid figure resembled one of those sculptures that stood at the entrance. Only the stern, full-buttoned suit reminded that he was not carved from marble.

Papa pointed his finger toward the guests.

“Look how much fun they're having. Worshiping their god. The only one left in this town.”

Papa set the glass on the tray, and the servant immediately filled it with wine.

“Remember when we were that carefree? Rejoicing in our independence, crowning each other. Repeating after Crowley: ‘Every man and every woman is a star…’”

Papa fell silent, slowly taking one sip after another, looking through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of individual guests. But each time the figures slipped away, diving into the maelstrom of people, and were replaced by new ones. The human sea threw one or the other onto the shore, and in a minute the receding tide would take them back.

“We all go the same way," Papa sighed, returning the glass to the tray. “At first we are so proud of our free will. We think of ourselves as revolutionaries, shouting about independence on every corner. A whole world of possibilities lies before us, and we shape it in our own image. We build cities of gold and concrete and start worshipping golden calf in them. But the variety of possibilities quickly becomes tiresome. Freedom tends to consume itself. And so, we begin to crave a strong hand to fasten a collar around our necks and beat the crap out of us. Shall we, eh?”

The ghoul remained silent, not even moving. Perhaps at some point the Papa had forbidden them to speak and had forgotten about it.

“Having experienced the bliss of helplessness and submission, we seem to dissolve into someone else's will. Everything is decided for us. And yet we realize that this is nothing more than a game, an illusion that cannot hide our doom. We begin to miss that mechanistic model of the universe that Laplace proclaimed, where the world is just a mechanism, where one gear clings to another. Perhaps at least it would stop our whine” he reached for the tray, “… Or wine. Where is the damn wine?”

A distracted servant immediately filled a glass, and Papa grabbed it.

The pace of the music quickened. The guests lined up in an irregular ring and began to dance and run in a circle. From time to time, laughing people fell out of the circle, shook off their knees, picked up their skirts and peacock tails, and tried to rejoin the dance.

When another young girl broke away from the group and came carelessly close to Papa, he suddenly jumped up, clutching her chiffon sleeve with his hand. The girl shrieked and cast a glance at him.

“Do you like it here, signorina?” Papa looked at her from under his eyebrows.

“Oh!" the guest caught her breath. “Yes! The dancing and the music are marvelous!”

“It's wonderful!” Papa let go of her sleeve. “Very good.” He winked at her and leaned back on the cushions again. The girl hurried back to the others.

In the meantime, the circle had broken up. The guests were resting and the servant was serving drinks. Papa glanced at his watch.

“It 's already midnight.” He waved his hand. “Where's the cannon?”

One of the ghouls behind him left his post and ran up the marble stairs. Up on the balcony there was a stir. A minute later something clapped, an air pump went off, and hundreds of green papers flew into the air like confetti. The audience roared with delight. A saxophone shrieked, and the musicians picked up a mockingly fast tempo. The guests began to grab the bills as they rained down on the floor. The multitude of small pieces of paper made the air shiver with ripples.

“Here comes the symbolic ejaculation,” Papa said. “I don't feel a thing. Do you?”

The silent servant seemed to swallow under his mask.

Papa picked up one of the bills from the floor. It had his face on it. Above the portrait was written, "In God We Trust.” He turned it around, examining. Then he crumpled it up and handed it to the ghoul.

“Eat the paper.”

The servant glanced at Papa. Uncertainly, he touched his chest with his index finger.

“Yes, yes, eat it with your mouth. Chew and swallow.”

The Ghoul took the bill reluctantly and stared at it with confusion in his eyes. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he lifted his mask, lowered the edge of the balaclava that hid the lower part of his face, and stuffed the ball of paper into his mouth. After a few strenuous chewing motions, wrinkling and twitching, he swallowed hard. Papa, who had been watching all this closely, pronounced:

“Good imp.” He patted the Ghoul on the hip and handed him a glass. “Pour yourself some wine.”

The servant immediately obliged, filling it and drinking the wine hurriedly.

“And now for me.”

The Ghoul brought the bottle over the glass again. His hand suddenly trembled, spilling the wine. His insides twisted with a spasm, and he coughed under his mask.

“I think this Ghoul is broken," Papa said thoughtfully. “Maybe we should get a new one.”

The servant straightened with a noticeable effort, carefully filling the glass and wiping the bottom with a napkin.

"That's better," Papa accepted the glass. “If you vomit, don't you dare take off your mask.”

The whole hall was now strewn with paper money. Some of the guests were crawling about, stuffing bills under their clothes. One of these obsessives crawled up to the Papa's resting place, trying to reach for a piece of paper lying nearby. Papa shoved him off, stepping on his head with a patent leather shoe.

“Who is more disgusting: the one who organizes such gatherings, or the one who participates in them?” Papa asked into space, and then answered himself in a cartoonish voice, mimicking someone's mouth with his hand: "You are both disgusting.”

He stopped talking and cast a longing glance around the room. Some of the guests were already slipping through the ajar doors, holding their money-stuffed tailcoats by the lapels.

“I'm so sick of talking to myself. What did you say that I forbade you to speak?” Papa threw back his head and looked at the second Ghoul, who was standing behind him. “All right. Get me that girl.”

A moment later, the young lady with whom Papa had recently had a few words with came up, accompanied by a silent servant. She was wearing a short dress made of gold threads. A necklace of polished coins adorned her neck. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing. Papa moved slightly and patted the sofa he was sitting on.

“That's a very pretty necklace," he remarked as the girl sank down beside him. “You can tell it couldn’t have cost less than what it contains.” He turned to the servant. ”Pour wine for the guest.”

A second glass was filled. Papa handed it to the girl, and she drank it quickly.

“Are you having fun, signorina?”

“Yes, Papa," she answered.

“I'm having fun, too. See how much fun I have on my face?” he leaned toward her. “Tell me, how do you like my face?”

The girl furrowed her eyebrows.

“To be honest, Papa, it's a bit scary.”

“Why?”

“All those wrinkles... You look like an animal to me.”

"An animal?" Papa raised his eyebrows. "I've heard it said that man is an animal that has gone mad. And it's true. Ask any animal why it builds a nest or has offspring, and it will not even understand the essence of the question. It's instinct that drives it. It gives him confidence in what actions are good and what are not. Man is doomed to choose for himself what to be. As lost children of nature, we have become confused about our needs and urges. We have invented the concepts of good and evil to somehow separate right from wrong. We are deprived of reference points, thrown into a maelstrom of possibilities, a maelstrom of freedom with which we do not know what to do…”

Papa made a theatrical gesture with his hand.

"Money is an opportunity expressed in a paper equivalent. Tell me, aren't you tired of so many opportunities?"

"To be honest, I'm tired of dancing, Papa."

The girl smiled. The dimples on her cheeks made her smile seem even wider. He nodded slowly.

"I saw you dancing well. Will you dance like that on my hips?"

"No, Papa. It's indecent."

"Indecent? Admit it, signorina, do I disgust you?"

The girl grimaced.

"I've already told you you're scary. You've got that in your eyes..."

Papa raised himself on his arm, staring into her face.

"What?"

"I don't know... Look, the swan is coming!"

The jazz band was replaced by a chamber orchestra. A fragment from Carmina Burana - Olim Lacus Colueram - began to play. A stridulous tenor was singing the aria of a bird that was about to be eaten. A roasted swan was being carried through the hall on a mobile table. A servant moved the sticks that were attached to the parts of the bird, and its head was raised on a thin, broken neck. The beak opened in time with the words.

The tenor sang:

Nunc in scutella iaceo, et volitare nequeo dentes frendentes video

And the male chorus continued:

Miser, miser! modo niger et ustus fortiter!

When the song was over, the bird was sliced and the guests pounced with forks and plates. Each one got a small piece. Soon the swan was finished. But the people's hunger did not seem to be quenched - the treat only irritated it.

“Look," Papa turned to the Ghoul, pointing to a couple of guests enjoying each other on the couch right in front of everyone. The man reclined amidst the piles of cash; the woman, her dress pulled up, rode his hips with her head tilted back. “I like these two. They're doing the only thing that matters. Putting aside the hypocrisy and contrived pathos of love and just looking to enjoy themselves. Little carnal pleasures are all we have left. Since we killed God..." Papa spoke to no one in particular, conversing with the air. “We've been trying to take his place. But look at these orphans," he waved his hand toward the hall. “Look at this garden of Eden. They don't even realize that this money is counterfeit.” He bent down, crumpled one of the bills in his fist and threw it into the crowd. “Everything around here is made of paper.”

He rose from his seat and made a gesture with his hand. One of the figures separated from the entourage and moved closer to his shoulder, awaiting orders.

“Burn everything.”

Without looking back, Papa crossed the hall and walked out. The Ghouls remaining in the hall exchanged glances. Then someone pulled out a box of matches, and in a minute the flames were busy around the edges of the paper constructions. Smoke filled the room, cheerful sparks danced all over the room. Everything that consisted of or was covered with paper bills - furniture, jewelry, tables, people's costumes - was engulfed in flames. The Ghouls were the first to leave the room. Following them, the guests rushed out in a panic, shoving at the entrance, squeezing through the doorway, stepping on and over each other as the flames engulfed the fabric-covered walls, climbed the curtains, melted the gold tinsel, and howled wildly toward the ceiling.

It had taken him all day to find free time and you knew he'd wake up early and groggy to get to work the next morning, but he still made time. 

it was sweet. him trying to return all the favors you've done for him. you'd do them all again, even if he was whisked away for another tour before he could return any favors. 

You sat with your legs dangling off the kitchen counter opposite to where Perpetua was fiddling with the imposing machine. 

"How did you do this every day?" he asks, trying to pack the grounds into the portafilter and spilling them all over the polished countertops. "I have no clue how this thing even works." 

"I don't either," you shrug, "I always make it on the stove" 

He gives you a look after he fails to attach the portafilter to the machine. "Cara, we live in the future now. we can use machines" he points to the stainless steel box he still cannot get to pour a few ounces of inky gold. "You didn't have to do that." 

You avoid his gaze and kick your legs out, trying to redirect the nerves bubbling in your stomach that arrive every time he uses a sweet name like Cara for you. He was just a charmer, you tried to remind yourself, it wasn't a sign of anything more. 

"I like making it that way." You defend. "That's how I was taught growing up." 

His shoulders fall from his ears and his gaze falls to the ground. You know talking about family is a touchy subject with him. His brother had been the one to show him how to use this complicated new espresso machine, albeit very terse and begrudgingly. 

"Sorry-"

"Can you show me?" He asks.

You look back up and he's resigned the portafilter on top of the machine. He drifts closer to you with a pleading in his eyes you usually only see when he's asking you for something difficult. Like this wasn't something so simple you could do it asleep, and most mornings you practically did. 

"Now?" 

"Yes, please, Cara. You make the coffee to show me today and tomorrow morning I will come and make you some for breakfast." 

"Pet, you're probably going to be in a meeting." 

"I'll tell them to fuck off." he waves his hands off as if hes dismissing 'them' away from him now. "You deserve a good coffee in the morning." 

Your heart feels like its boiling over. Instead of holding his gaze, you hop off the counter and shuffle in your slippers to the cabinet with the supplies you've carefully stashed away. 

It's hard to pretend that Perpetua isn't watching you when he follows your moves around the kitchen like a cat twining around it's owners legs for a treat. He hovers over your shoulder while you show him how much water to add to the reservoir. He moves out of the way for your arm turning the knob on the stove. He grazes his finger over the packed grounds to wipe off the excess for you. He screws the halves together while you retrieve the final ingredients. 

He sets the pot on the burner and you lean past him to flip up the lid. "Keep an eye on that, tell me when it starts to fill."

His brows bunch in confusion but flicks his gaze between the upper reservoir and your hands. 

"We're only making two cups, so I use this little guy," You gesture with the measuring cup in one hand, "to make the espumita." 

"...sorry, Cara. The es…perm?" 

"Es-pu-mi-ta. The sugar."

His head cocks, "I thought it was sweet just because You make it." 

Your blush is almost as hot as the burner, "shush, or I'll make you take it bitter." 

"I'll take it however you give it to me, cara-"

"Hush!" You wield your teaspoon at him threateningly. "You just have to cover the bottom like this…" You pour out the sugar into the pyrex, "And when we get the first few drops of cafe, we use that to make the espumita." 

"How long does that take?" His fingers squirm like spider legs in restlessness. 

"However long it takes for you to get your lipstick wrong the first time you do it in the morning." 

He narrows his eyes at you, "Is this how you speak to someone make your coffee tomorrow? Maybe I'll make you take it black." 

"Pet, I'll always take it from you." You flirt back. Maybe it's your wishful thinking in the hazy midnight hours but his cheeks seem to redden under the remnants of his papal paints.  His back straightens suddenly and he points to the pot, "It's ready!" 

"See? Not that long." You pick up the pot with kitchen rag to protect your hand from the steaming metal. with your other hand, you guide him in front of the measuring cup. "I'll pour, you pick up the spoon and taka-taka the sugar until its frothy and light." 

"Darling, what in hell's name is taka-taka?" 

You mimic stirring the spoon with one hand while you finish off pouring a half ounce of coffee into the makeshift mixing apparatus. "Taka-taka! the sound of the spoon against the glass! Just stir, Pet, Satan save me." 

He smirks while he hunches over the counter to stir the sugar into a blonde caramel whip. You let the smell of fresh brewed espresso wash over you and ease the tension in your muscles. Watching your love make your creature comfort fills your chest with a warm pressure that makes you feel like the boiling coffee. 

When the pot whistles you pull it off the burner and gesture for Perpetua to hold the cup out for you. You inspect his work and nod while pouring the rest of the delicious coffee with the sweetener. You gesture for him to continue 

You have to balance on the tips of your toes to reach the small espresso cups on the top shelf of the cabinet. Perpetua looks over while he stirs with the obvious want to help but you skillfully retrieve your ceramic bounty without it. You set the small dishware on the counter with little clicks of ceramic against the marble countertop.

At your approval, he pours the coffee carefully into the small cups. You pick yours up immediately to absorb the warmth of the fresh brew against your palm.

Meanwhile, Perpetua uses his long fingers to gently cradle the cup. You can't be jealous of a cup. He brings the rim to his lips to imbibe the ebony liquid.

His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a soft moan.

You shift and take a sip of your own drink, "See? I'm much better than the machine."

His eyes are still closed in his caffeinated rapture. "The machine is quicker."

You scoff, "Not when you don't know how to use it."

He smirks. "You're right, cara. You always are." Your face is warm and it has nothing to do with the warm drink in your hands.

He leans over an picks up your free hand, leaving a sticky sweet kiss to your knuckles. "Thank you, cara mia, for sharing this with me." His eyes sparkle with a look you've only allowed to envision in your dreams.

"Its just coffee." You try and shrug it off.

Terzo unloaded the boxes in his arms onto a table with an unceremonious thud. He smiled easily at the imposing masked figure standing just inside the threshold, “Come in, come in- we’re in no rush. I need a moment to find some things…get comfortable if you like, Omega.” The ghoul tensed as he watched Terzo turn away to move deeper into the room. As much as he would enjoy taking a load off to watch the energetic little man strut about his chambers, he found himself hesitating. 

Terzo had a man and it seemed… exclusive. Omega had seen the new Papa showing some of the sisters pictures on his phone, beaming as they giggled and swooned over how ‘handsome’ this guy was. Terzo fussed over meeting his new lover for dinner after practice and agonized over what to buy his ‘new sweetie’ while he shopped on his phone…It wasn’t all the time, certainly not overkill for someone in a new relationship- but man, Omega kind of wished he would over do it. Then at least everyone else would be annoyed too.

But no, the poor ghoul was the only one left suffering because he was jealous. He knew it was dumb, what right did he have to feel so possessive? Sure, Terzo flirted with him quite a bit but Terzo flirts with everyone…unfortunately that fact hadn’t stopped Omega from catching feelings and quickly falling in lust. His barbed tail silently lashed the air in frustration as he waited by the door.

Terzo, who had been taking his sweet time ‘sorting’ through papers for the ones he had found almost instantly, looked up to check on his companion. He bit back a little sigh of disappointment, seeing the other stand ridged by the door. The Papa had been trying, fruitlessly, to orchestrate a moment in private so he could try and get extra friendly with the big, handsome ghoul. His more forward invitations had only ever yielded shy hums of agreement before being quickly played off with nervous laughter…so Terzo had opted for a more subtle approach. It was quite obvious (to Terzo anyway) that Omega found him attractive and he was certainly more than eager to cozy up to the ghoul. 

Sadly, it didn’t seem like today was going to be the day. Collecting his paperwork, Terzo made his way back over to Omega, who’s gaze snapped to him attentively. Seeing the look in his eyes, the smaller man tilted his head. “Is something the matter? You seem uneasy.” He asked, sneaking a gloved hand up to graze Omega’s chest. The demon grumbled, pulling back a bit, his tail moving in apparent aggression. 

“I don’t want your new guy to see me in here and get the wrong idea.” The ghoul explained curtly. The new Papa blinked in confusion,

“New guy?” He asked as he watched the usually stoic hellbeast shift on his feet.

“Seriously? Does your ‘handsome new roommate’ even know how you are with the band? I doubt he’d like it.” Ding. Oh. So that’s who this was about? Terzo felt the corners of his mouth start to tug upwards. 

“Ahh yes yes, he is quite the looker. Clever too.” A low grunt sounded in Omega’s throat, hands tensing into fists. The Papa smiled, blinking innocently, “And, no- he doesn’t know how I conduct myself around you and the others. I doubt he cares, to be honest.” Oh he was being so mean, but he was too busy enjoying how hot a tensed up Omega looked to care “As long as he gets dinner and time in bed with me he's perfectly happy.” The demon gritted his teeth,

“So is it not serious?” He could feel his face burning beneath his mask.

“Oh no, it’s quite serious. A ‘for life’ situation, I fear.” Terzo purred, offering a flamboyant little shrug. 

“Ah..” Suddenly the ghoul’s shoulders dropped, catching a few of Papa’s heartstrings on their way down. With an affectionate huff, the smaller man turned to inspect the curtained windows. "I think you two might get along quite nicely, actully. How about I introduce you?” 

Oh. Oh no. Absolutely not. That was asking for a fight- one Omega would likely win, yes, but at the cost of getting in serious trouble. The ghoul took in a sharp breath, stepping towards Terzo with urgency. However, before he could speak, Papa pulled back the corner of a curtain to reveal a large ball of fur on the windowsill. The demon froze, gaze locking on the fuzzy lump. With a gentle tickle along it’s back from Terzo’s fingertips, the sizable cat uncurled itself and yawned as it squinted in the sunlight.

“Hello, handsome. Would you like to meet Papa’s favorite ghoul?” Omega watched the old, fat cat accept a gentle stroke on the head as every ounce of adrenaline instantly drained from his body.

“He’s a cat.” The words fell from his lips, practically on their own. Terzo hummed in confirmation, grinning.

“Primo found him roaming the gardens. He seemed past his prime mousing days so I thought I would give him a comfortable retirement. He’s grown quite fat and happy already.” The way Terzo beamed clicked everything perfectly into place for Omega, who’s face dropped into his hands. 

“A cat…I- Papa I’m sorry I-“ The demon paused, feeling a body lean against his.

“Ah, dear ghoul. There’s nothing to be sorry for…” Omega looked down to see Terzo grinning, gloved fingers toying with the buttons on the ghoul’s shirt collar. “If anything I should say sorry for teasing you like that.” The ghoul hummed, interest fully shifting to the figure now pressed against his body. He sighed, shaking his head as he placed a tentative hand on Terzo’s waist. 

“I've been jealous of a fat old cat for weeks…” he chuckled a little at himself, stilling as a hand cupped the side of his mask. Terzo gave a smile, sweet but clearly mischievous, 

“Should I start scratching you behind the ears as well to make up for it, Omega?” The ghoul’s eyes seem to flash with newfound confidence.