#isaboutdeath

     He’s been making himself at home, of course — because Beetlejuice has an innate ability to make himself feel comfortable anywhere. For the moment he enjoy’s a cigarette on the dilapidated front stoop of a rundown house, his fractured mind already running down ideas for the day; ways in which to entertain himself. Maybe he’ll find Chuck — or Sam, see if they are up to anything interesting.

      But it’s as the nightmare clown considers these options that his dark hues spot someone familiar; someone near and dear to his heart — if there even is such a thing. “LYDIA!” He calls, lurching to his feet while at the same time flicking the cigarette to the ground with wild abandon. “Lydia - babe it’s so good to see you.” He grins, wrapping both arms greedily around her frame, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“It’s not that I’m not into the whole big titty goth girl vibe,” he motions toward her, emphasizing his point as his hands gesture at her body. “It’s more that I have no fucking idea who you are. You could kill me. Right now. How am I supposed to trust someone who showed up outta fuckin’ no where, right?”