How to Train Your Poltergeist [Closed to Aradia]

[alethiological]

Most people, what with living normal lives and having sane modes of being, will come from work at a reasonable hour of the evening. They will probably clean up the place a bit, maybe make dinner or order it out, then go to sleep mentally walling themselves off from the very concept they have to wake up and deal with the same pointless stupidity for another day in an unending cycle until their inevitable demise.

Sadly, this is not one of those people. Instead a door is unlocked at just shy of four in the morning, opened to a pitch black room lit up by a single computer screen. The lights are flicked on - all bulbs still intact, good news, she's getting better - but the room remains dead and abandoned otherwise. Better news.

"Ghost Girl, get out of my computer." Punctuated by tossing his bag right on the couch where the laptop is. It's probably only dumb luck that keeps it from falling off. Or dead teenagers. Details, details.

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[megidoomed]

And there it is again, that odd stop-catch-restart that flits by in the span of a second, and she would've missed it completely if she hadn't already been staring. She has no time to pry into it, because ignoring the post-it note would be rude after all that hassle and she does want to set up her laptop properly, but it buzzes at the back of her thoughts regardless.

Something set off the sudden shutdown, clearly, but she can't tell what beyond the apology (which is ridiculous), or her screwing the password up to begin with (which is... less ridiculous). And if it's the latter, she's pretty much doomed to be tripping deadpan landmines forever.

But that can be worried over later, because internet. Glorious internet. The world is her oyster. "I wasn't planning on crashing anything. That'd be really counterproductive to actually being able to use it."

Plus, she'd feel bad about eating up his internet bill, even if she'd never admit it. Those get expensive.

[alethiological]

If it makes her feel better, the narrative can guarantee it's not her fault at all. Unfortunately, the narrative cannot convey this to the characters involved. Alas, poor ghost girl, continue being concerned until the sweet melodies of wifi drag you down into a tumblr-filled eternal sleep.

But who cares, she has internet. Take your bribe and go frolic through the internet meadows. The smile she gets is a bit cracked, too many fangs not enough feelings, but she gets a shrug when he retreats back out of This Is How Normal People Have Conversations Range.

"I don't know. You could always just nuke it and hack the neighbor's router to spite me."

-- Did he just give her an idea? Shit. Let us put it on good faith that Ghost Girl won't be terrible unless he did something to deserve it.

[megidoomed]

The problem with good faith is that implies she isn't considering this new avenue of emotional torture. "There's an idea."

Because really. It'd work all too well - all the fun of destroying something, with twice the benefits as everything would be available to use. And it's tempting enough to entertain for a lengthy moment as she fiddles with her old email password (shut up, it's been two years), but ultimately the idea gets discarded with little fanfare. "Luckily, that'd take too much effort."

It'd also require admitting she can't hack all that well, but details. She could always possess the neighbour's router and reset it or something. That's how electronics work, right?

[alethiological]

Aradia earns another stare again, unblinking and unmoving as stone, but unlike the first one it's simply. Blank. A middle ground between the listless apathy and the muffled panic, and if any descriptor could be given to it, it's probably somewhere around 'oh God in the heavens, please don't do that, please'.

It's too much effort. Good. The stare breaks away and he goes back for his coffee. Too many emotions today, it's unacceptable, it's weird, can they stop, "Let it be known that your mercy is appreciated by this one."

The wording is weird, but if she squints, there is just enough deadpan there to catch it as an actual joke and not the automated snaps she's encountered. At least he's able to lampshade the odd speech? It's kind of a positive, and at least she can be content knowing she's discovered Legitimate Emotions in there. Even if he's dumb.

"If you need anything else, say it." Bluntly worded, but honest with no spite behind it whatsoever. It's not dismissing if you're dismissing yourself after all. Logic.

[megidoomed]

It takes her a moment to catch the wording as a joke rather then another accidental moodflip, but when she does she can't help the grin. This totally counts as a victory, okay, she actually understood that one. This is the horror Mystery Dude has unleashed upon his life. There's no saving him now.

"I'll let you know if there's anything," because even if she feels awful for asking, it's still practical to acknowledge it. He has hands, she doesn't. All that means is she'll need to find a way to pay him back for it, someday, in favours or something else.

Even if he's a confusing pile of contradictions, he still went out of his way to help, and there's evidence of something buried under the apathy now. She needs to even that debt before she inevitably ditches the mortal coil.

Which reminds her-- "Oh. And... thank you."

Surprisingly, she has manners. Her habitual disregard for tact is a choice, not complete ignorance (usually) - it's there when it matters, and that's good enough for her.

[alethiological]

There's not even a nod to acknowledge her acceptance. She got the message. That's all that matters. The purpose is fulfilled, and it's just like removing a folding chair when an event is over. It's the same weird quality that allows someone to disappear in a crowded room - as long as the person thinks of themselves as invisible, other humans will believe the same.

So when she continues, she can spot the other pause. A hand rests on an open page, back turned to face her, and the exact flatline it causes remains unseen. It was a decision he made on his own, thanks were never expected. Gratitude alone is beyond rare in frequency. And she's so very sincere about it.

The sensation it causes is far too strange, so it's left unworded. Aradia earns a faint nod in her direction. There's no eye contact. "You're welcome."

The intent was delivered, and that's good enough.