[For Lisa]

[statement_ends]

John might not be keeping his finger on the pulse of Darrow's suburban development plans, but he's reasonably certain that the cul-de-sac and the enormous two-story house that dominates it have sprung up at a speed that beggars belief. Darrow might resist any eldritch certainty he tries to apply to the situation, but he's still confident that none of this was here a month ago.

Granted, it isn't impossible that the developers would have focused on finishing up one house first — a standing advertizement of what's to come, more effective than any 'just you wait' placard they'd otherwise be relying upon. That could explain why one structure stands completed while the rest of the plots are either still sitting empty or in earlier stages of construction. But something feels off about it, and it takes him a few seconds to realize what's really bothering him.

How fast does ivy grow? Not fast enough to cover so much of the brick facade in only a few weeks, surely.

That justifies a closer look. John walks closer, projecting the same casual, I'm-supposed-to-be-here confidence that used to get him into all kinds of restricted areas as a child. The neighboring construction workers don't pay any particular attention to him, which could be down to his acting skills, or could just be down to the locals' tendency to ignore anything odd so long as it poses no immediate threat.

As he nears the structure, he checks for any signs of occupation, but the lawn is devoid of lawn ornaments, gardening tools, or toys. Maybe it is just a model home, rampant ivy growth aside. He briefly considers knocking on the front door, decides that might be too conspicuous (not to mention foolish looking, if it is indeed unoccupied), and instead cuts around the side of the house, as if he's simply taking a shortcut over to the next block.

And if he hesitates, peering into one of the windows at the seemingly bare room beyond... well, an occupied home would have furniture, wouldn't it? And if it's meant to be a model home, then a prospective buyer could be excused for stepping up to the glass to get a better look at the interior.

Comments

[busybetty]

There it is again. 'The rulebook' Lisa keeps hearing about. It's kind of hard to know which rulebook to use when she barely even knows what fucking game she's playing, but he moves on, goading her, before she can point that out. What he says, though, how he says it, makes her queasy.

"Actually, it might, Smartass," she snaps. "You have no idea what it feels like to try to step off your haunting place. It fucking hurts. It hurts a lot." She tries not to remember how badly, the way it had knocked her down, knocked her out, and she'd woken up exhausted on her bed again.

But even she has to admit that the guy might have a point. She has met one other ghost who wasn't trapped in her haunting place, who told her that they weren't just ghosts here anymore. She looks at the curb like it's an animal that's just waiting for her to get too close.

She sighs, hugging herself. "Look, you're not the first person that's told me the rules are different here. But forgive me if I'm not jumping at the chance to be Gullible Gabby, or whatever."

[statement_ends]

"And what would I know about pain," John drawls, eyes narrow and tone downright desiccating. He knows he's being a prick, but given the copious scars covering his person — particularly the one across his throat, which is high enough that only a severe turtleneck might cover it, and therefore always visible — it does feel a bit rich of her to suggest that he can't begin to imagine whatever discomfort she's suffered.

Still, when she slumps a little, he feels no particular desire to stir her back up. "You can do whatever you like," he says, a little more gently. "But no one's lying with the intention to hurt you." After a beat, he adds, "And sometimes the reward is worth the risk."