arboreal_priestess | New Orleans, Thursday Night Into Friday, Stupid O'Clock In The Morning (Reply)

An hour later, Verity, Liam, Rose and Jermaine staggered out of the bar and onto the suddenly silent sidewalk. Verity could dimly hear the parties still raging in the bars to either side of them, and there were people on the other side of the street, happy, laughing, living people with drinks in their hands and smiles on their happily drunken faces. There was no one else on their stretch of sidewalk. A black coach, drawn by two equally black horses, was parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. A pale woman with lips painted tawdry drugstore red sat in the coachman's position, her back held ramrod straight by her pinstriped overbust corset. There was even a veil on her little ornamental top hat, hiding everything but those glaringly bloody lips from view.

Verity	"What the fuck is going on?" Verity demanded, eyes narrowing. She was feeling more sober by the second. Adrenaline would do that for a person.
Jermaine	"We've been slipping into the twilight since I came to join you," said Jermaine. "I thought you knew. Drink with ghosts, drop beneath the surface of the world you know."
Rose	"I tried to tell them, but you know how the living can be," said Rose, rolling her eyes. Jermaine shook his head, and for a moment the two of them were united, a perfect front against the scourge of people who hadn't yet had the decency to die. Then Rose straightened a bit, breaking their momentary accord, and said, "But Verity has a point. Why are we getting into a coachman?"
Jermaine	"Because my darling lady Amelia has offered to give us a ride to where we're going, and it will be faster than traveling either on foot or in that monster of a vehicle my messengers tell me you brought with you." Now all three of them turned to frown at Jermaine. His smile was quick, cool, and professional. "You don't think I would have come to speak to you without at least doing the basic surveillance, do you?"
Verity	"I don't know," Verity said, lips pursed. "You thought I was a Healy. That implies a few holes in your network."
Liam	"And what's a coachman?" Liam asked, both because he was curious and to distract himself from thinking about how a version of his mother might still be alive in this reality, albeit as a member of the Covenant. From the way Rose described it, she wasn't talking about the people who drive the horses around Central Park."
Jermaine	"Amelia is a coachman," said Jermaine, indicating the woman sitting atop the black coach. She turned toward her, and somehow the thin veil still obscured all but the broadest outlines of her features. "She drives straight and true, and always gets her passengers where they're going."
Rose	"And we'll be riding in her belly, don't forget to mention that fun little fact," chimed in Rose. "Amelia is the woman, and the horses, and the coach. She's the seats and the reins. They're rare these days. I haven't seen a coachman in years."
Amelia	"Most of us moved on years ago." The voice came from the direction of the lady-carriage, although her bloody lips didn't move. "With each passing day, the world grows a little farther away from the road that made us. Maybe someday it will decide to start making us again, and won't that be charming?"
Rose	"Yeah, I can't wait to meet my first trucker who's also a truck," said Rose. She folded her arms, eyeing Jermaine. "Do you swear that she's on our side?"
Jermaine	"Not in the slightest," he said. "But she's on my side, and for the moment, that should be good enough, shouldn't it?"
Liam	"I really don't like this," Liam muttered.
Verity	"Welcome to the club, I'll have laminated badges printed up next time we're near an Office Max and not dead." Verity put her hands on her hips and studied Amelia. "You are quite a thing."
Amelia	"Thank you," she said. There was still no motion from beneath her veil; the sound of her voice wasn't even associated with her face. It was coming from inside the carriage. "I promise not to consume you, little living girl, or your companions. Is that good enough for the troubled hitchhiker, or shall I also offer to tell you the location of my grave?"
Rose	"We're good," said Rose, sounding faintly disgusted. "Get into the digestive tract of the hybrid dead woman. Everything's fine."
Verity	"It's a good thing I've had a lot to drink tonight," Verity said cheerfully. "Hey Amelia, can I ride up front with...er, on you?" Look, this was a brand-new kind of ghost Verity had never heard of before. No one could blame her for being a little curious!
Amelia	There was a pause during which Verity thought that she might actually have startled the lady-carriage. Then Amelia began to laugh. "Oh, yes, please," she said. "Who knew this night was going to be fun?" The coach doors swung open.
Liam	Liam shot Verity a Look. He trusted her to be able to take care of herself, of course, but on the other hand... unlike a lot of what they'd encountered on this trip, this was something that was new to both of them and the idea of not being directly by her side should something go wrong was- Well. He didn't like it. Which he'd already said, so he wasn't going to bother repeating himself. Still... "There's only room for one of us outside the carriage," he said instead.
Verity	"Yup." Verity leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Listen to what Aunt Rose and the dead guy discuss. I'm going to pump the conveyance for information. You got this." It only took her a hop and a prayer to seat herself next to the human-seeming portion of Amelia's body. The others climbed into the waiting carriage. The door swung shut of its own accord, she flicked the reins, and they were off, riding silent and unseen into the New Orleans night.
Amelia	Amelia, it developed, not only had a wicked sense of humor, but she was addicted to terrible romance novels, the kind that even the library book sales usually wound up pricing at a dollar a box. "They fall into puddles, they are abandoned in the gutter, and their frail ghosts come to us, for a time," she confessed. "I have to read quickly, before they dissolve completely, but their stories are so stirring, don't you think?"
Verity	"I've enjoyed a romance novel or two in my time," Verity allowed, trying not to think too hard about where a woman who was also a carriage and a pair of horses - stallions, no less - would get a 'stirring.' Since Verity wasn't aiming to date her, it was really none of her business. "I tend more toward the non-fiction side of the shelf."
Amelia	"Ah," she said, sounding mournful. "A realist. How sad and adventureless your life must be."
Verity	It would be rude to laugh at her, and so Verity swallowed the urge, holding it in her belly like a ball of butterflies until it disappeared. "...Yeah," she said finally. "It can get a little dull sometimes, but I'm pretty good at finding things to occupy my time. You know, drinking with dead women, going for rides in haunted coaches...how are you a haunted coach, anyway? Was there some sort of post-death career fair, and this is what you chose?"
Amelia	"My father disliked the man I chose for myself. He was not rich, nor did he come from an excellent family, but he loved me. We would have been happy together. On the night we ran away, we were pursued. Our carriage took a turn badly; one horse broke his leg, the other, his neck. I was trapped inside while the whole thing burnt." She spoke as calmly and dispassionately as if she'd been describing the weather. "When I awoke, I was among the dead, in the place they call the twilight, and I had become the carriage that was meant to be my conduit to freedom. The universe never tires of little ironies, does it?" Verity stared at her veiled face, too horrified to look away. "How...how long ago was that?" "Oh, I don't know. Long ago. Everyone who knew me is dead and dust and buried, and my kind are rare in this age, as your little road ghost so delicately observed. But New Orleans is my home, and what of my horses? They are both of me and apart from me, and I can't be sure we wouldn’t be separated in whatever lies beyond this afterlife. Having spent so long together, it would be hell to be apart."
Verity	Verity blinked. A lot. "Death is more complicated than I thought it would be."
Amelia	"Oh, little living girl. You have no idea." She drove on, through the shadowy streets of the city. There weren't enough people; it was like being back in Rose's alley, where half of what Verity saw didn't seem quite right, and other half was only shadows. They were driving through whatever layer of the ghost world was accessible to the living, and while part of Verity thought that was the coolest thing ever, most of her really, really wished she hadn't had quite so much to drink before she allowed herself to be drafted by the dead. This seemed like the sort of thing that was absolutely destined to end badly. Verity had said that she was going to ride up front so she could pump Amelia for information, but as they drove through the dark, she couldn't think of a single question. All she could do was watch the world go by, shrouded in mist, filled with the dead. Amelia reined her horses in and brought us to a stop in front of a crumbling house with Victorian lines and caution tape strung around the porch. Verity heard the carriage door swing open, and looked over the side to see Rose emerging onto the street, closely followed by Liam and Jermaine. "Your destination," said Amelia. Those too-red lips curved into a smile. "I enjoyed our talk."
Verity	"I'll see about burning some really juicy romance novels for you before we leave town," Verity said.
Amelia	She smiled brightly. Somehow, the expression wasn't as disturbing as it should have been, even though the rest of what should have been her face was only an empty veil. "I would like that very much. Thank you, little living girl. If you ever need a ride in New Orleans, you need only throw a silver dime into the nearest pool of standing water and say my name." "Cool," Verity said, hopping down to the sidewalk. "Thanks." "You're welcome." The carriage doors slammed. With a gust of hellish laughter, Amelia went tearing off down the street, disappearing into the side of a wall.
Verity	Verity turned to the others. Liam looked bemused. Rose looked annoyed. Jermaine just looked confused, like this was the one potential outcome he simply hadn't banked on. "She's nice," Verity said. "A little creepy, in that 'dead for centuries and my butt is a carriage' sort of way, but nice."
Rose	"Your momma raised you right," said Rose with a smile, and turned to face the boarded-up, caution-taped deathtrap in front of them. The houses to either side weren't in much better condition. Verity guessed that they weren't in one of the better parts of town. "All right, Jermaine. Talk to me about the house."
Jermaine	"Condemned after bad storm flooding - the final straw in a series of final straws for the poor old dame. She was a beautiful home in her prime. I think she may haunt herself for a time, when she finally finishes struggling to stay alive." Jermaine's voice had an almost reverent tone to it, like the history of New Orleans and her houses was the most important thing in the universe. "Sadly, her owner didn't take the order to vacate very well." "Suicide?" guessed Rose. Jermaine nodded. "Pills and liquor. The coroner said it was quick; he had little time to suffer, and less to change his mind."
Liam	"Verity, is the dead man implying he has regular conversations with the city coroner?" Liam murmured, leaning in close in an effort to keep Jermaine from overhearing him.
Jermaine	Too bad for him he didn't realize that the dead have excellent hearing. "She's the great-great-grandniece of a close friend, and why shouldn't I have conversations with her?" asked Jermaine. "Besides, it's in my best interests to keep up relations with the friendly living. I am one of the oldest ghosts in this city. The ways in which people die are relevant to me. They impact how those people may manifest in the city's twilight."
Rose	"Man's got a point," said Rose. "So let me guess: he killed himself because he didn't want to leave his house, and after he died, he didn't leave the house. Has he become the house?"
Jermaine	Jermaine shook his head. "Thankfully, no. He haunts it, but hasn't merged with it. I think that, in his affection, he never considered that he and the house could be one."
Verity	"Do a lot of dead people merge with inanimate objects?" Verity asked warily, the image of Amelia still fresh in her mind. No member of her immediate family had left a ghost in at least three generations, but that didn't make the idea of becoming a permanent part of a lamppost or something very appealing.
Rose	"Usually it's only if they really, really loved those objects while they were alive," Rose reassured me. "Amelia probably didn't love her carriage, but I bet she loved her horses. Most ghosts just get what I got, the 'these are the clothes you died in and they’ll come back any time you're stressed or in danger' package. Don't worry about it, honey, I'm sure if you decide to stick around after you die, you'll stay bipedal and pretty."
Liam	"Your aunt has a very strange idea of what constitutes 'reassuring,'" murmured Liam. That there was maybe a little bit of pot calling the kettle black going on, considering how he'd mentioned more than once that he knew what fate awaited him once he died (again), it didn't actually occur to him at this particular moment.
Jermaine	"We construct our floats in the ghost of a warehouse that used to stand near here," Jermaine continued. "Since this man died, we've been having break ins, vandalism... always during the day, always when we have gone off to our duties or our resting places. He does not like what we do. He never cared for Carnival, and thought that once he joined the dead, he would get some peace."
Verity	"Instead, he got a party that doesn't have to follow civic regulations," Verity said. "Okay, but why do you need living people? He's a ghost, breaking ghost stuff, and this is outside our jurisdiction. I would think this is the kind of thing that falls under 'being tacky.'"
Jermaine	"He has dwelt in this home for seventy years," Jermaine said. "He buried his wife while he lived here. He greeted four children and watched them all leave the city that he loved behind them. He married his abode in all ways but the legal, and she does not want him to be bothered."
Verity	It took Verity a second to parse all of that. "The house won't let you in," she said. "Correct." "The haunted house with the angry dead dude in it won't let you in." "Yes." "And so you want us--" she gestured between Liam and herself "--to go in and convince him to stop breaking your shit, because you can't do it."
Jermaine	"Yes." Jermaine glanced toward Rose as he added, "All three of you. You walk among the living. That puts you in a much better position than any of my people."
Rose	"You don't have anyone who can borrow flesh for a night? In New Orleans? I call bullshit, especially when you’re walking around looking all solid and human and crap." Rose folded her arms, looking at him levelly. "You just didn't want to risk yourself, or any of your people, and when you saw a stranger who looked like she might fit the bill--"
Jermaine	"No. Stop." Jermaine's image flickered again, young man becoming old and foreboding before returning to illusory youth. "You are not a stranger here, Angel of the Overpass, Girl in the Diner. You haven't been a stranger here in fifty years. I would have come to you even if you hadn't been in the company of a living man who looked like he might be...useful." There was a speck of shame in the word. It faded quickly, replaced by a look of chagrinned amusement that probably went over well with the drunk bar girls. "I always wanted to meet the girl who thwarted Bobby Cross."
Rose	The 'aww shucks' charm didn't go over well with Rose. "Uh-huh," she said. "Are you denying that you wanted to talk to me because you didn't want to risk your own people?"
Jermaine	"No," Jermaine admitted, after a long pause. "They are dear to me. You may be a legend, but your afterlife has no personal value for me or for my city."
Rose	"Great. Just wanted to clear that up." She turned to Verity and Liam. "Wanna go meet the cranky old man who's trying to clear the dead kids off his lawn? It probably won't be fun, but it definitely won't be Old Man Smithers in a rubber mask."
Liam	Liam was just going to stare blankly at her. He was getting better at understanding pop culture references, but a lot of them still eluded him. Like that one.
Rose	Rose sighed. "Honey, I died before that show even came on the air. How is it that I can make the references and you don’t get them?"
Verity	"He had a sheltered childhood," Verity said blithely. "And I'm always game for walking into certain danger, as long as you promise to find me something solid enough that I can kick it in the crotch."
Rose	"Works for me," said Rose. She looked back to Jermaine. "Did you leave anything out? Keep in mind that I can haunt you so hard you'll think you’re back among the living."
Jermaine	"I have told you all we know, save for his name," he said solemnly. "You are entering the home of Mr. Benjamin Georges."
Rose	"Great," said Rose. "Let's go be Ghostbusters."
Verity	The walkway leading to the front door was cracked and broken, with tufts of grass shoving their way between the brick until they might as well have been walking on the lawn. Jermaine stayed on the sidewalk. Verity glanced back once, when they reached the porch; he had gone half-transparent, visible only in the way he bent the light. She looked back to Rose. "Okay, are we in the lands of the living or the lands of the dead right now? Because that seems like the sort of thing it would be good to know."
Rose	Rose mounted the porch steps with calm ease, stepping onto what appeared to be empty air. It held her weight. "You can't think of things as being black and white, not here," she said. "The twilight comes in layers. Right now, we're in one of the top layers, almost back into the daylight, but not quite. You're close enough to the dead that they can see you. Also, mind the missing step. I don't think you'd enjoy finding out what's under the porch."
Verity	"Great, like a haunted parfait," Verity muttered. "Ghost physics sound like a great time." The porch steps groaned and shifted as she and Liam climbed them, careful to avoid the broken places. They didn't give way. That was something, at least. Verity pretty nimble, but it was hard to dance the cha-cha with a broken ankle.
Liam	"So far, not a fan of 'ghost physics'," Liam observed. (Just being plain old non-corporeal on occasion was different, okay. Shh.)
Rose	"No one does," said Rose. The front door was blocked by a strip of caution tape but standing slightly ajar. It was also closed.
Verity	Verity blinked. The strange double-image remained. The door was open, showing a slice of mold-encrusted hallway beyond, and the door was closed, showing nothing but itself. The fact that it was happening at the same time didn't seem to matter. "Aunt Rose...?"
Rose	"I'll get one, you get the other one." She reached out and grasped the doorknob on the closed door, turning it until something clicked, almost sub-audibly. Slowly, she pushed the closed door open. It melded seamlessly with its double. She let go of the knob and looked at Verity. "Your turn."
Verity	Verity reached out. The wood felt normal under her fingertips: damp from the night air, but firm and solid. She pushed. It swung inward, revealing more of the moldy hallway. There was a threadbare carpet running down the middle of the floor. Mushrooms and muck covered the edges. "Ew."
Rose	"She's a beauty," said Rose, and stepped inside. Her jacket - Verity's jacket - remained on the porch. She spun toward them, her eyes wide and startled in her suddenly pale face, and Verity had time to see her clothing unravel into a green silk gown that would have been daring in 1952 but was old-fashioned now. Her hair grew out until it was long and the color of straw, hanging in curls past her shoulders - and then the door slammed by itself, and Rose was gone.
Verity	"Rose!" Verity flung herself at the door, grabbing the knob and twisting as hard as she could. It refused to budge. "Oh shit oh shit oh shit did I just get my dead aunt killed oh shit my parents are gonna murder me--"
Liam	"Let me try," Liam said, pulling a set of lockpicks out from the pocket of his duster. Verity just blinked at him. "What?" he said. "I like to be prepared." He inserted the tension wrench into the keyhole, followed by one of the picks. He moved the pick up, attempting to lift the pins that made up your typical tumbler lock. He could feel the slight resistance indicating their presence, but no telltale click indicating that the pick was moving them in to position. He tried again. There was a cracking sound, and when he withdrew the pick, it was sans point. He scowled. "As you wish," he said for the nth time this trip, this time apparently to the house, then pulled back his leg and kicked the door clean off its rotting hinges.
Verity	That was one way to take care of things. "Don't make me jealous of the murder house," Verity told him, peering inside the house and into the dark hallway. "Rose?!" There was no response. The hallway was empty, and smelled like the underside of a rock, all dampness and mold and unpleasant surprises. It was impossible to tell what color the walls had originally been; between the low light and the things growing out of the plaster, Verity had the impression of unvarying gray. "Rose?" she said, more hesitantly. And went inside.
Liam	Considering that 'As you wish' was followed by him kicking in the door, she had nothing to worry about there. He followed her inside, looking around warily. Behind them, the hinges creaked, and both Liam and Verity turned in time to see them swing back into a closed position, which would probably have been terrifying, if they had still been connected to a door. The splintered remains of the door itself twitched a little, but didn't fly off the floor and reassemble themselves. "Well," said Liam after a beat, sounding nonplussed. "That was profoundly anticlimactic."
Verity	"Go team anticlimax," Verity said. Wait. It felt weird to say that to Liam. Still... "Anticlimaxes keep you breathing." Unless you were never breathing to begin with. She turned to look back down the mold-encrusted hall. "We need to find Rose."
Liam	"There's a second floor," Liam observed, nodding in the direction of the decrepit-looking stairwell.
Verity	"Yeah, but without her, we don't have access to ghost physics, and without ghost physics, one or both of us is going to plummet through those rotten-ass stairs, which could mean falling all the way down into the cellar. There's no telling what's down there." Verity paused. "But maybe there's another way."
Liam	Liam gave her a dubious look. "Am I going to like this?" he said, in a tone that indicated he already knew her answer.
Verity	"Nope," Verity said cheerfully. "Come on back outside. We need to find a jacket, and a brick." And that was how she wound up half-drunk and dressed for a night on the town, clinging to the outside of a decrepit New Orleans house in the middle of the night, with a brick shoved into the pocket of her borrowed jacket. Once he'd figured out why she wanted his jacket, Liam had decided not to be pleased by the thought of her scaling the side of the building. she was doing it in order to smash her way through one of the second-story windows, so she figured the coat was among the least of her impending relationship problems. She glanced down. Liam was standing in the remains of the lawn, and while she couldn't see his expression from where she clung, she was pretty sure he wasn't smiling. "I am so good at marriage,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the climb. "I am like a goddamn ninja master of not upsetting my new spouse."
Liam	Yeah, Liam was watching her climb, scowling all the while. "I really don't like this," he muttered to the empty air. He trusted Verity implicitly, knew 'scaling a house' (even while somewhat inebriated) was perfectly within her skillset... And hated every minute of standing out here, watching her do so in order to go potentially confront a malevolent ghost alone in order to get her also-a-ghost aunt back.
Verity	At least the house wasn't trying to shake her off, and while she'd stuck her fingers into a few rotten boards and patches of mold, nothing had started bleeding or developing unnecessary teeth. Her guess had been right: Mr. Georges might have a degree of control over the interior of his house, but it didn't extend to the outside - hence why Rose had been able to keep her grip on the coat until she crossed the threshold. The roof was tiered to keep rain from building up. Verity swung herself over the lowest tier, only scratching her hands a little on the tarpaper shingles, and found herself looking into the dead black eye of an upstairs window. She smiled. "Ninja master," she repeated, pulled the brick out of her pocket, and bashed the crap out of the glass. No one ever said that she was subtle. When you spend your life figuring out what shade of sequins best sets off your eyes, 'subtle' is one of the first things dumped out of your toolbox. But when it came to making an entrance, Verity was your girl. The brick cleared out most of the glass. A few quick hits with the heel of her right foot while she dangled from the top of the window frame took care of the rest. It was all very fainting Gothic heroine of her, and she was feeling pretty smug as she slithered through the now glass-free opening and into the waiting house. Glass crunched underfoot as she settled her feet gingerly on the floor... ...which promptly gaped wide beneath her, sending Verity plummeting down into the darkness. She shrieked despite herself. No amount of training or preparation could completely quiet the primitive human hindbrain, which knew full well that falling into the dark was never a good thing.
Liam	Okay, yeah, nope, he was so far beyond not liking this now. The sound of that muffled shriek had him bolting for the door of the house, ghost physics be damned.
Verity	The shriek lasted longer than her fall did. Verity hit the floor butt-first, landing hard enough that she was going to have a bruise, but not hard enough to break anything, thank god. With as many buildings as she'd jumped off of, she did not want to wind up with a broken ass because she got swallowed by a haunted house. Dust and splinters rained down on her as the ceiling closed up again. "Ow," she complained. There was no point in trying to be quiet. Mr. Georges clearly knew that she was here, if he was ordering his house to eat her.
Rose	"Took you long enough."
Verity	"Aunt Rose?" Verity straightened and turned toward the sound of her voice. Rose - still in her green silk prom dress, with her hair snarled around her face and falling out of its careful ringlets - was sitting in a straight-backed old kitchen chair. Not voluntarily, either: she was tied in place, which was no small trick, considering that she was dead. "Aunt Rose!"
Rose	"In the not-so-solid flesh," she said sourly. "Asshole yanked me right out of my coat."
Verity	"We noticed," Verity said, picking herself up and half-walking, half-limping over to Rose's chair. She reached for the rope, but her hand went straight through it, and wound up somewhere in the vicinity of Rose's kidneys. Verity stopped, blinking.
Rose	"Get your sticky fingers out of my internal organs," Rose snapped. "Did you forget the whole 'dead' part? You can't touch me."
Verity	"Can't you, you know, turn solid?" Verity asked, even though she already knew the answer. Her interactions with Rose had always involved her becoming incarnate. She knew she was dead. She'd seen her aunt walk through walls and disappear into thin air. But she'd never really considered how inconvenient that could be.
Rose	"Not without a coat," Rose said, giving Verity a look for that dumbass question. She sighed. "I can't even put your coat back on. It's a one-use per night situation."
Verity	"That's good, because I left my coat outside with Liam; the pockets were too small," Verity said, starting to shrug out of her borrowed duster.
Rose	Rose gave her niece a dubious look. "Too small for what?"
Verity	"Bricks. Have you noticed how girls never get good pockets? It's like the people who design women's clothing think that purses fulfill all our carrying-heavy-shit needs, and I, for one, feel like that's just not true." Verity slung Liam's duster over Rose's shoulders. "Ta da."
Rose	She didn't flicker, but she became suddenly more present, the weight of her making the chair she'd been tied to groan and settle more determinedly to the floor. "Why the hell were you carrying bricks in your pockets?" she asked. "Hang on, I don't want to know." The rope that had been used to tie her down had been intended to hold a girl with neither skin nor substance. Rose stood easily, ignoring the phantom knots etched against her skin. Ghost physics. The rope held its position for a moment before falling to hang limply all around the chair. Then it disappeared, going back to wherever it was ghost ropes went when they weren't in use. "Nice trick," said Rose approvingly. She slipped her arms into the duster's sleeves. As Verity had predicted, back when this whole evening had started, it hung around her like a leather tent. "Think your husband is losing his shit by now?"
Liam	The list of things Verity had been kidnapped by now included a house, so yeah. Liam was not having a good time. Especially since between when they'd left the house and when he went running back, the door had fixed itself, so he was briefly slowed down by the need to kick the damn thing in again.
Verity	"I'm sure he's fine," Verity said blithely. "Let's see. The house took you, and then the stairs looked unsafe, so I climbed up the side and smashed in one of the windows with a brick. And the last thing he heard was me screaming." So yeah, Liam was probably a little upset by now.
Rose	Rose gave Verity a flat look. "You thought the stairs looked unsafe, so you climbed the house?"
Verity	"What makes that so surprising? You've met me." Verity looked around the room, shivering a bit. "Is it cold in here?" Sure, it was January, but it had just been in the mid-50s a moment ago.
Rose	"Yeah. It is." Rose's eyes narrowed as she focused on the corner of the room. "You can show yourself now, Mr. Georges. You've milked the 'I am a scary ghost ooo' routine about as far as you can, and I am out of patience with your theatrics."
Benjamin Georges	"Let an old man have his fun, huh?" asked a voice out of nowhere. A figure began assembling itself in the corner, fading into view so slowly that every time Verity blinked, he looked just a little bit more solid, a little bit more like a person, and not a trick of the light. It wasn't at all like the way Rose and Mary would appear, going from nothing to something in less than a second. This was slow, and likely painful. Anything that looked so impossibly hard had to be painful.
Liam	Which was about when Liam appeared in the doorway, a cross between relief and exasperation- an expression he found himself wearing far too often around Verity- on his face. "You're not dead," he noted.
Verity	"I could be," Verity pointed out. Helpfully. "All the other dead people we've met tonight have looked perfectly alive, unless they were part carriage." Was now really the best time to be pedantic, Verity?
Liam	"But you're not," Liam reiterated, walking over to where Verity stood, hands cupping her cheek briefly, skimming down her arms, as if to reassure himself that she was, in fact, whole and hale.
Verity	"I'm not," Verity agreed. She pointed to the corner, where Benjamin Georges had almost finished the long, slow process of materializing. "We found our host."
Liam	"Mm." Liam narrowed his eyes. "Does your host want to explain why you were screaming? Or how you got down to the first floor without using the stairs?"
Verity	"I don't think we're allowed to punch the dead," Verity mused.
Rose	"No, but I am," said Rose. She had apparently decided that Georges was solid enough to start answering questions: she strode across the room, her green silk gown rustling around her feet, and stabbed a finger at his translucent chest. "Hey, asshole, what do you think you're doing? This is not good neighbor behavior."
Benjamin Georges	"You were an unfamiliar ghost, I had to defend myself," Georges answered, taking a step backward. The movement put his shoulders into the wall, which was bizarre looking. "I'm allowed to defend my home," he repeated, mulishly.
Liam	"You're a ghost too, sir," Liam said, voice firm yet with an undercurrent of gentle sympathy. Yes, he was still upset about what the ghost had done to Verity- and Rose-, but that was just how he rolled. "You might want to consider making friends with the other dead people."
Benjamin Georges	He glanced in Liam's direction and frowned. "No. They say I am dead because they want me to leave my home. They want me to let them tear her down. She doesn't suit their beautiful new city, their modern New Orleans. So they tell people I have died, and they send ghosts to disrupt my peace, and it changes nothing. I will close my doors against the dead, I will smash their infernal machines, and I will endure. That is what I do."
Verity	Verity blinked and looked first to Liam, then to Rose. A picture of what was going on here was slowly beginning to form, and it wasn't pretty. "The man who asked us to come here said that you were destroying the floats because you didn't like Carnival, and you wanted some peace and quiet. Is that true, sir?"
Benjamin Georges	"I hate Carnival," he groused, and leaned forward, out of the wall. His edges seemed to become clearer as he moved. Like Jermaine, he looked younger than he was: he'd supposedly lived in this house for seventy years before he died, but Verity wouldn't have placed him at more than twenty-five. "Just an excuse for tourists and vagabonds to drink and tear up the streets. They moved in right next door to start building their damn floats, what did they expect me to do? A man's got the right to--"
Verity	"Defend his home, I got that part," Verity sighed. "Aunt Rose?"
Rose	Rose sighed. "Yeah, I follow. You're going to need to find me another coat. I am going to need so much beer after this. Beer, and bourbon, and then we'll start drinking." She shrugged off Liam's coat, letting it fall to the floor, and her body took on the faint translucency that meant she was no longer pretending to be among the living. Benjamin Georges gave her a wary look. This was his worst fear, after all: a ghost inside his home. The poor man had no idea. Rose stepped closer to him, speaking softly and making short, sharp gestures with her hands.
Liam	Liam darted in to grab his coat, slinging it over one arm as he grabbed for Verity's hand with the other. "What now?" he asked her.
Verity	Verity glanced back over her shoulder. Benjamin Georges was staring at her aunt in disbelief. Rose was still talking. She couldn't understand a word they were saying. That was good. There are some things the living just weren't meant to know. "She'll be fine," Verity said, and pulled Liam with her into the hall and down the stairs. Liam and Verity sat on the half-rotten porch, waiting. Jermaine stood on the path nearby. He had finally agreed to approach the house after she'd sworn that Rose had things well in hand, and he still looked uneasy about being that close. Verity eyed him. "You're the dead one," she pointed out. "What can he do to you? Wave his hands around and make spooky noises?"
Jermaine	"The dead are perfectly capable of harming one another, I assure you," he said, frowning at Verity.
Verity	Apparently, she wasn't taking things seriously enough for him. That was his problem. "Yeah, well. My money's on Rose."
Jermaine	"I sincerely hope your luck will hold."
Verity	"Me, too." She leaned over to rest her head against Liam's shoulder. "My butt hurts. We should have stayed at the bar."
Liam	"I agree," Liam said dryly. Which was saying kind of a lot, considering his general dislike of drinking.
Rose	Footsteps behind them. Verity lifted her head and turned. Rose was standing on the porch, once more dressed in her preferred tank top and jeans, her long blonde curls replaced by a more modern style. In short, business as usual...except for the nervous-looking man who stood beside her. Benjamin Georges still looked twenty-five, but he was dressed like an old man, in suspenders, loose tan trousers, and a plain white T-shirt. His fashion sense hadn't caught up with his self-image. It would, if Jermaine was anything to go by. "Jermaine Favre, I'd like you to meet Benjamin Georges. Benjamin has something he wants to say to you." Benjamin frowned at her. Rose elbowed him in the side. The blow clearly hit its target, because he winced: apparently ghost-on-ghost violence really was a thing.
Benjamin	"I'm sorry I damaged your things," Benjamin said reluctantly. "I was confused. I didn't understand my situation." "And?" prompted Rose. "And it won't happen again," muttered Benjamin.
Jermaine	"Then all is forgiven," said Jermaine. "Providing, of course, that you are willing to help us redo the work you have undone. There’s only so much time between here and Carnival, after all."
Benjamin	"I used to be pretty handy with a hammer," Benjamin said slowly. Jermaine smiled. Benjamin smiled back. Rose rolled her eyes and mimed more drinking.
Verity	An hour and another rousing discussion of romance novels with Amelia later they were back at the bar, Rose now wearing a coat Jermaine had purchased from a drug dealer in a nearby alley and genially teasing Liam about giving the living a bad name by only drinking water. For all that the bar still seemed full to bursting, the only living people left in the place were Verity, him, the staff, and the city coroner, who had come straight over from work after Jermaine called her. Benjamin Georges was sitting with a table full of new friends, regaling them with tales of how he'd haunted his own house. Jermaine was flitting from group to group, smiling, shaking hands, and demonstrating clearly how he had glad-handed his way into being one of the city’s most influential dead people. "So this is what it's going to be like," Verity said to Liam, as Rose peeled off to demonstrate the trick to tying a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue. "Tonight was pretty extreme, but in general? This is what it's going to be like."
Liam	Hey now, it wasn't just plain water, it was soda water, plastic cocktail dinosaur perched on the edge of the glass. "What what's going to be like?" Liam asked her.
Verity	"My family. Being my family. Having the name 'Price' appended to yours." She waved a hand to indicate the room. "We're not weirdness magnets, but we've spent a lot of time collecting weird stuff, and sometimes it follows us home."
Liam	"Oh, well, if that's all," Liam grinned at her over the rim of his water glass. "As one of those 'weird things that followed you home', I think I can live with this."
Verity	Verity clinked her glass - very alcoholic, thank you - with his and smiled. "In that case...what do you say we head home tomorrow, huh? If we leave early enough, we can probably still make the picnic..."