You know, graveyards are really quite interesting places, especially older ones. Modern(er) ones lack the almost pleasant, somewhat eerie feeling of the older ones. You find such interesting--and sad--headstones, too.

At the moment, Taryn's examining one of them; poor guy was only twenty-six when he died. Not that much older than Taryn herself. Of course, the headstone didn't say how he'd died, so she was left to wonder. That was one of the things she liked about graveyards. So many stories there.

Even if she never did find out any of the true ones...

She was humming a little, looking at the (very nice) headstone, one hand on her hip and all her weight on her left foot, head cocked and a thoughtful expression on her face. Her hair is blowing around a little; that's the problem with short hair. It's impossible to contain.

Just ordinary jeans and t-shirt today, with her favorite splitsoled tennis shoes.

Nick had been lying invisibly on the other side of the headstone, flat on his back, when he heard her. He flipped over, visibled, and stuck his curly head just over the top of the gravestone. He was pressed close, so that even if she leaned toward him, she wouldn't see the bloodstains.
But why had he appeared at all?
The first thing in his mind had been to say excuse me, ma'am, that's mine, but he couldn't do that, could he?
"Um. Yes? Can I help you?" is what he said instead.

She started, then flushed.

"Oh, I'm sorry; am I bothering you? I can go, if you want..."

Indicating the headstone.

"A relative of yours?"

"Um...no, you're not bothering me. I'm an, um, historian. I was wondering if you wanted me to tell you anything."
He smiled.
"This one? Not exactly close, no...distant, distant cousin of his mother's family, and I never met him. As you can see, he died in 1917. His m-" A spasm of emotion crossed his face, but disappeared quickly. "Mother's headstone is to your left."

"Well... if's not any trouble... how'd he die? Polio or something?" She wouldn't guess murdered. She doesn't think that way, most of the time. At least, not on a sunshiney day, when she's in a good mood.

Real people don't get murdered, you see. That only happens to far off people without names.

(Although... real people do get raped. Eh. She's only naive just so far, and no farther.)

Nick shook his head. Slender, pale fingers hooked over the edge of the headstone, thoug he still didn't pull himself up any farther...despite that it might have looked less awkward.
"Murdered."

"Oh, how awful!"

And she means it, too; she's genuinely sorry for the young man, of whom all she knows is his name, his age, and that he was murdered.

"Poor guy..."

"Oh, it's nothing to get worked up over. By all accounts, he was a spoiled brat. Was."
I'm quite nice now, really.

"Even a spoiled brat doesn't deserve to be murdered," she countered. "Especially not so young."

Maybe somebody like Josh does... No, no, not even him. Nobody.

That's how she thinks in her more forgiving moments. Sometimes she thinks that he does indeed deserve death...

That pronouncement earned her a warm smile.
"I suppose it's true. He might have improved, if he'd lived to be older. Or..." his smile took on a mischeivous look. "What if he'd come back as a ghost? Do you believe in ghosts?"

"I bet he would've."

She shrugged.

"Sure, why not? I believe in just about everything else." Pause. "Except aliens. I draw the line at little green guys floating around in glorified tableware."

"I've never seen an alien. What could make someone come back as a ghost, I wonder..."
He tilted his head, looking thoughtful.

"I dunno. Depends on which stories you're reading. Vengeance, unfinished business, um..."

She shrugged.

"I've never seen an alien either." She has seen a faery, a god, and a boy who shapeshifts into a wolf, though...

"Hm." Nick considered this carefully. Without a trace of sarcasm in his voice, he murmured, "Who could I possibly have unfinished b..."
And then a panicked look crossed his face.

Taryn cocked her head.

"Who could you have unfinished business with? Iunno. Your murderer, maybe?"

Taryn has been getting much harder to shock, lately.

He looked stunned for a moment, because she hadn't screamed or...had any kind of reaction he'd expected.
"Well...I suppose she is still alive."

Well... frankly, Nick my dear, after meeting Death, it's a little less frightening to meet the dead. (Although, granted, she doesn't know even yet that Azrael was Death, but still.)

"... wow. She must be ancient by now..."

Her eyes are a trifle wide.

"Well that's the funny thing. She's not. She's not dead, but she looks just the same as she did when...er, back then."
He bit his lip, looking thoughtful.

"Weird."

And talking to a ghost in a graveyard isn't?

"So, um... how come you're hiding behind your tombstone like that?"

"Well...well, because I was pretending to not be myself, at first, and...well, it's sort of obvious."
He laughed rather falsely.
"And I wouldn't want to alarm you."

"Uh huh. So, now it's obvious that I'm not gonna be alarmed. So, you can come out and talk normal, right?"

She might be a little surprised when he shows up all bloody, though. Okay, actually, a lot surprised. And probably a little alarmed, right at first. And maybe a little longer.

A strained smile. Nick shook his head.
"Miss, there is no need. I was murdered, surely you can deduce that I am not a pleasant sight."

"Mm. I guess. Seems weird to be talking to an almost disembodied head, though."

Pause.

"What do you do, anyway? Besides haunting your tombstone. Don't ghosts usually haunt the places they were killed, or something?"

"Mm, my house was demolished years ago. I don't usually come here, either, but someone took something from me, and I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Mostly I just...wander around. Talk to people."
He frowned slightly.
"I would prefer that you didn't use the word haunt."

"Why? Isn't that what ghosts do? Haunt things?" Nick is much too sensitive. You'd think he'd have gotten used to this kind of thing over the years...

"What'd he take?"

"I don't know, I don't speak with other ghosts, but I do not haunt things. I go about my business."
As he didn't have any business, it got boring, but it was better than haunting.
"She took my coat, which allows me to move about more freely. Actually, less freely, but more humanly."

"So, what do you do, then? Manipulate your fortune from behind the scenes?"

I imagine it would get very boring indeed.

"So, get your coat back."

"Unfortunately, no. I've no idea where my fortune's gone. Mostly I just...hang around. Like I said, talk to people. I wander the museum, stand on streetcorners. Oh, and I take things from dead bodies."
A slightly mad-looking grin. That's what you get for pressing, Taryn.
"I shall have to, I suppose, but I don't think she'll be agreeable, and I do hate to use intimidation."

Eeee, dead bodies. Yuck.

"So, steal it. Float through the walls, grab the coat, and get out of there. Poof, you have your coat back and she doesn't even know how you got it."

... is it a bad thing that Taryn can think of something that easily?

"Oh, but I hate going through walls, and I think I'm supposed to be angry and shout at her or something. Besides, I don't know where she put it, and it would be so rude to search her house without permission..."
He looked vaguely distressed.

Taryn rolled her eyes.

"She stole your coat, and you're worried about searching her house without her permission? Yeesh, there's such a thing as taking being a gentleman a little too far, you know."

"Well, I don't really hold her responsible in a situation like that. She was an unpleasant person, to be sure, but I disappeared. She was in shock."

Taryn shrugged.

"So make your coat disappear. It's not like she actually has any reason to keep it, and you need it."

"I can't make it disappear, how would I do that?"
He tilted his head, confused.
"I can't dematerialize just anything, you know."

"Well, I didn't mean like that. But you could get in and take it really easily. Drop it out a window or something, walk through after it, and as far as she's concerned, it's disappeared."

Come on now, Nick, there's no reason to be gentlemanly to Jetta. She doesn't desreve it.

"But I hate going through things. And it the poor thing would think she'd gone quite mad, I'm sure."
Right. But she wouldn't think herself crazy if a bloody ghost showed up on her doorstep. Keep telling yourself that, Nick.

"Oh, I dunno. I lose stuff all the time; it's not like you're walking off with things that she uses all the time or something. You're just taking back something of yours. I bet she'd love to forget she ever met you, too."

Because if she could forget Azrael...

"I'm sure she'd notice if it was gone. I think she's using it to prove to herself that she isn't, in fact, mad."
He shook his head.
"No, for me, no good has ever come of displeasing a woman. I will do it the way it ought to be done-with grace and courtesy."
Then he nodded firmly.

"Well, good luck with that. Don't get killed a second time."

Is that even quite possible...?

"I wish I could." He sighed.
"Unfortunately, I'm likely to be stuck here for another...forever, as far as I know."