Charlie had gone home and slept for nearly a full day. He didn't even remember dreaming, unusual in and of itself. Normally his dreams were more vivid than reality. He must have been very tired. He had gotten up this afternoon and been ravenous. All the leftovers in his fridge had gone the way of his howling gullet.

Mr. Jenkins seemed able to tell something was still bothering him. Of coarse he surely noticed Callie wasn't back. He said nothing of the girl's continued absence though. When Charlie had tried to fall back into his normal routine of work, Mr. Jenkins , gently told him it was too soon, and to go out and find something to do.

Charlie isn't really a social butterfly though, so he finds himself in this bar. Not drinking, because he simply doesn't drink. He is sitting here and brooding none the less. He doesn't seem to be the only one here to brooding so he doesn't feel very out of place. Besides, he can't stay home and brood he lives where he works.

He sits drinking a glass of water and wondering how that jerk Erik had gotten in his head.....some sort of telepathy, and he hadn't been able to figure out Charlie was possesed? Charlie glowered and tried to stop thinking about Erik. He really didn't like that guy. Of coarse he's so intent on glowering he isn't paying any attention to what is going on around him.

And this is what's going on around him: Music. Dance. Life. And in the person of a tall, pale gentleman, Death.

He's wearing red, which reems to be his new colour. Bright red jeans, skin-tight. A red T-shirt with a very post-punk, smudgey printing of a white skull. This all stands out brightly against his white skin, white lips, white hair, and white eyes.

Of course, for anyone in the Know, that's not what stands out about this particular gentleman. But hey... let's give that a rest for now.

Sliding through the crowd, nodding the the live music, wondering if Tympany is likely to stop by, he catches a... call ti a whiff... of something interesting.

Posession. A dead soul. A living one, clouded and fractured like an antique mirror.

Oh my.

The gentleman in red slips into a seat beside Charlie and offers him a white smile.

Charlie, dull and self absorbed Charlie wearing dull khaki chinos and a plain pale blue button down, wonders why anyone would sit with unextraordinary him. Charlie isn't really as boring as he wishes he were though.

He slides his glasses up on his nose and nods at the smiling new comer. There is something more than meets the eyes here, but George currently dominating the body, known as Charlie, can't put his finger on it.

"Can I help yu sir?" he asks doing his best to sound not so grumpy.

"Oh..." he shrugs, his thin shoulders ideal for this pursuit.

"Maybe, maybe not."

He glances at the bartender and shakes his head, indicating no drink for him, then looks back at Charlie, his white eyes scrutinizing.

"Come here a lot?"

"No, never, I was told to go out and do something. I didn't feel like doing anything. Sitting her drinking water is a compromise." He answers cautiously.

If Charles were paying attetion he would have pushed George aside by now, but he isn't. At the moment Charles is playing hopscotch in someone else's dream. Leaving George trying to remember exactly why the person sitting across from him should be familiar, especially the part about white eyes.

The gentleman in red nods-- that special nod that means 'I'm listening and waiting politely for my turn to say something.'

And it comes.

"There's something different about you." And I know what it i-is.

"You could say that, yes." Charlie says with a slightly uncomfortable squirm. This isn't his favorite topic of conversation.

"You sat down over here to talk about me?" he isn't terribly keen on being noticed by anyone, much less someone he know's he ought to remember something about. His hand trembles just a little as he sips at his water. This is creeping him out more than some of Charles's conspiracy theories do.

George would have seen him before, too. Once. Very briefly-- a tall man, all in white. White eyes. Cutting away his soul from his body and setting it free like a small bird.

He smiles, sitting here solid and human. Humanlike.

"Yes, I could say that-- and yes, I did. You caught my interest."

"Oh. So where does that leave me. I've caught your interest, what exactly would you have of me?" Somewhat flustered he pushes his glasses up on his nose again.

He doesn't want to be rude and simply blurt, what do you want? But he does get the feeling something is expected of him. That is a troubling feeling, knowing something is expected, and having no idea what it is.

The gentleman shrugs.

"A few minutes of alleviated boredom is all," he says. "When did you die?"

oh, blunt.

At the question Charles attention is peaked and so he takes a look at what George has gotten himself into. You should answer him. he tells George in a gentle but warning tone.

"November, 1935, I don't know the day, I was very sick." He answers. He suddenly recalls where he has seen this fellow before.

Death leans his elbow on the bar and nods to Charlie/George as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

"Yes, I remember you."

"Ah, well I would expect you have an impressive memory." he said nervously.

He waved for the waiter and asked for more water. His glass was empty, and he was suddenly parched. He was also sweating profusely.

"Chill out."

Did the temperature just drop?

"You're already post mortem." he grins, recognizing the fear in the ghost.

Yes George, settle down. Unless you'd prefer I do the talking? Charlie teases, it is fun to see George flustered, Charles has almost always delighted in it.

Charlie, with George still in control, nods. "Sorry, it just feels like quiz day at school or something....and I didn't study." he answers very frankly.

Death smiles smugly.

"It's nice to be recognized, and it's nice to be respected, but c'mon, I'd have appeared in a vision and made ice dance on your skin if I'd wanted a fanfare and a gaze of fear and awe."

Which he can do.

"So, I see you've got yourself a new body."

He ought to keep it down. This is, after all, an unnish bar.

" A majority of the time it's mine, Charles has trouble with it. Trouble with his perceptions, which I think he has gotten rather used to now though." he says.

It isn't visions and ice he's afraid of, it's being cut lose from another body.

"He can just posess a body of his own one day," Death says, brightly.

"Picking up where you left off?"

"Of his own....I would say I see but I don't see at all. I suppose, I'm picking up where I left off. I had not left off with much of anything though. "He said curiously. This was still very strange to him, why would Death pick this particular time to take an interest in him?

Because he'd happened by.

"So you're sort of making a new life for yourself."

Ha. Ha.

"Yes. That makes more sense than many other explanations. There are things I still want to do. This made sense, at least to me." he said somewhat bashfully.