...I'm sure I can speak for all of my boys when I say being dead has been a real drag. Sure, being incorporeal has its quirks, and possessing stuff can be 'fun'...
But being a ghost in a tiny town like Hatchetfield gets lonely sometimes, so why not come talk to us?
We can reminisce on old times, or talk about the present, even.
[OOC, Extra Info, and More! Below The Cut]
Hi there! I'm Kursed ( @kursed-curtain ), they/them or dude/bro/guy pronouns. You may also know me from my more active RP sideblog @peteypiper !
This is a very self-indulgent and headcanon-heavy blog as canonically these guys have... almost nothing?? Pretty much canon-compliant, though (to the best of my ability)
Also, be patient with me, I don't know anything about football </3
Context:
The "Workin' Boys" have been dead since the 80s, so finally getting stirred from the grave in the 21st Century has been... Jarring, to say the least.
Most of their relationships are strained, by time and by death, so they wander Hatchetfield doing normal ghost things.
Ask Guidelines:
Asks can be addressed to anyone on the blog! Please say who you're talking to in your ask just to make it clear - otherwise I'll usually assume you're talking to all the Boys collectively, or anyone who has recently talked.
Nothing's too off-limits - all of them can handle suggestive content, and absolutely ask about blood and death - so feel free to send asks of all sorts, including RP starters, M!A, and other interactions :))
(M!A in particular will not work every time, I work off of Rule of Cool and whatever would be either funny or fitting within reasonable parameters.)
I do have the ability to not answer asks that I don't want to. Perhaps they may not fit the current storyline, maybe I can't think of how to respond, but overall I don't answer every question. Feel free to send a ton of asks though!! Maybe one of those many asks will make it through!
Blog Format!
[ I tend to talk OOC in the tags! Sometimes I forget my brackets lol so just assume things in the tags are probably OOC, lol ]
---
Actions and non-dialogue text are written in italics.
---
Greg Jรคgerman - Tends to lead the group most often, especially now that Chad is too busy in his own nonsense. Actively investigating the causes behind that freak storm that killed them all. Surprisingly, more of a loner despite his leader status. Also known locally as The Football Ghost, as he haunts the football field more often than not.
Steve Kahlberg - Quieter and shyer, especially when not with the boys. He's taken to possessing phones and hiding in dumpsters, more scared of others than others are of himself. Loves collecting badminton birdies, beachcombing, and is also a priest.
Stu Lauter - He was a flashy dance instructor in his prime, before business caught up to him. Stu misses having that livelihood of his youth, and dances even when the mood doesn't call for it. Can be found frequenting open areas, dancing under lampposts, or trying to make conversation with people who can't see him.
Mark Levi-Brisby - A typical rich prettyboy at first glance, Mark wanted so desperately to separate himself from that part of his reputation. He wanted to make a name for himself, detached from his family of many, many siblings... But with some of the money to support himself. Loves animals, and used to own a few pets of his own. (Note: not to be confused with Mark Chasity, who is very alive and not a ghost)
Leighton Keyes - Lover of the ivory keys, Leighton is known for his piano skills (self-taught at an eatery he used to work at) and increasingly long nicknames (his "Leighton longnames," as the others affectionately call them). A helpless romantic, he still doesn't know what happened with his old lover Gary.
Chad - ...An enigma. Swamped, with business. Getting an answer out of him won't be easy, but you can try.
[ I'm kinda deltarune pilled while being workinpilled and it is fusing in my brain into 'Mark is kinda Flowery...' ]
[ Flowers blooms where he walks ! ]
[ All of the Boys have a sort of tropey archetype that they had during their college days, and Mark is very preppy popular boy that when you look at him there's a pink filter and cherry blossoms so likeeeee ]
It was dark out, lamplight flickering at the mere presence of one ghost, let alone two. Stu leaned on the street lamp, and had been for the past few hours.
Hi, Stu!
Ayy, how's it going, big M.K.?!
Chill as usual, don't worry. I had a pretty good day today, I'd say.
Great to hear, man!
...Oh! Some cool kid, Kris, wanted me to tell you that she finished her work.
Conquered the dreaded circle theorems???? Sick news!
He nearly falls out of his chair. A frantic fumbling of limbs that will leave at least two new bruises on his knee and shin both as he rights himself and stares at the phone in surprise.
It's a chunky, old phone with a tightly curled cord, yellowed with age, dusty with disuse.
No one calls him.
Hi. This is Professor Henry Hidgens here! I'm not able to answer the phone right now so please leave a message after the beep. - (there is a long pause here) - and if you're selling anything I've had enough business!
The answering machine clicks on. Henry tries to push his hair down but the static in the air refuses to subside. His breath catches and comes out misty before him. Like the temperature has suddenly and inexplicably dropped...
Normally, Hidgens would let the machine take it. Question whoever it was and their sanity for not knowing how an answering machine works of all things. But not today.
Not with that voice.
It is one he knows.
Hidgens has never quite moved so fast to answer the phone before. A straight up scramble that further bruises his limbs. It doesn't matter. He MUST answer that phone.
Steve? Steve is that truly you?
He's breathless, panting with exertion and desperation.
There's the sound of something clattering on the other end of the phone, or more like the sound of completely fumbling the phone and then hastily picking it back up.
His lungs catch in surprise and elation. And another, third thing.
Grief.
Strong enough to turn any words into a half choked sob. He knows this isn't real. It's likely another one of his blasted hallucinations, the kind he's gotten ever since that fateful lightning strike that took all his boys from him.
... Yes. Yes, it has Steve.
He will indulge in this. For as long as he can. Even if it hurts.
It's good to hear your voice. Still awkward as ever on the phone, aren't you? he teases. Hidgens sits in his chair and holds the phone close to his ear, the cord wrapped up in his arms like he wishes he could do to the person he speaks to.
Oh you know me, Steve gives a halfhearted chuckle at Hidgens' quips, I... I work better with scripted calls.
Steve simply basks in Hidgens' company, the presence of familiarity. Oh, what he would give to sit in a fond embrace once more. Steve knows such a dream is unattainable, not now, not with these... Circumstances, so to speak.
His voice is soft, and a bit stilted, but an effort to sound warm (despite the chill Steve leaves in the air) is made,
But I... I shouldn't be talking business. Where are my manners... How have you been?
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
Greg definitely knew grief all too well, almost personally. Its all-consuming power held Greg hostage in his own mind. He wasn't about to admit the fact out loud, but...
Let's change the subject.
I'm looking into my... Our death. And I'm sure you know something, anything about it.
>The reflection gains a small sparkle in its eye. An almost cruel amusement.
There it is... I knew you'd ask eventually. That grueling question about the uncertain past, as I said.
You're right, lightning doesn't do that.
Not regular lightning anyway.
It was not a natural phenomena.
It was not something from the clouds.
It was something from much further beyond.
From someone much further beyond.
>The voice began to warp ever so slightly. Almost like it was coming through an old, shoddy radio, constantly switching stations.
Greg impulsively tried to grip at the chair - feebly, fruitlessly, of course, he couldn't make contact with it.
He's been trying to stave back the fear, but it shows on his face now.
And yet curiosity- no, there's a better word for this... A seething hunger for the TRUTH... An incompleteness... A hole in his aching, cold heart... gets the better of him.
He doesn't even have to say it aloud. His entire being screams 'Yes.'
Despite how much he wants to look, it hurts to do so, like trying to keep his eyes open while staring into the sun. His entire being wants to get away. It's that heinous repelling sensation from when he first got here, multiplied tenfold.
(A part of him needs to know...)
Greg falls off the chair. Pretending to sit wasn't a very big priority anymore when he was physically in duress. He grips his ears, the sensation unbearable, everything horribly unbearable.
>As Greg fell from the chair, everything stopped.
>The mirror tweaked and blipped back to normal as his reflection was no longer there to be morphed and molded.
>The room fell silent, the mirror blank aside from a light mocking hum, like melodic laughter.
guy who gets a pepsi from the break room vending machine every day after his work shift & amiably says โgotta have a pepsi!โ while grinning & passing it back & forth between his hands but one day the pepsi is sold out & he leaves the building robotically with a completely flat expression & isnโt seen at work again
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
Greg definitely knew grief all too well, almost personally. Its all-consuming power held Greg hostage in his own mind. He wasn't about to admit the fact out loud, but...
Let's change the subject.
I'm looking into my... Our death. And I'm sure you know something, anything about it.
>The reflection gains a small sparkle in its eye. An almost cruel amusement.
There it is... I knew you'd ask eventually. That grueling question about the uncertain past, as I said.
You're right, lightning doesn't do that.
Not regular lightning anyway.
It was not a natural phenomena.
It was not something from the clouds.
It was something from much further beyond.
From someone much further beyond.
>The voice began to warp ever so slightly. Almost like it was coming through an old, shoddy radio, constantly switching stations.
Greg impulsively tried to grip at the chair - feebly, fruitlessly, of course, he couldn't make contact with it.
He's been trying to stave back the fear, but it shows on his face now.
And yet curiosity- no, there's a better word for this... A seething hunger for the TRUTH... An incompleteness... A hole in his aching, cold heart... gets the better of him.
He doesn't even have to say it aloud. His entire being screams 'Yes.'
Despite how much he wants to look, it hurts to do so, like trying to keep his eyes open while staring into the sun. His entire being wants to get away. It's that heinous repelling sensation from when he first got here, multiplied tenfold.
(A part of him needs to know...)
Greg falls off the chair. Pretending to sit wasn't a very big priority anymore when he was physically in duress. He grips his ears, the sensation unbearable, everything horribly unbearable.
He nearly falls out of his chair. A frantic fumbling of limbs that will leave at least two new bruises on his knee and shin both as he rights himself and stares at the phone in surprise.
It's a chunky, old phone with a tightly curled cord, yellowed with age, dusty with disuse.
No one calls him.
Hi. This is Professor Henry Hidgens here! I'm not able to answer the phone right now so please leave a message after the beep. - (there is a long pause here) - and if you're selling anything I've had enough business!
The answering machine clicks on. Henry tries to push his hair down but the static in the air refuses to subside. His breath catches and comes out misty before him. Like the temperature has suddenly and inexplicably dropped...
Normally, Hidgens would let the machine take it. Question whoever it was and their sanity for not knowing how an answering machine works of all things. But not today.
Not with that voice.
It is one he knows.
Hidgens has never quite moved so fast to answer the phone before. A straight up scramble that further bruises his limbs. It doesn't matter. He MUST answer that phone.
Steve? Steve is that truly you?
He's breathless, panting with exertion and desperation.
There's the sound of something clattering on the other end of the phone, or more like the sound of completely fumbling the phone and then hastily picking it back up.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
Greg definitely knew grief all too well, almost personally. Its all-consuming power held Greg hostage in his own mind. He wasn't about to admit the fact out loud, but...
Let's change the subject.
I'm looking into my... Our death. And I'm sure you know something, anything about it.
>The reflection gains a small sparkle in its eye. An almost cruel amusement.
There it is... I knew you'd ask eventually. That grueling question about the uncertain past, as I said.
You're right, lightning doesn't do that.
Not regular lightning anyway.
It was not a natural phenomena.
It was not something from the clouds.
It was something from much further beyond.
From someone much further beyond.
>The voice began to warp ever so slightly. Almost like it was coming through an old, shoddy radio, constantly switching stations.
Greg impulsively tried to grip at the chair - feebly, fruitlessly, of course, he couldn't make contact with it.
He's been trying to stave back the fear, but it shows on his face now.
And yet curiosity- no, there's a better word for this... A seething hunger for the TRUTH... An incompleteness... A hole in his aching, cold heart... gets the better of him.
He doesn't even have to say it aloud. His entire being screams 'Yes.'
I have been told that I have been... too reclusive for my own good. Seeing as that is not inaccurate and I seem to be finding myself hoping for the phone to ring โ a rarity as of late โ or talking to my Alexa for company, perhaps this strange blog will help. With a bit of finagling (as I am still not used to all this internet in and outs or workings yet, due apologies), I have got it!
Also Alexa helped when I asked.
Anyway, Iโm here now. Looking for connection without actually leaving my house! Egads, it... is... genius!
Please, message me. Ask me things. (At worst I can ask Alexa...). Itโs that or I may go crazy.
Though Hatchetfield is rather insane. The things Iโve seen. What I know. If you understand me when I speak of five figures in black, do contact me. There is much to discuss.
Otherwise, begone! I am done with this post.
[OOC Context and More Below the Cut]
[OOC happens in the brackets.]
[Hidgens got struck by lightning during that freak lightning storm that took the other workinโ boys away from him (whom he misses desperately) (yes, it was a polycule to me if youโre wondering). Heโs hella gay and proud of it. Heโs also a social recluse and is bad at talking to people. Heโs gonna say weird stuff. Try and sell you on his musical. Talk mad. If Alexa chimes in, Iโll use blue text like this for funsies lmao. Otherwise, itโs Hidgens. Italics are actions and any non-dialogue.]
[Appearance wise, Hidgens has short steel grey hair, a scraggly beard at times if he forgets to trim or stubble, and deep hazel eyes that seem blue or grey like a storm. Thereโs a scar along his chest, back, and shoulders where the lightning hit him. Heโs 6โ 2โ and 190 lbs.]
[The lightning strike happened in college and killed his entire team/polycule of Greg, Stu, Mark, Steve, Leighton, and Chad. He loved all of them and lost them in a freak accident. (Maybe the lightning was the LiB who knows yet???). The lightning gave him visions of things he shouldnโt know though and now Hidgens rambles on about five strange figures. (The LiB). He once went to school for theater but lost the spark when he lost his boys. Now he teaches biology and rarely leaves the house in fear of both those lords and just people in general. Agoraphobia has seized him. He used to be social and good with convincing people of his new ideas tooโฆ
Playwriting is his secret passion and he still does it, just rarely. Maybe inspiration will strike him yet, who knows?]
[Iโm not a minor, but Iโd still like to keep this blog away from anything overtly suggestive such as smut. Gore is fine. Flirt with Hidgens. Bonus if youโre a workinโ boy or Ted, somehow. Tedgens is good with me lmao.]
[I will ignore asks if need be, and answer what I can.]
Tags Iโll Use:
Professor Henry Hidgens RP โ every post has this
Ask Henry and Alexa โ ask box responses
Show Stoppinโ Number โ OOC posts
Hear Henryโs Pitch โ in character posting
Henry Says Open the Gates Alexa โ RP response
Five OโClock Canโt Come Soon Enough โ Interacting with a Workinโ Boy
He nearly falls out of his chair. A frantic fumbling of limbs that will leave at least two new bruises on his knee and shin both as he rights himself and stares at the phone in surprise.
It's a chunky, old phone with a tightly curled cord, yellowed with age, dusty with disuse.
No one calls him.
Hi. This is Professor Henry Hidgens here! I'm not able to answer the phone right now so please leave a message after the beep. - (there is a long pause here) - and if you're selling anything I've had enough business!
The answering machine clicks on. Henry tries to push his hair down but the static in the air refuses to subside. His breath catches and comes out misty before him. Like the temperature has suddenly and inexplicably dropped...
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
Greg definitely knew grief all too well, almost personally. Its all-consuming power held Greg hostage in his own mind. He wasn't about to admit the fact out loud, but...
Let's change the subject.
I'm looking into my... Our death. And I'm sure you know something, anything about it.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ Greg is my favorite to torment emotionally so <3 ]
>A small, distant hum sounds from inside of the mirror's blank, pristine glass.
>The welcoming smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, beckoning Greg to have a seat before the mirror.
Despite every bit of ectoplasm in his undead body screaming to not go any further, Greg slips onto the chair, getting as comfortable as one can get without being able to make direct physical contact. He can't even drink the damn tea.
>The reflection leans forward as Greg slouches back, like waves washing over sand.
>It clasps it's hands together underneath it's chin.
You're acting real rude for someone who chose to come in here.
We've barely talked and you're already treating me like this, I'm hurt...
And what for? Just because I'm a little different from all the other mirrors?
It's not like I forced you in here. You're acting like I have Influence over your mind or something.
And no, I'm not gonna "make you do your hair all nice".
Not unless you wanna, of course.
I'm here for whatever you want, honestly.
I know things about you that you don't even know. Truths you aren't aware of.
You can ask me about the uncertain past, the mysterious future...
You could even ask me about somebody else entirely.
>The reflection smiles at him with both of its oddly meshed mouthes.
I assume you mean Henry, Steve, Stu, Mark, Leighton, and Chad, yes?
Mark and Stu seem alright. Caught up chatting with a,,
Friend? I guess she's a friend. Kris, Krystina, Krystina Cross-Hound. They seem to hang around her.
Pretty cool to see them making friends even in this state, right?
Leighton's also made a friend of his own by the looks of it, a girl from Clivesdale, would you believe? A girl named Jazz.
Really... I'm pretty sure all of them have made some new friends! Even Steve's made friends with one'a the girls at the highschool, Ruth!
Oh boy...
Well, the lightning strike that fried all of you certainly fried his brain.
Kooky, reclusive, some might even say dangerous...
>Greg's reflection morphs into that of Henry, but... similarly wrong.
>A mocking imitation of Henry's voice emits from the mirror as it speaks.
The Hell-?! Greg practically almost jumps out of the chair, but he keeps himself firm and steadfast.
...Now look who's being rude, contradictory-ass.
Put that face away.
Greg sits upright again, though he can't help but slouch a little.
But he's... alive. Alive and relatively-well, for someone driven mad. Greg feels at the scars along his own neck, and eyes the scars on Henry's "reflection." I figured...
Does he still think of us? Greg mentally berates himself for that question, as it slips from his mouth. Selfish, selfish as always.
>The reflection settles back to Greg's own.
>It tilts it's head again at his question. Reminiscent of a bird.
Think of you?
Greg...
You're all he thinks of.
There's... Someone swinging around a lamppost. The vaguest of outlines of a person, the light seems to shine through him.
He's humming an 80s classic.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ they call me the Back So Soon? guy ]
-Kris finished their work. They said it could never be done. They decided to treat themselves. They got a... few lollypops.-
Lets fucking go. Did the thing, I got them RIGHHTTT, circle theorems can go back to the depths! I soo deserve this right now, sweet vindication! -Kris's melodic monologue cut short, now with a lollypop in their mouth.- Letsss gooooo-Ooohh.
-Currently looking at the man on the lamp-post, barely. Taking the lollypop out their mouth. Not willing to mess with another's moment for a minute, before they ask him.-
You enjoying the light up there, mister mothman? Gonna have to strain my eyes to look at you?
He seems to go invisible for a second out of pure shock. Scared a ghost, huh! He fades back into view and gets his bearings rather quickly,
Mothman? I've always taken myself for more of a "Jersey Devil" type.
He laughs at his own joke, a smile just as bright as his energy. He focuses a little, and he becomes a little more clear to see. A sparkly disco outfit and flair pants - tattered a little, of course, but he's still stylin' nonetheless.
Devil on the dance floor, of course. He quickly poses, before standing upright again.
Well you were swinging from the lamp-post. Anddd you look like a disco ball. -Kris is so proud of scaring a ghost, smug as they compliment the outfit.- That's a compliment, I can't argue with sparkles.
-Kris leans against the lamppost next to him.- But Jersey Devil? Wowww - Cryptids are well known like, I don't research them enough though.
Not going to lie, 'kind of didn't let him know that I knew he was a ghost until so far into the conversationnn-- -Kris paces around Stu, lollypop in their mouth again.-
And oh please, dead man or not, you're actively talking to me. How its occurring, is not my problem.
Aye, I do, I do. -Kris got like a cool tub of them. Diva is a money-saver. They hold a different lollypop out in their hand like a offering /hj.-
Mine's Kris, be careful grabbing it. It would be really sad if it just fell out your hand... -They smile, optimistically.- But I'm willing to hope you can manifest holding it.
I got it. Stu easily lifts the lollipop and pops it in his mouth. Except, not really. His translucent skin makes it so it can be seen through his mouth, and he is not tasting it one bit.
Am I hip now? He laughs heartily, the stick still floating. Eh, I just wanted to try it out, I know it doesn't work.
I mean at least there's one thing you don't have to deal with, Stu.
-Kris pulls the lollypop out their mouth, before pulling their tongue out, showing their canine teeth in an open smile.-
BLEHhh! -Their tongue is stained a blue-ish purple from the lolly.- Heheh. I mean, in my defence, I didn't know. And I'd have never known if you hadn't tried.
Soo you're one of the Boys that Mark was talking about.
Hah! Nice one. I think I might be blue enough. Though I've always looked better in orange. He pops his collar.
Stu does finger guns, Heck yeah, I'm one of the boys!
Hopefully MK put in a good word for me. Did he tell you how rad I am?
After a second, Stu backs away and crosses his arms, I'm sounding so full of myself, my bad! You just don't get good conversations like this nowadays, you get the feeling?
Eh, unless you count him saying you think your lightning marks are like tattoos, which does get you points in my books. Yeah, you seem very rad, very awesome.
I certainly get your dilemma though. Not going to lie, the presence of ghosts doesn't usually scream out 'I'm not scary, I'm just bored,' to any alive person...
I'm just built different, you know? -Kris, again, trying to look cool, gestures putting on cool-guy sunglasses.-
-They lean against where they thought was the lamp-post, having to shuffle quickly on their feet, to not absolutely ruin their image.- mhM-MHM. YEP.
I did say that once, didn't I? He rubs his shoulder, where most of his own scar was. Pretty gnarly stuff, so I like to make the best of it.
He looks away at the slip-up. Stu echoes Kris, Yep. Pretty coolio, kid.
And you get it, yeah. I'm not trying to look like death every single day, it's just my "natural" look! He huffs. I'd totally kill to live for old times sake.
Mix that in with the fact most people can't see me?? Real bummer.
Mmmhmm. Unfortunately for you, and The Boys. -Kris dusts themselves off.- I'm in fact not most people, or.. fortunately, I guess. That really depends on you. That's fair game. Can call it as it is. -They put their hands up in mock surrender.-
Lets just, -Kris sharply breathes in, holding their lollypop- not talk about what happened. I never fell. That lamp-post moved. -Gesturing to it by waving the lollypop in that general direction.-
My guy. No shame in having whimsy. I'd try and have fun with it too if the world weren't constantly watching. For example, apparently, renacting Singing in the Rain without an umbrella. -Kris smiles, they don't mean anything negative behind it.-
Totally moved, yeah. I saw it, totally! Stu plays along, snickering at his own joke.
I assumed you weren't "normal" when you talked to me, it's chill. I think I've gotten used to Hatchetfield weirdness just by existing. But the glass is half full! And having someone new to talk to is a "win."
He taps his foot and swings around the lamp post once more. It's fun, you should try it!
I don't got no music, but a song in your head is just as good as one in your ears!
Exactlyy, my name and normal are not in the same definition baabyy.
And I suppose there's... nothing stopping me from.. Can I even swing on that?
-Kris takes their jacket off, comfortably leaving it on the floor with their bucket of lollypops. The one they were eating, now just the stick, gets tossed in the nearby litterbin.-
-They look around, before attempting to properly try swinging around a lamp-post if time allowed it.- What kind of music would you jam to, if you could?
Whatever the vibe calls for, but I love anything with a fresh beat, whatever gets me in the groove!
There's this spot I hang at... Stu scratches his goatee, You ever heard of Miss Retro's? Good taste in music, although I'm not the biggest slow-jam fan.
Miss Retro's? Ohhh, the diner. Heard about it, not been there yet. Not without trying, just never felt the mood for it before. The food might be as great as their music taste.
Now, 24/7 party, I can work with that. Realllll understanding you there.
-Kris nods their head, mumbling to themselves, as they pull their phone out, searching for some beats, some energy. Some 80s music, the kind of stuff Stu was humming to earlier. It plays out of the device as Kris vibes along to it. Reall mood-boosters.-
Aw, I don't think the ghost thing's all that special. We're all people at the end of the day! Stu does another flashy pose, Means we all got a little dance in us!
Which means you too can dance! C'mon, try it!
Stu slides around Kris, You can add a little flair to your mixes with a few moves of your own!
-Stu's sliding around makes Kris smile, as they slip their jacket back on.-
Okay-okay-okay! I'll try, Stu. You got hope in me, I trust that. I'll try dancing, maybe its the vibe. Lemme put something on that I like.
-Kris hops to that deal quite quickly, finding one of their pre-made playlists and letting it play out.- Yeeeeahhh this is what I'm into..! I can get with this. Always wanted to jive to this one.
-2000s and 2010s bops. Upbeat for the most part. Kris grooves to it, subtly, overly aware they have Stu next to them, but still grooving.-
Aye aye! -Kris gives him that high five, slowly fading the music out on their phone.- God I haven't danced in public in a while.
-They chuckle for a sec, getting their wits around them back from just dancing like nobody's watching. And then their face goes all red.- FFFUUUUuck, why am I like thisss, I had funn, this is not embarrassing, Krystina, say it with your chest. -Laughing a bit at their own reaction.-
-Kris hides their face in their enlarged jacket.- I mean that was fun, holy shit. But yeah, confidence. Yay. -Finger guns at Stu, breathing out in a short burst.-
Kris' hand goes through Stu's - ghost things, after all. There's a slight static feeling as that happens, like what happened when Mark did something similar.
...Ah. Caught up in the moment, hah.
He looks at his hand, spacing out, if only for a few seconds. Then he perks back up at Kris' energy.
Hey, I get it! Confidence takes time to build up. What, you think I've been this bold my entire life?
If you enjoyed yourself, then it was cool. We cool?
Weee're cooll. -They give him a thumbs up, getting a new lollypop out their little bucket.- Cool beanns.
-They didn't react as vividly as when Mark tried to pat them on the back.- Hahh, yeah I don't. I don't dance a lot. But thank you, for encouraging, that was really nice.
...Do you, talk to the other boys like Mark? I wanted to tell him I finished the work I was stuck on.
Aw sweet! Thanks! -They give a little upward nod of appreciation... Before checking their phone.- Oh sHiT.. -Wow, Kris has an unholy voice shift.-
Haaahh--heh, I have missed messages, from my aunt. I need to gooo, she gets worried easy.
-Kris quickly does a mental count over their stuff. Bag, jacket, phone, lollypops, themselves. Yep all here. They scratch the back of their head, texting with one hand just a 'hey i'm not dead, be back soon' to said carer.-
Sorry to be a pain like, but she will call someone, and I am not awake enough to deal with that... (ใใป๏ผใป)
There's... Someone swinging around a lamppost. The vaguest of outlines of a person, the light seems to shine through him.
He's humming an 80s classic.
[ @ask-thoseworkinboys ] [ they call me the Back So Soon? guy ]
-Kris finished their work. They said it could never be done. They decided to treat themselves. They got a... few lollypops.-
Lets fucking go. Did the thing, I got them RIGHHTTT, circle theorems can go back to the depths! I soo deserve this right now, sweet vindication! -Kris's melodic monologue cut short, now with a lollypop in their mouth.- Letsss gooooo-Ooohh.
-Currently looking at the man on the lamp-post, barely. Taking the lollypop out their mouth. Not willing to mess with another's moment for a minute, before they ask him.-
You enjoying the light up there, mister mothman? Gonna have to strain my eyes to look at you?
He seems to go invisible for a second out of pure shock. Scared a ghost, huh! He fades back into view and gets his bearings rather quickly,
Mothman? I've always taken myself for more of a "Jersey Devil" type.
He laughs at his own joke, a smile just as bright as his energy. He focuses a little, and he becomes a little more clear to see. A sparkly disco outfit and flair pants - tattered a little, of course, but he's still stylin' nonetheless.
Devil on the dance floor, of course. He quickly poses, before standing upright again.
Well you were swinging from the lamp-post. Anddd you look like a disco ball. -Kris is so proud of scaring a ghost, smug as they compliment the outfit.- That's a compliment, I can't argue with sparkles.
-Kris leans against the lamppost next to him.- But Jersey Devil? Wowww - Cryptids are well known like, I don't research them enough though.
Not going to lie, 'kind of didn't let him know that I knew he was a ghost until so far into the conversationnn-- -Kris paces around Stu, lollypop in their mouth again.-
And oh please, dead man or not, you're actively talking to me. How its occurring, is not my problem.
Aye, I do, I do. -Kris got like a cool tub of them. Diva is a money-saver. They hold a different lollypop out in their hand like a offering /hj.-
Mine's Kris, be careful grabbing it. It would be really sad if it just fell out your hand... -They smile, optimistically.- But I'm willing to hope you can manifest holding it.
I got it. Stu easily lifts the lollipop and pops it in his mouth. Except, not really. His translucent skin makes it so it can be seen through his mouth, and he is not tasting it one bit.
Am I hip now? He laughs heartily, the stick still floating. Eh, I just wanted to try it out, I know it doesn't work.
I mean at least there's one thing you don't have to deal with, Stu.
-Kris pulls the lollypop out their mouth, before pulling their tongue out, showing their canine teeth in an open smile.-
BLEHhh! -Their tongue is stained a blue-ish purple from the lolly.- Heheh. I mean, in my defence, I didn't know. And I'd have never known if you hadn't tried.
Soo you're one of the Boys that Mark was talking about.
Hah! Nice one. I think I might be blue enough. Though I've always looked better in orange. He pops his collar.
Stu does finger guns, Heck yeah, I'm one of the boys!
Hopefully MK put in a good word for me. Did he tell you how rad I am?
After a second, Stu backs away and crosses his arms, I'm sounding so full of myself, my bad! You just don't get good conversations like this nowadays, you get the feeling?
Eh, unless you count him saying you think your lightning marks are like tattoos, which does get you points in my books. Yeah, you seem very rad, very awesome.
I certainly get your dilemma though. Not going to lie, the presence of ghosts doesn't usually scream out 'I'm not scary, I'm just bored,' to any alive person...
I'm just built different, you know? -Kris, again, trying to look cool, gestures putting on cool-guy sunglasses.-
-They lean against where they thought was the lamp-post, having to shuffle quickly on their feet, to not absolutely ruin their image.- mhM-MHM. YEP.
I did say that once, didn't I? He rubs his shoulder, where most of his own scar was. Pretty gnarly stuff, so I like to make the best of it.
He looks away at the slip-up. Stu echoes Kris, Yep. Pretty coolio, kid.
And you get it, yeah. I'm not trying to look like death every single day, it's just my "natural" look! He huffs. I'd totally kill to live for old times sake.
Mix that in with the fact most people can't see me?? Real bummer.
Mmmhmm. Unfortunately for you, and The Boys. -Kris dusts themselves off.- I'm in fact not most people, or.. fortunately, I guess. That really depends on you. That's fair game. Can call it as it is. -They put their hands up in mock surrender.-
Lets just, -Kris sharply breathes in, holding their lollypop- not talk about what happened. I never fell. That lamp-post moved. -Gesturing to it by waving the lollypop in that general direction.-
My guy. No shame in having whimsy. I'd try and have fun with it too if the world weren't constantly watching. For example, apparently, renacting Singing in the Rain without an umbrella. -Kris smiles, they don't mean anything negative behind it.-
Totally moved, yeah. I saw it, totally! Stu plays along, snickering at his own joke.
I assumed you weren't "normal" when you talked to me, it's chill. I think I've gotten used to Hatchetfield weirdness just by existing. But the glass is half full! And having someone new to talk to is a "win."
He taps his foot and swings around the lamp post once more. It's fun, you should try it!
I don't got no music, but a song in your head is just as good as one in your ears!
Exactlyy, my name and normal are not in the same definition baabyy.
And I suppose there's... nothing stopping me from.. Can I even swing on that?
-Kris takes their jacket off, comfortably leaving it on the floor with their bucket of lollypops. The one they were eating, now just the stick, gets tossed in the nearby litterbin.-
-They look around, before attempting to properly try swinging around a lamp-post if time allowed it.- What kind of music would you jam to, if you could?
Whatever the vibe calls for, but I love anything with a fresh beat, whatever gets me in the groove!
There's this spot I hang at... Stu scratches his goatee, You ever heard of Miss Retro's? Good taste in music, although I'm not the biggest slow-jam fan.
Miss Retro's? Ohhh, the diner. Heard about it, not been there yet. Not without trying, just never felt the mood for it before. The food might be as great as their music taste.
Now, 24/7 party, I can work with that. Realllll understanding you there.
-Kris nods their head, mumbling to themselves, as they pull their phone out, searching for some beats, some energy. Some 80s music, the kind of stuff Stu was humming to earlier. It plays out of the device as Kris vibes along to it. Reall mood-boosters.-
Aw, I don't think the ghost thing's all that special. We're all people at the end of the day! Stu does another flashy pose, Means we all got a little dance in us!
Which means you too can dance! C'mon, try it!
Stu slides around Kris, You can add a little flair to your mixes with a few moves of your own!
-Stu's sliding around makes Kris smile, as they slip their jacket back on.-
Okay-okay-okay! I'll try, Stu. You got hope in me, I trust that. I'll try dancing, maybe its the vibe. Lemme put something on that I like.
-Kris hops to that deal quite quickly, finding one of their pre-made playlists and letting it play out.- Yeeeeahhh this is what I'm into..! I can get with this. Always wanted to jive to this one.
-2000s and 2010s bops. Upbeat for the most part. Kris grooves to it, subtly, overly aware they have Stu next to them, but still grooving.-
Aye aye! -Kris gives him that high five, slowly fading the music out on their phone.- God I haven't danced in public in a while.
-They chuckle for a sec, getting their wits around them back from just dancing like nobody's watching. And then their face goes all red.- FFFUUUUuck, why am I like thisss, I had funn, this is not embarrassing, Krystina, say it with your chest. -Laughing a bit at their own reaction.-
-Kris hides their face in their enlarged jacket.- I mean that was fun, holy shit. But yeah, confidence. Yay. -Finger guns at Stu, breathing out in a short burst.-
Kris' hand goes through Stu's - ghost things, after all. There's a slight static feeling as that happens, like what happened when Mark did something similar.
...Ah. Caught up in the moment, hah.
He looks at his hand, spacing out, if only for a few seconds. Then he perks back up at Kris' energy.
Hey, I get it! Confidence takes time to build up. What, you think I've been this bold my entire life?
If you enjoyed yourself, then it was cool. We cool?
Weee're cooll. -They give him a thumbs up, getting a new lollypop out their little bucket.- Cool beanns.
-They didn't react as vividly as when Mark tried to pat them on the back.- Hahh, yeah I don't. I don't dance a lot. But thank you, for encouraging, that was really nice.
...Do you, talk to the other boys like Mark? I wanted to tell him I finished the work I was stuck on.
