#joe: interactions

[cluecrue]

@vitalphenomena | spirit sent for a text asking for a favor

[ text > ghostess with the mostest ]: hey hey

[ text > ghostess with the mostest ]: franks off doing whatever and im hungry and dont wanna eat alone

[ text > ghostess with the mostest ]: u should come have dinner with me somewhere

[ text > ghostess with the mostest ]: if u want

[cluecrue]

@himbohotel | fred

          “Was that...?” Joe squints over his shoulder and into the darkness, dropping the beam of light from his flashlight away from where Frank needs it. “Did you hear that?” 

          “Hear what?” Frank asks, exasperated where he sits, crouched over the dilapidated old combination safe he’s been attempting to crack. He reaches up and redirects Joe’s flashlight before he lays his ear against the safe door again. “I just hear you. Which, y’know, isn’t helping.”

          Joe frowns, and takes a step back in the direction they’d come from, taking the flashlight with him. Franks pauses again, lightly knocking his temple against the cold metal box in frustration after having lost his rhythm.

          “There’s someone here.”

           “Yeah, yeah, Joe. I’m sure there’s a ghost out there watching us.” The older of the two rolls his eyes, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his phone to use as a light. It’s not ideal, but with Joe distracted, he knows he’ll need to adapt. “You still have that thing you made, right? Seems like a good time to test it out.”

          Joe knows Frank is teasing him, but watching him methodically working through possible combinations has been The Worst, and he’s eager to explore more of this run down property. And hey, even if his brother is teasing, he’s right: what better time could there be to test out his ghost detecting machine?

          With a swell of bravery puffing his chest, and a new purpose on his mind, Joe doesn’t hesitate to pull the strange, homemade device out of his backpack, nor to start back down the narrow, winding halls. The blond has to move slower than he’d like to--keeping his ears trained for any odd sound beyond the quiet beeps and trills coming from his machine, and keeping his eyes open for any unexplained movement or obstacles in his path--but he’s making steady progress.

          Footsteps. He’s sure he hears footsteps.

          “So... not a ghost... Probably?” He whispers to himself, crestfallen as he tucks the machine away and gets a better grip on his heavy flashlight. “But who...?”

         Quieter now than he’d been before, Joe continues to creep forward after powering his light off so as not to be seen before he’s ready. But he gets the feeling whoever it is that’s with him had heard him too, because it’s gotten awfully quiet.

          He yelps as he collides with someone, and he drops his flashlight to the damp, dirty floorboards where it flickers and rolls away.

          Joe Hardy is not defenseless in a fight by any means, but he isn’t thrilled at the idea of having to hold his own in the dark against an unknown--or unknowns.

          “Who are you?” He demands, one hand on the wall behind him and the other held out defensively in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

[cluecrue]

@xenovair​ liked for a starter from joe!

          He’s never seen anything like this, and quite honestly, it takes his brain a moment or two to catch up to what's going on. Briefly, he wonders if this is the way Frank feels whenever Nancy so much as even breathes in his direction.

          But, no. No, this is something else. What he’s feeling is utter amazement for the feat he’d just seen this stranger perform.

          (Okay, so maybe it’s not that much different from how Frank sees Nancy.)

          Blinking away his brain-lag, he does the best he can with what limited capacity for speech he has: “You wanna get a cheeseburger with me?”

          Smooth as sandpaper. Unlike him, really.

[cluecrue]

@insidefantasy | bess asked "are you sure you can handle this all by yourself?"

Joe isn't Frank; he doesn't short circuit and lose his ability to form coherent speech around pretty people; he doesn't freeze up like a deer in the headlights during benign conversations. He can schmooze and charm and flirt with the best of them, and he exercises the skill often, never wanting to lose his edge. Because beyond keeping his romantic life active, it's an incredibly useful skill in his line of work.

He's lost track of just how many tips and clues and even confessions he's coaxed out of people with the right tone of voice, a gentle touch, or some steamy, meaningful eye contact.

And he counts his blessings for this difference from his brother whenever Bess Marvin in particular is around, because he's always had something of a thing for her. On top of being one of the most beautiful women he's ever seen, she has 'immaculate vibes,' as he'd once told Frank.

(Frank hadn't known what he'd meant, and he'd tried to explain, but that's a whole other thing.)

Eager to keep her around longer, h laughs when Bess asks him the question, and a wide grin highlights the sunkissed skin of the apples of his cheeks. And of course, he lifts his arms above his head in a purposeful stretch, his short sleeves falling away--as planned--to give her a show of his flexing biceps.

"Dunno," he tells her, feigning a yawn that quickly turns into the real thing. That just tickles him further and makes his smile just as contagious as the yawn itself. "I'm pretty sleepy after all that yard work earlier. I think I could use a supervisor to keep me on task. You want the job? I think you'd be a great fit; I'd want to listen to you."

He winks one ocean blue eye and lets his tongue slip out to wet his lips.

"I could listen to you all day, Bess. Won't even feel like work."

[cluecrue]

@exspiritment​

          Frank is finally sleeping, passed out where he’d sat working, and draped half over the dining room table in his chair. Which is unfortunate, really, because it’s dinner time. But neither Spirit nor Joe want to wake the insomniac up, even if Joe considers it for the state of his brother’s back.

          So Joe throws a blanket out on the lawn, thanks their lucky stars that the evenings are still warm, and carts the food they’d ordered out for a picnic. He’s even thoughtful enough to offer Spirit something warmer to wear–or just bring outside–just in case. He’s really operating at full capacity with his brother down for the count for god knows how long.

          “So, like–” He takes a big bite of pizza before he’s even put anything else on his plate. “I have a question for you.” A pause to dump half the fries onto his plate. And to squeeze the ketchup out of the sad little packets. “Say I told you a story about some freaky ghost shit Sleeping Beauty and I went through. Would you be able to like. Confirm it was real or not?”

          “Because--” Joe snorts as he continues, annoyed. Waves a fry around. “He and I went through the same exact shit, and he STILL doesn’t believe we’ve had ghost encounters. He’s always looking for ways to write it off. Like head trauma. Which, yeah, okay, we’ve both been knocked out. A lot. But so has, say, Ned Nickerson!” He says the name as though Spirit will have any inkling of who he’s talking about. “And he doesn’t go around seeing ghosts!”

[cluecrue]

@likedetective said "you were talking in your sleep."

          He’s not embarrassed about it like maybe he ought to be. In fact, it wakes him up a little; it excites him that maybe some of his wacky dream had made it out into the real world. So, sitting up, his bedhead on full display, Joe grips the armrests of his seat.

          “What was I saying?” He prods. “Was it something about a 15-story cheeseburger attacking San Fran?” Then, as an aside: “God, I’m hungry. Do we get a meal on this flight?”