sixwordstories | (no subject)

Ghosts are people too, ya know.

...Technically, no, they're not anymore.

Well, sure, if you wanna nitpick. *this while scratching his head, removing a beetle from his hair and flicking it away*

Is someone denying you your people-ness? You should beat them up.

I would but my hands are tied. *chains appear around his wrists* Can't do nothin' from over here.

That's tragic.

Ain't it? But hey, maybe you could help me out? Nothin' like good, old-fashioned justice, right?

Umm... I dunno...

There's a little justice in it for ya too. Just say the words and I'm there.

I don't really need any justice.

You're the revenge type, I get it. Point me in the right direction and I'll possess the Hell outta 'em.

I don't need any revenge either!

Oh, come on! There's gotta be somebody who's pissed you off. What's a guy gotta do?

I'unno. Can you dance?

Hell, I'll learn the Goddamn cha-cha if I gotta.

Really! Charleston?

Name it, babes. But first you gotta help me.

Oh yeah?

You speaking from experience?

Six-hundred years worth.

You sound like you need someone to kill you.

Like to see 'em try. I ain't gettin' any deader.

I could give it a shot.

Apparently, that is true, sir. My father quite often referred to himself as a ghost.