𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐢'𝐦 𝐚 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 ⊰†⊱ 𝐁𝐁𝐂 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬

vi

✧ it's been a while, hasn't it?

✧ things happen, time passes, yadda yadda–does anyone actually read these summaries?

✧ word count: 1901

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The doorbell sounded again at fifteen to eight, eight pairs of noncorporeal ears perking to rapt attention. Alison, doing her best to pay no mind to the spiritual eavesdroppers, jogged to get to the front door (followed closely by a rush of ghostly footsteps in tow).

Solomon had elected to avoid the Beg-Chetwyndes at all cost, holing out in the kitchen with Mary instead. Mary had apparently been given some kind of task by Alison, bent over as she watched a little window in the side of the counter. When he crossed the threshold of the kitchen, however, she glanced up, a bright little smile crossing her face

Without the constant buzz of conversation that had become the new normal in Button House, Solomon quickly realized that, despite he and Mary's friendship, he was entirely incapable of initiating a conversation.

It wasn't that he didn't like to talk to Mary–quite the contrary–only that he found himself far more intimidated by the pressing silence than he had been with the backdrop of the other ghosts in the house.

Unlike Mary, who seemed entirely impenetrable to the effects of awkward silence.

"If ye' could choose–" Mary started, and her voice piercing the silence made Solomon start slightly, "–betwixt being a bird or being a fish, which would ye' be?"

Solomon turned slowly toward her, brow furrowed beneath his mask. It took him a moment to process what she was even asking, and another moment to actually ponder the hypothetical.

"Bird," Solomon answered definitively with a sharp little nod of his head, the beak-shaped curve of his doctor's mask bobbing a little comically. Mary frowned, her eyebrows raising lightly as she hummed in acknowledgement, seeming a little critical but turning away to occupy herself elsewhere. After a moment, he decided he might as well bite, folding his arms over his chest and cocking his head to the side.

"...what?"

"Oh... oh, no, 'tis nothing..." Mary trailed off, voice airy and noncommittal.

"No, it's not nothing, what?"

"Oh, it's only that... well, 's quite clear that... ah, there's a right choice, and it tis'nt bird,'' Mary seemed almost disappointed, eyes lifting to the ceiling.

"Why would you want to be a fish?

"Fishes gets to swims, and birds... well–"

"Can fly, Mary," Solomon gestured vaguely, a little incredulous, "Can fly, unconstrained to the ground. You'd rather be entirely housed in the water, than fly?"

A beat of silence passed, and Mary seemed to swallow thickly, unperturbed by Solomon's justification for his own choice in the hypothetical.

She finally spoke, murmuring under her breath, "Ye' can think whatever ye' want to think..."

"Mary, they don't have lungs,"

"Maybe I doesn't want lungs," Mary retorted, hiking her shoulders in a shrug.

Solomon was in a state of disbelief, not only at the knowledge that this woman he thought he knew quite well would rather be a fish than a bird, but that he had become so invested in it.

A sharp, disembodied noise pierced through the air and interrupted the brief moment of quiet between them. Followed by another. And another.

"Who's had that?" Mary stood up, glancing around the corners of the ceiling in alarm.