Chapter Text
This was just their luck, Beau thought, as she stood clutching a broomstick with her back pressed to the window at the end of the upper floor hallway. Their first house together as a married couple, and it turned out to be haunted. Of course it was haunted. What kind of old, nearly falling apart, mansion rumoured to belong to a legendary wizard was not haunted by a great number of dead people?
It had started out with small, odd things Beau could easily blame on the ever present draft or the state of the house: the cereal box moving an inch, strange noises in the middle of the night, an odd smell that she and Yasha both figured was mold, the feeling that someone was watching while she brushed her teeth. Then, she had fallen down that godforsaken ladder and hit her head really hard.
When she woke up, a man dressed in robes that had gone out of fashion at least a century ago and a vicious stab wound in his chest had asked her if she was alright, and although she would deny it to everyone who asked, she had screamed.
Turns out the hallucinations were not temporary, nor were they hallucinatory in nature. She swore she had seen a blue figure skip through the hallway where she was tearing down. some god-awful wallpaper.
“I have a black belt, I’m not afraid of you!” she called out but got no response. Swishing the broom around in what she hoped was a threatening manner, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Perhaps some of the monk shit Dairon taught her would help her with ghost hunting.
Creak
Beau’s eyes flew open, and she pointed her stick at whatever caused that noise.
“Woah, babe,” Yasha stood in front of her, holding a plastic bag with what smelled like Marquisian takeout, hands held up in surrender, “It’s just me, are you sure you’re alright?”
Beau lowered the broom, and reluctantly set it down to lean against the wall.
“Just thought I saw her again,” she said, “You know, that tiefling girl from the closet.” Yasha sighed, and Beau almost felt like a toddler again.
“Alright,” was all Yasha said, placing a hand on Beau’s elbow, “Come on, let’s sit down, alright? Perhaps we should go see that doctor again tomorrow.” Beau could hear the concern in her wife’s voice and tried her best to ignore the irritation welling up in her stomach.
“She’s real, Yash, I swear,” she protested, but followed her to their kitchen regardless, slumping down in one of the mismatched chairs and stubbornly glaring at the mug of tea Yasha set down in front of her.
That she was real was confirmed not even two days later. All the wallpaper in the hallway was finally down and Beau had rewarded herself by drinking a dairy based protein smoothie, which was a terrible idea, given her lactose intolerance. Her bowels naturally disagreed with her decision to chug it like a champ and sent her straight to the nearest bathroom.
Beau was very occupied with trying not to pass out from misery and all the fluids leaving her body, when suddenly-
“Are you pooping?” The blue tiefling poked her head through the door- literally- and retreated cackling when Beau let out an undignified scream and on instinct punched her hand against the door.
“She can totally see us, Fjord!” she heard the ghost shout, “Tell Mollymauk he owes me!”
What the fuck.
“Hey!” she shouted, after pulling herself together, banging on the door again, “You, ghost! Blue girl!” Almost immediately, the ghost poked her head back through the door.
“My name is Jester,” she said conversationally, “Can I come in all the way? Also, do you want to pull up your pants?”
Beau glanced down, considered it a moment, and decided she wouldn’t risk that just yet.
“Nah, I’m good,” she replied as the fucking ghost- Jester, apparently- floated her way up to sit on the recently installed sink. Beau cleared her throat, and said: “What the fuck?”
Jester laughed, the movement making the little bells attached to her horns tinkle. That explained one noise, at least.
“Are you like, a real ghost?” Beau tried again, crossing her arms and leaning back against the seat of the toilet, “And also, are there more of you? You gonna kill us?”
Jester shook her head, the ting-a-ling of the bells almost as bright as the mischievous glint in her eyes.
“We’re not gonna kill you, we’re just curious about you! Alive people don’t usually see us, you know,” she explained, “And it’s been fun! Maybe the others will fully show themselves now that we know you’re not gonna kill us. You’re not, right?” She leaned in really closely, almost until they were face to face which was weird. Beau shook her head, unsure what other choice she had.
“Good!” Jester continued, “There’s seven of us. Well, eight if you count Sprinkle, but we’re not really sure he’s fully dead. Do you want to meet him?” Before Beau could formulate an answer, she pulled an actual red weasel from the hood of her green cloak and held it out to Beau. It hissed and tried its best to claw away from where Jester had it firm in her grip. “Isn’t he so cute!” she cooed, lifting the feral beast up to press a kiss to its head.
“Uh,” Beau said, “Sure- Can we… I mean, we gotta talk about like, privacy and stuff? And when haunting is off limits? You know, bathrooms, our bedroom, stuff like that?”
“Oh, are you worried about us watching you bone?” Jester asked, stuffing Sprinkle back in her hood with only a mild struggle, “We’d never! I mean, Fjord said we shouldn’t, and it is kind of creepy watching you just sleep, you know?”
“You watched us sleep?” Beau said, mindlessly reaching for the loo roll to wipe her butt. Jester wiggled her eyebrows at her but politely turned around in mid air, her tail now swooshing.
“Oh yeah! We’ve watched you do loads of stuff, just to see if we should chase you away, or if you were dangerous or something,” she explained as if that was the most normal thing in the world, “But now that we know you can see us and you’re pretty nice, we won’t do that anymore, pinky promise. Unless you really wanted to.” She looked over her shoulder to wink at Beau who was just zipping up her pants and flushing the consequences of her actions down.
“Thanks, I think,” she said, unlocking the door, “Still, we gotta talk about sticking your head through doors and shit.” She pushed the door open, and immediately closed it again with a small yelp upon seeing five more ghosts staring at her.
“You scared her, idiot,” a woman’s voice hissed, followed by the protests in what sounded vaguely Irish, and then a rupture of chaos.
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Children, please, we should welco-”
“Eat shit, Caduceus!”
“They always like this?” Beau asked Jester, trying to calm her heartbeat down. Jester nodded, and solemnly sighed.
“I’ll calm them down,” she promised, and floated through the door.
That was going to take some getting used to.
When the rabble had died down (ha) again, she dared to push open the door, and was greeted by a group of ghosts pretending to be casual and failing incredibly. There was a tall and lanky Firbolg leaning against the wall and pretending to inspect his fingernails, an absolutely soaked halfling woman was straight up lying on the floor pretending to sleep, while next to her a redhaired human was sat cross legged on the floor. Beau sniffed, and yup, that odd, mouldy yet burning smell was absolutely coming from that guy. Beau had to do a double take when she spotted the half orc standing next to the Firbolg. He was dressed like a pirate, with the hat and all, as if he had ran through a costuming shop before he’d died. And finally, in the doorway leading to what was going to be a guestroom, leaning on the doorframe in an almost inappropriate manner, stood a heavily tattooed purple tiefling clad in nothing but a tapestry. He gave her a lazy wave, tugging the cloth up higher when it almost slipped down his shoulder.
“Everyone, meet Beau,” Jester happily said, “And Beau, meet everyone!”
Man. Yasha was never going to believe her, Beau thought, as a chorus of ghost-voices rose in greeting.