Re: log: dahl/connie at B&B
Dahlia didn't really believe in ghosts. She didn't believe in a lot of the weird shit she figured Connie was invested in. It was far easier to play along than to commit to the idea that any of this could be real, because then she might have to start giving credibility to her own ghosts--like her nightmares, the ones that haunted her into the waking hours. The nightmares she tried very hard not to think about these days, because they made her shake, made her sick with need, made her weak and so terribly afraid.
They were something she'd also never told Connie about, on top of all of her other garbage she kept close to her chest--all the ugly shit she'd done, all the pain she'd created, all the shit she'd fucked up over, what, fifteen years now? Because if she actually started to believe, then this entire cool dude persona she'd worked so very hard to build up around people like Connie would quickly come undone. And Dahlia knew there was nothing friendship-worthy underneath--just a cagey, needy, miserable little shit. A street kid, a punching bag, a leech, an addict.
So, even staring down a lot of weird in one house, she simply refused to believe. She was stubborn enough to do so every day, although whiskey certainly helped.
Still. It didn't mean this creepy fucking house wasn't absolutely dragging its nails across her nerves right now. Her posture was alert, guarded, composed. She mostly ignored the lights at her peripherals, certain the dark was just playing tricks on her until she saw the one in front of her, beckoning.
Carefully, she started down the hall, toward the light, when the sound of a voice made her stop in her tracks. "Connie?" She whipped her head around. Nothing there, but that had definitely sounded like her? Okay, kinda. Distorted, not right, but distinctly Connie-flavored. It made her pause, then turn around and backtrack slightly. When she glanced over her shoulder down the hall again, the blue light was gone.
Wandering in the middle of a dark hallway, shivering from the cold, Dahlia continued: "Look, what k--c'mon, girl. Where th'fuck are you? I don't wanna play games." There was exasperation in her voice, and it wasn't over some fake haunted house, aside from the part where she was stuck talking to the air like a crazy person. This was all chilling and whatever--literally, since she was better dressed for the comparatively balmy weather they'd all been enjoying a few minutes ago--but if she was honestly afraid of something right now? It was for her friend. All of those messages had sounded wrong, like Connie was having some kind of text-based seizure. She just needed to know her best friend wasn't hurt or something, yeah? For her friend's sake, obviously, but also just as much for her own.
Voice confirmation was a good start, though. "Just tell me where you are, spooky," Dahlia added, a bit more gently. Keep Connie talking, she figured, until she could puzzle out where she was hiding. She started back in the direction she came from, following the direction of the voice. It had sounded close, but this old place threw noises around in unexpected directions, so. She'd believe it only when she saw it.