Re: [B&B: Nish & Atticus & Aiden, entrance]
"Guess I'll take whatever answer aligns with your definition of dying." Atticus didn't consider himself as ever having died, but it could be argued that the month after the bite was a kind of death. Had survived that last weekend, the one where his fever was so high it would've killed a normal person. No coming back from that kind of fever, not with your brain functioning. Didn't see any white lights then. Just horrible pains that wracked his body. And now here he was, alive, in a sense. "Suspect you might have a different definition than most." Said it casually and with dark eyes interested, as if sitting near a dead woman's feet and talking to whatever had come for her was a regular daily occurrence; it wasn't, even for Atticus.
Tried to place the accent. Atticus' own accent was so soft it almost didn't exist. New York, upstate, Knickerbocker variety and silver spoons.
"Usually I quote Ginsberg. Thompson seemed more fitting. Have a good memory for words. Remember them on the page. Remember where they rest and what they look like. You're well read." Didn't expect any iteration of death to be able to recognize Thompson with so little hesitation.
The haunts, other than the girl, didn't come in the room. Atticus wasn't surprised, and he looked down at her without any real fondness. "This one never does what the others do," he commented, and then he looked back at Gladys, then at the reaper again. Smiled. "Name's Atticus. Figured it wouldn't hurt to get friendly with the person who might come for me one day." Glanced back toward the door. "That was Nishka. She has a problem named James. Not sure yet how to help her with it."