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Post by Sidney Rua on Jun 23, 2013 19:06:41 GMT -5
Crowds lined the streets, ebbing and flowing like a living tide, surging around the pull that the street performers provided. The young girl and the Poochyena passed through the sea of people unnoticed, the girl skipping and laughing as the dog trotted happily along after her. They were not out of place in this crowd - there were many children and Pokemon running about. The only difference was that the other children never strayed too far from the watchful eyes of their parents and care-takers, but the pale girl danced along with no thought of staying close to any particular place.
Eventually, they came to a stop, at the edge of one of the quieter streets. The girl's eye had been caught by the bright display going on before her - a fire-eater, plying his trade to the masses. Enchanted by the bright flames, and the stunning act, she sank to the ground, her Poochyena sitting beside her. "Wow, lookit that, Ruff'. It's so preeettty~" A grey tail wagged slowly. "Yeah, Sid, it is. I wonder if we could learn to do that... The pair giggled and pushed at each other from their front-row seats, falling silent as the performance intensified before coming to an explosive ending.
The two ghosts rose to their feet and applauded the performer, who bowed gracefully. As the performer busied himself with preparations for his next performance, the two young ones set off through the crowds once more, searching for some new spectacle to entertain them.
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Post by Hillary Davis Clawson on Jun 26, 2013 1:28:01 GMT -5
pblockquote] Watching a four-year old even when you could pass through walls and never sleep was exhausting. Hillary floated behind his sister as she toured the festival; even floating, without gravity or muscles to worry about, he found keeping up with his sister (who was much bigger than he remembered) was nearly impossible. Her stumbling steps were surprisingly capable of eating up land. Where was his mother? The middle-aged woman, who had been doing little but working the past few months, had been graciously offered a break by her undead son. Being a ghost, he figured taking care of the tiny thing would have been simple. Instead, as his sibling could easily dodge his cloud-like grip, he found himself in for a world of hurt.
Two carnival games, one large stuffed animal, one miniature-playdate and one harassed duck later, the little girl finally seemed to slow down.. Her tiny pink lips parted in a yawn as her brother, still clad in his odd orange outfit (and drawing quite a few looks), finally managed to catch up. His tennis-shoes, with their few dots of red, now hovered a few inches above her head. A sign pointing out performers, such as those Sidney was watching, caught his gaze. As long as he took care of his sister, would his mother mind terribly if he tried to push his own agenda? Hillary smiled and gently nudged the toddler in the right direction: "They have ballerinas over here! Let's go see them!" "I don' like no dancing ladies no more! I like doctors..." With a tantrum o nthe horizon, one that made Hillary hold breath he did not have, the little girl finally stomped off toward a comfy spot in front of the fire eater. Was that safe? Would mother yell at him for letting her so close to the whirring torches? These questions went unanswered as the movement of the flickering flames fully captured his attention. Luckily, as this could have ended in disaster, his tiny sister was too tired to run off into the unsupervised sunset.
A lull in the crowd made him blink as a person behind him, a young man with his girlfriend, repeated his polite request to be excused. The young teenager always enjoyed frightened reactions; instead of moving to the side, and allowing the boy room to pass, he floated directly through him and his girlfriend. The girl turned green. Her boyfriend looked aghast. The pair quietly talked to one another and then vanished. He heard nothing. His temporary bit of mischief had lost its fun rather quickly.
Blue eyes moved to check that his sister still watched the gymnast besides the fire-dancer and then turned to observe the crowd; his Eevee, which finally caught up, settled into her lap as a silent protector.. Did those hotdogs taste as good as they looked? Did the cotton candy still stick to fingerprints? Had his undead stomach just growled at his thoughts in irritation. The big brother soon found his gaze caught on the figure of a little girl without supervision--no one seemed to be watching her. Ignoring the bleachers and such, he floated through the crowd before popping up behind her with a frown: "Hey, kiddo! Where are your parents at? It's kind of dangerous to be wandering around out here--you might catch your dea--" Hillary could feel a sense of kinship with this young girl and her oddly colored hound. He smirked: "You aren't even a kid, huh? How long ago did you die ? I'm going on a year or two myself." He could hear his mother yapping in his ears about being rude and intrusive even as the question came out. He shrugged at the inaudible words.
What else were ghosts supposed to talk about? The weather they could not feel? The time they could not understand? The food they no longer tasted? [/blockquote]
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Post by Sidney Rua on Aug 3, 2013 1:16:30 GMT -5
A brief lap of the nearby area revealed not much else of great interest to the little girl and her hound, so, deciding that the fire-eater had been entertaining enough to watch a second time, they trudged back towards the street in which he had set up, pausing occasionally to point out some cute souvenir or especially delicious looking morsel of food. Not that either meant much to the two ghosts anymore - while they still sometimes attempted to eat, it always ended in a hilarious failure with the food going straight through their heads and splattering on the ground. At first it had been rather amusing, but eventually they had ceased to try, and while they did not grow hungry, they did miss the tastes of their favorite foods. Sidney stood and stared longingly at a cotton candy stall for a minute, her face drawn into a stubborn frown.
Eventually, the pair wandered back to where they had been seated a quarter of an hour ago, joining in with the small crowd that had gathered to witness the performance. A mischievous child made the mistake of thinking that the two might be easy targets to bully, and ended up falling through them when he attempted to shove Ruffian into Sidney. The two giggled at him as he ran off, calling for his mommy. Then, the performance began for a second time, and the crowd fell silent, enchanted by the flames.
When Hillary appeared behind the two without so much as a sound, the two did not start at all, instead turning to smile angelically at him. "My mum went away."
The next question was more difficult to answer, and her face scrunched up in concentration as she thought. "I think... Two years? Because mummy said I was six, and my birthday's been twice, so it must be two!" Having successfully answered the question by herself, the ghost's chest puffed out proudly like some bird trying to make itself seem bigger and more impressive.
"I'm Sidney, and this is Ruffian! What's your name, mister?" Sidney was hearing a similar voice, reminding her to be polite, but she was being polite by asking his name, wasn't she? Or was it meant to be the other way around? She wasn't entirely sure.
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Post by Hillary Davis Clawson on Aug 7, 2013 10:54:03 GMT -5
The best part about being a ghost, one of many to Hillary, was his ability to travel where no one else could; it was far quicker to traverse the entire festival without having to pause for passerby. It was easier to keep up with his sister when he could just leap through any trees she dodged behind (instead of getting caught in the spin-cycle of hide and seek). It had also allowed him to quickly get to this girl. Most of this festival, minus scaring people, had been quite dull. Just like Sidney he could not eat any of the junk food, get on any of the rides, or really buy anything--where exactly was he going to carry it? The only thing he had that could eat, his two trusty Pokemon, had also decided to forgo those things--they could see how sad their trainer's eyes would get. It hurt sometimes to remember you were dead. Hillary would get used to it though--or be outdone by a six year old.
"My mum went away." Her voice sounded young and a lot more like his sister's than his own. It didn't seem her death had come from the throat (those ghosts were often impossible to understand--though fun at charades).
The question had been a bad one; a lot of the child ghosts he met, most far older than him (as childhood deaths were less common now), were older than him by a century or two. This girl seemed to be more modernly dressed than some of the others--such as the twins at the counseling group stuck in a constant state of Victorian dress. He frowned--did she mean her mother was 'dead' or that her mother had went off for a few minutes? Had he finally found another ghost like him: one who clung to their life--dead or not? He just smiled, hoping it was the latter, and spoke amiably: "Oh! Is that so? At least our kind doesn't have to worry about kidnappers or anything, huh?" For a moment blue eyes lifted to where his sister squatted before the dancers; for all her whining and complaining , to her brother, she looked pretty damn fascinated. Satisfied that no dark figure had whisked her away, like some infomercials implied, he turned back to his fellow specter.
Hillary could not resist the urge to chuckle at her expanded chest and proud stance. The boy saw little wrong with a good sense of confidence and a healthy feeling of self assurance--even if it made the girl look like a tropical bird. He frowned as if he himself had an issue adding up six and two. For all his 'struggles', which looked like constipation, he had to wonder at why this little girl was dead. What had happened? Had it been quick? Cancer? Why hadn't such a darling thing, or what seemed like it, go off to wherever they were meant to? He clapped when she spoke: "Two---two years! So you're eight? You're getting to be an old spinster, huh kiddo?" A blue eyed wink at the also dead puppy. He meant no harm and was merely cracking a joke--hopefully this little girl took it a bit better than his sister. How many times had he accidentally made the toddler cry? That certainly wasn't as easy to figure out as Sidney's single-diget age.
The introduction, polite and clear, drew another smile to his face. He did frown at the use of the word 'mister'--it made him think of board room meetings, stern business men, his father, and teachers; Hillary did not equate any of those things with himself. Still, at the very least, the girl had tried--he saw no reason not to be polite (he adored kids): "I'm Hillary--you can call me H-Man, Hillsy, or Hill. You don't have to call me mister either--that's for the meat sacks, Sidney. How long have you had Ruffian? I have a Deino and Eevee myself--bit older than you are." A smile, gentler than his earlier grins, graced his young and boyish features. To be honest he felt a bit chided and abashed by his own use of the word 'meat sacks'--that wasn't the right thing to teach a kid.
Hopefully, unlike the time Elouise picked up a certain f-word, Sidney wouldn't notice. His mother would fleece him--even if the little girl was deader than a doornail.
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Post by Sidney Rua on Aug 13, 2013 7:54:44 GMT -5
As a child, the abilities that came with being a ghost were just as appreciated by Sidney, albeit for very different reasons, most of them related to having fun or playing games. Unlike Hillary, the two younger ghosts had not found the festival at all dull, with plenty of sights to occupy them - they were, despite all that had happened, at that happy age where it did not take much to entertain them. Even if they did have the occasional sad moment when they realised that they could not devour those delicious treats or play with those fluffy toys. There was no jealousy of one another's abilities between the little "trainer" and her Pokemon, though, as they both had near-identical skill sets now. Death had made them, and many others, equal in a way that life never could.
Sidney's death had not been anywhere near as visible as some horrific throat injury would have been, although the difference in the degree of goriness between the two contrasting types of fatal wounds was debatable. Unlike what her appearance might have been had her death been related to the area of her neck, Sidney's cause of death was difficult to spot at first, hidden as it was by her clothes, but it was most definitely visible, and not lacking in its own share of blood.
Like the girl, the mother was deceased but, unlike her daughter, she had not returned from the grave in a more ethereal form. Sidney did not clarify this fact, though, and merely nodded at Hillary's rhetorical question. Her green eyes darted over towards the fire-eater before flicking back to this new form of entertainment.
The fact that she was making Hillary laugh with her display only seemed to encourage Sidney who, ever eager for attention, smiled, her chest puffing up ever-more until she looked almost ready to explode. The action caused her clothes, unaffected by the wind or the crowd but somehow moved by the girl anyway, to shift, revealing two bloody stains, expertly hidden in the folds of her clothes but shown by happenstance, chance and movement. Just as quickly as they had come into view, however, they were obscured by colourless clothes as Sidney grew bored with her own antics, lungs allowing nothingness to rush out - it wasn't as though they had been filled in the first place anyway.
As Hillary played along with her, making a big deal out of the whole thing, Sidney giggled happily. Looking at her now, you'd hardly guess what she'd been through, let alone what she herself had done. "I'm not old, silly!" She said between giggles, pushing strawberry-blonde locks out of eyes in a pointless movement.
His next response only added to her giggles, and even Ruffian joined in. It was obvious that they liked this person. He was funny, and nice. "OK, H-man~ Ruffians my bestest friend in the whole world, and he's been with me for forever!" Sidney was, like many children were, prone to exaggeration.
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Post by Hillary Davis Clawson on Aug 16, 2013 0:39:32 GMT -5
To be honest, even if he claimed otherwise, he used his abilities like the eight year old; he used them to have fun, play games, and just because they fascinated him. He loved scaring people and inducing a giggling fit in himself afterward. Hillary enjoyed being invisible and pulling down people’s pants, making thing they threw go awry, or holding door shut for no good reason. In all honesty, while he called them pranks and “just having a good-time”, Hillary was just playing with his powers. The boy even enjoyed acting like a superhero—minus the bed-sheet cape—how different was he from Sidney and Ruffian? He loved his Pokemon and his family; he did not feel very “equal” with them though. While, at least for a ghost, Hillary had a good outlook on life—it was nowhere near as bright as Sidney. He missed food, driving, and ladies a lot more. His Pokemon, who he had a hard time training with, sometimes got sad looks on the faces or lonely ones. Being dead at eight, instead of nearly eighteen, would have been the better way to go—he would have been even more cheery.
Did an eight year old even know what it meant to be dead/ Had she ever had to stand there in stiff suits, hair held down with hairspray, brush strokes, and spit as a grandparent’s life was outlined by a stranger? Had she seen what they did to her body afterward? Hillary had found the embalming process far scarier than being a ghost—personally. The lack of reply to the question drew his eyebrows up; he just let himself shrug as it was sometimes awkward to discuss families. The nod answered everything he did not know and he would try to avoid asking anything else—he could not imagine his mother, stern and loving woman that she was, being gone. It took more tries than Hillary to count to remind himself half of the time that prodding into dead mothers was rarely the best idea.
His was all but invisible minus the few dots of red on his hunter’s orange jacket. The odd dip in the left side of his chest, as the steering wheel crushed it, was also hidden by the ridiculous coat with its large amount of stuffing and obnoxious color. Hillary had learned not to ask about cause of death—unless he could do it without seeming nosy. There was no way to avoid being an ass if he tried to fill his curiosity with an eight year old; he doubted she could even explain it.
The flames caught his blue eyes on occasion though he looked on with a healthy bit of skepticism; he was too big to believe there was not some trick to those spinning sticks—such as how they never came any closer than within a foot of the performers. Blue eyes caught that red easily and focused for a moment in wonder. His eyebrows lifted: what had caused those? Even as he opened his mouth to ask he felt a ghostly hand, the imagined one of his mother, smack him upside the head. Hillary swallowed his urge. The brunette trusted people a bit too much sometimes. He believed in the best about others and a kid he wagered the worst this girl ever did was lie about what happened to a cookie jar and its contents. His voice, high enough in decibels to promote a glare, dropped off into a hiss: “You’re not? That means I’m young then! Hallejulah! I feel like a dead chicken! Spring chicken anyway—do you have any idea what a ‘spring chicken’?” Maybe this girl was actually his grandma’s age—and would get the reference; Hillary somehow doubted it. His face grew into a wider grin as he stared at that hair; he wagered this kid would have been a pretty young lady some day. Hillary literally had no idea about what Sidney had done or her life—he just saw a happy little Kindergartner.
The boy liked this girl too—especially as she repeatedly reminded him to check on his bouncing and giggling little sister. He loved laughter and laughing; it still, even when his body was six feet under, made him feel amazing. That adoration was why he wanted to be a comedian growing up—and might still be, if people did not mind jokes about death. The fact that she called him H-Man only made him more gleeful. White teeth appeared as his happiness became more apparent and he nodded, ignoring the exaggeration completely. “Forever? That’s an awfully long time—he looks like a good friend. That Eevee over there is mine. Just don’t tell my Deino that!” He pointed to an empty blanket.
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Post by Sidney Rua on Sept 16, 2013 2:01:41 GMT -5
Hillary was quite correct in that respect - an eight year old had very little concept of death, or the enormity and finality that such a word attempted to capture in a few letters, no more than lines on paper or a short sound in the air. As such, the prospect of infinity spent as a ghost did not have the same impact as it would for an older person, who might see it as a curse. Instead of comprehension and sadness, though, what Sidney did have was a healthy appetite for fun, coupled with a great deal of curiosity and the wide-eyed wonder that seemed to accompany all young children. Ruffian was much the same and, as they shared in their spectral existence, there was reason for either to feel at all lonely.
Before her own untimely demise, Sidney had not experienced death in its raw state before, or, more accurately, not until a few seconds before the same fate befell her. The closest she had gotten to any notion of the so-called "end" before that was the time she had walked in on Hitcock's "The Birds" just as one of the cast was improbably pecked to death. After her death, she had, of course, become slightly more acquainted with the term, but she still could not quite grasp its meaning, only that it usually meant that someone went away, and she didn't see them again, and that made her sad. She didn't like to think about that much.
As it was, those flecks of red went unnoticed by the child, and just how Hillary had come to be a ghost went unquestioned - Sidney didn't think it important to ask. Had he inquired into her death, he would have been met with a flurry of barely coherent babbling about loud bangs and pain and the 'boss' and a lot of red.
Far too naive and young to suspect any such tricks, Sidney, whose gaze constantly flicked stealthily back to the spinning fire in wonder, did not doubt the performance. She did not fully grasp the potential risks of such a display either - death had removed her fear of potentially harmful things such as fire, and lessons taught about such dangers had dulled and been archived in some dusty corner of her mind. The girl's attention had been momentarily diverted back to the fiery display off to the side once more, and she completely missed Hillary's reaction. Ruffian, too, was occupied as he scratched a phantom itch behind ghostly ears.
Attention back on the other spectre, Sidney giggled. "I dunno. Maybe they bounce when they walk - my mum said I walked with a spring in my step!" She skipped and jumped around Rufian as if to illustrate the point, red-gold locks bouncing behind her, as the Poochyena spun around in an effort to follow her movements. The two quickly grew dizzy and, slightly off-balance, Sidney stepped to a stop.
The other two spectres also loved to laugh, however, neither had considered a career in making people chuckle - Sidney had always wanted to be a famous explorer and Ruffian, despite the difficulties that such a possibility might pose, had dreamed of becoming an astronaut. Now that they were dead, Sidney found her dream easily achievable, while Ruffian happily settled for floating in Earth's atmosphere as opposed to outside it.
Assuming the next part to be another joke, Sidney laughed again. "You're silly, H-man! That's not a Deino... It's blanket!" Ruffian's tail wagged, and he joined in. "Ahahaha, yeah!"
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Post by Hillary Davis Clawson on Sept 28, 2013 4:34:22 GMT -5
Double Sidney’s age and no more knowledgeable on the topic of death, Hillary was not exactly an expert on the word. He had been dead nearly a year; it had yet to hit him that this would not just disappear. The brunette would not serve a short sentence, hovering around like a little spirit, and suddenly awaken with his body in one piece. Life would keep going and he’d be the same. Sadly, with time, he would start to notice it. For now, ‘sitting’ with Sidney, things were pretty good. He loved his powers. It was funny to scare people in the shower or by possessing their water-hose. Going invisible was the best. Hillary never felt lonely either: his Pokemon (while alive) were always there for him.
He had people that died. Hillary had went to some funerals. He remembered how annoying it was to have his hair slicked back, clothes picked at , and body prodded. His back hurt from hours of sitting up straight. None of these people, distant relatives and the like, had meant much to the brunette. Sympathethic to a fault, Hillary had still felt bad. These deaths had changed little in day-to-day life. Even his own demise, at 16, had left everything the same; he still ‘slept’ in his bed, went to school, and sat with his family at dinner-time. He comprehended nothing more than Sidney. Death itself, short word or not, was a big and unwieldy concept.
With a sigh, as the little kid ate up the trickery, Hillary laid his cheek on his gloves. The fiery movement caught his eyes for a few minutes. He strongly resisted his urge to gasp with each ‘close’ call. The frown of disbelief on his face kept shrinking; a smile beneath it, one of admiration, vied for control. The dog scratching at his translucent ears, claws an inch or two short, drew his attention. With little worry for his welfare, he had no fingers to chew off, the brunette gave a few experimental scratches.
He seemed to be enjoying the stage-show more than he let on; it wasn’t ‘cool’ to drool like an ill-mannered dog at a carnival.
Children had no answers for him either; no one truly seemed to know where the term came from. Sprint-time being associated with mating was the only correlation he could think of; hens laid eggs constantly with little need for a rooster. The blue-eyed boy did not think, laying them with chicks in it, was exactly something to be young and cheery about. Hillary quickly responded to the little girl with a thumbs-up and large grin: “You certainly seem bouncy and spirited! You’re not very chicken-like though—minus those legs.” He laughed (a bit too much) at his own joke. A quick wink meant that all of that, including the comment on her lower extremities, was just for one big giggle. For some reason, with no muscles or urge to sleep, the display made him feel exhausted. The girl had a lot of energy!
For some reason, minus a short stint where he wanted to be a doctor, Hillary had not changed his life-ambitions that much. His mother pushed him towards science. The boy liked mathematics. Accounting bored him. He wanted to –somehow—make people laugh. He loved how it made his belly feel when he’d been alive. When he chuckled now, without a heart, he still felt so happy.
The finger froze as it pointed at the blanket. His chest constricted painfully; his mother would skin him if his sibling was missing a single hair .Then, realizing fully what the girl had said, Hillary moved to correct whatever had confused her in his words: “No, Sidney! I meant to say that my Eevee is over there—with my sister.” His gaze turned to that little patch of grass. The toddler, just a few minutes prior, had been sitting on it with an all-encompassing smile. The Pokemon had been beside her. Hillary had just watched the fire for a moment (entranced by it and its beauty). Had she stood up? His trainers lifted off the ground as he forced himself upward and above the crowd.
Sweat beaded his translucent brow; his sister was not in the vicinity: “H-hey, Sidney. Do you want to help me with some hide-and-seek?” Maybe the dead weren’t impervious to fear. He felt like he wanted to piss himself. His little sister, with nothing more than a low-leveled pair to protect her, had vanished. No one in the crowd seemed to have noticed.
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Post by Sidney Rua on Oct 4, 2013 22:37:10 GMT -5
It was unlikely that Sidney would realise anytime soon that she was stuck here - she was too young to understand that properly, and, so long as Ruffian was with her, she would not easily grow bored of her existence. Eventually she would realise and understand, but not for a long time yet, most likely. Especially not when she had all these wonderful powers to entertain herself too, and a limitless supply of imagination, of course.
Death had changed everything for Sidney, but, thankfully, it had been fast, and she hadn't been able to properly register what it meant for her, and for her mother. She missed her mom, though, that was for sure. But she wasn't scared. She wasn't scared of anything, or so she would insist if asked. That wasn't quite true, however - the little ghost girl did have some phobias, but they rarely troubled her anymore.
The two youngsters had no such reservations, and did not realise that they were being tricked - perhaps they weren't. Mutants were not as uncommon as they had once been, and were more accepted than in years past - they were certainly more tolerated and commonplace than ghosts and sceptres were.
The scratches drew a sigh of happiness from the Poochyena, who wriggled closer to Hillary and raised his back for a better scratch. As a dog, he was allowed to drool with little repercussions or thoughts of how 'uncool' such an action was. He was very much enjoying the scratch, though - even as a ghost, who should not experience such a sensation anyway, he had difficulty reaching certain spots on his back.
Hillary's response only drew more laughter from the pair, with Sidney giggling almost uncontrollably, and Ruffian rolling on the floor for theatrical effect.They didn't appear to have taken any offense to the statement.
Two pairs of eyes watched curiously as Hillary froze, and then corrected himself, heads swinging to follow the new direction. "Your sister? Oh! Is she like you too, H-man?" "Maybe she's invisible!" Ruffian pipped in, grinning happily, as the two floated after Hillary.
The mention of hide-and-seek had the two practically leaping in excitement, a rather disconcerting action to look at as they hovered several metres above the ground and the rather large crowds. "Yes! We love hide-and-seek! Are we looking for your sister?!" Sidney put a hand to her forehead, as if shielding her eyes from the sun even though it was not all that bright, before she paused. "...How are we going to know if we find her?" Ruffian cleared his throat and held his head up, proud to have thought of a solution. "H-man's Pokemon should be with her, right?" He glanced over at the other ghost for conformation, eager to be found correct and to begin the search.
Hillary had definitely chosen the right tactic to enlist their help for the search - neither one could resist a good game.
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Post by Hillary Davis Clawson on Oct 22, 2013 3:10:26 GMT -5
(Sorry for the wait, Kazza! Hit me up if I owe you anything else!)
Being locked-in at the supposedly worse part of life, adolescence, Hillary had made an off-colored joke once or twice. He wished, when it became hard to watch and understand his current predicament, that he had died a bit younger. His mother, the one time she had heard him say something similar, had looked like Zeus himself; the brunette was afraid that, like a bolt of lightning, that she would strike him dead with a glare. Just like Sidney, at least for now, he still loved all of his powers; it let him do anything from sneak into some less-than-secure and sensitive places and peek in the girl’s shower room from time to time. He rarely had time to feel depressed—yet. When his famly passed on, leaving him alone, the blue-eyed boy might feel differently (or go to greener pastures with them). What was there to be scared of? In a traffic accident, he could just float out the window and watch the carnage. When it was done, using what corporeal influence he had, Hillary could play at being a fire-man. He could just swim around the ocean floor. The only bad thing about being dead, aside from no body, were remembering those moments. The brunette now knew, whether they slept or not, that ghosts could dream. The two youngsters had no such reservations, and did not realise that they were being tricked - perhaps they weren't. Mutants were not as uncommon as they had once been, and were more accepted than in years past - they were certainly more tolerated and commonplace than ghosts and sceptres were.
The boy was a cynic; with age came a somewhat darker outlook on the world, Hillary would put the first change somewhere after his father confessed that Santa Claus was just a cheap trick. The fire-eater, if it was a mutant with highly-resilient insides, was even more of a cheater in that case. The whole point of this sort of show, what made people stare in awe, was the aspect of danger. What was the fun in that sort of thing? At least a sham had some change of going wrong. The brunette would never wanted anyone hurt—he just wanted to see something thrilling.
Gloves brushed translucent fur beneath a tiny smile. He made sure, like with his Eevee , to hit all those places paws missed. Hillary, loving fingers, was glad he was not a dog—the only spot out of reach, in the center of his back, could be conquered with a pointed stick. Ghosts didn’t itch often. Two pairs of eyes watched curiously as Hillary froze, and then corrected himself, heads swinging to follow the new direction. "Your sister? Oh! Is she like you too, H-man?" "Maybe she's invisible!" Ruffian pipped in, grinning happily, as the two floated after Hillary.
Dumbed by shock, afraid someone nasty had grabbed his sister, he just nodded at the comments about invisibility. It seemed like she had disappeared. Her bright clothing was nowhere to be found—nor was his Eevee. What would his mother think!? He floated higher and peered into the crowd nervously; too many people in the area made it nearly impossible to find such a small shape. The younger Clawson was tiny. He was a bit higher than even Sidney and Ruffian. “He’s a little Eevee—she’s wearing a dress..is it pink? Blue? It has flowers all over it…” Why hadn’t he paid better attention? What if they needed to put out an amber alert with his horrid description? Why would she have left? Had mother called? Could his Eevee have been left behind by those surprisingly quick toddler legs?
The boy drifted back toward Sidney and Ruffian. He was anxiously wringing his gloves. His form kept flickering out of focus. He still smiled—though it seemed rather forced. “Have you guys seen her yet? You’re the champs at this right? Huh?” In the distance, with a giant stick of cotton candy, his sister was pigging out on sweets. Her cheeks were coated in sugar. A friend from preschool, and her mother, had wandered by. They had offered to bring the little darling some cotton candy. What kind of child refused free sweets—especially the kind that ruined a whole outfit?
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