Into this dark and lonely hole (tw)

One would maybe think of him as cold or apathetic how he just sat there, up under the high ceiling of the warehouse, and watched it all go down. From the rusty metal door sliding open and letting the sad little girl inside a deeper darkness then the early night presented outside. To her throwing the bottle and shattering it all over the dusty floor that he once had kept somewhat clean of small obstacles. And then to herself breaking right then and there. And yet he did nothing. He just watched. Because there wasn’t anything he could do. He had found himself caring less and less of the living as time had passed. Probably a side-effect from the whole being dead thing. He even thought to himself who bothersome it was to have someone come in here. This was his turf. His territory. And he just wanted to be dead in peace. Was that too much to ask for? Apparently…

Noah disappeared from his seat on the ceiling metal framing as if he had never been there just a moment ago. And shortly thereafter he appeared again, now standing upright on the ground floor near the forgotten girl. He didn’t make a sound. All his movement was absolutely soundless, even as it looked like he dragged his steps when he walked closer to her like some slouching angsty boy. He didn’t have a physical form after all. He didn’t even leave footprints in the dirt like the girl had or kicked small bits of concrete by accident. Did he step on something, then his foot simply went through. He wasn’t actually walking. Not exactly.
The poltergeist’s movement hadn’t been that of someone being careful, especially not when he squatted down right in front of this random blonde stranger. What was it with these blondies coming by and acting crazy? With his legs spread, he rested his arms upon his knees while he just kind of studied the girl like some sociopathic creep. The chances of her being able to see him was very slim, however, he had taken to opportunity to do this while her eyes were closed. It was still pretty awkward for him to be up in peoples faces while they looked around. Or right through him like he was air. It wasn’t the best feeling in the world.

The burning orangey-red eyes looked up to the gun she held pressed against her head. It gave him a bad taste in his mouth. A very bad taste. He hated guns now. Had hated them when he was alive as well. The smell of charred gunpowder was a constant in his non-existing nose now. He frowned heavily and looked back to the girl’s face. If she was unlucky enough to have the sight then he wouldn’t be a kind one, that’s for sure. Deadly pale and partly see-through – well, it was different from person to person how opaque he came off as. At least he wasn’t covered in grotesque wounds.
“You might be forgetting something there, blondie,” he growled in quite a normal tone, sound wise. His voice carried quite a bit of cynicism with it as always. Again, he didn’t expect her to be able to hear him. “You won’t be getting anything done with the safety still on, I can tell you that. Let’s say I talk from experience.” He cocked his head.

Noah’s brows shot up in a bit of a surprise. So she could at the very least hear him. He had, of course, expected - even hoped - that she would be startled by the sudden stranger’s voice, but narh. He wasn’t as lucky with his visitor this evening. Or was he? Sitting squatted down to close to her, as he was, made him be in the direct line of the gun, when she decided to throw it. But it simply went straight through him like he was nothing. Not even the slightest bit of blockage like the gun passed something thicker than air. He looked down at his down torso - nothing, not even a hole - and then turned to look over his shoulder at the gun, as it slid over the concrete ground. The sound of it echoed out through the very large area. It made the eerie silence a bit more… eerie. And lonely. She was the only one there. Well. Except for-..

Just as he had grumped about her lack of entertaining reactions, she delivered. A gasp. And after having turned to look back at her, he could see the shock hiding in the crevices of her tired face. Eyes red from her tears. “Who the fuck am I? Now ain’t that just rude.” He really shouldn’t talk about rude… “I’m the fucking ghost of Christmas future. Though, I might be a little early,” she answered with no real intentions of sounding remotely convincing. This words dripped sarcasm and his voice revealed the American accent. His eyes followed her while she carefully stood up, but he himself stayed down for a couple of moments longer, until she had rubbed her eyes dry. Then clapping his hands unto his thighs he pushed himself up to stand straight. “Oh, nothing I didn’t see a thing, blondie. Except for the whole cheering life and recording a sorry excuse of a suicide note. I guess that’s how it’s don’t now a days. Back in my time you used a piece paper and a pen.”
Standing still, moving neither closer to her nor more away from her, unless she did so herself, he stuffed his hands down the pockets of his sweater and tugged his shoulders up while fake-balancing back on his heels and then front. “But, honestly, you can’t expect to not attract attention like that when you’re throwing bottles around in someone else’s home,” he pointed out. The building wasn’t in his name, obviously: He was dead. He couldn’t own anything anymore. But he was also kind of stuck so the place was what one would call his home. He could leave. The place didn’t force him back, it just… pulled on him. And the place was quiet. At least most of the times.

He scoffed. Of course, she wouldn’t have come here if she had known there’d be the possibility of eyes watching her. There were crackheads out there somewhere who got off on the thought of being watched but he strongly doubted that was the case with this one. This reminded him a whole lot more of horrible drop and a spontaneous solution. “Yea, I can now outlive my own personal Northern Lights scene from Balto. Hallelujah for me,” he sighed irritated. His ‘home’ was plenty personalised. He had spent many hours in this very warehouse when he was still alive. And although there was nothing left but debris and a couple of large cargo crates, if one looked to the floor, they’d find many faced black lines. Tire marks but none thicker than of the heels of rollerblades. So he had had a chance of decorating before he left the living plane of existence.

The first question to leave her mouth surprised him. He would have expected her to just ask him to confirm that he was dead and all, but she took the step further. Having picked up on what he had basically spoon fed her. “Well, aren’t you a clever one? I did. Blew my fucking brains out right over there.” He nodded to a spot behind where se stood. To a windowless concrete wall running non-parallel with the one with the entrance gate. The brains he was talking about wasn’t there anymore. Having been scrubbed clean so to not settle and bring bad odour. There was nothing there but he could sense his death echo’s placement. Sitting up against the wall. On the ground, however, a few withered stems and rose petals were shattered.
“Huh? Why?” A brow shot up and he looked close to judgemental towards her again. Had she really just asked him that? Why? He took a few steps closer to him. Hands still relaxing in their pockets. “For the fun of it. What the hell do you think, why?! I’m sure you can muster up an answer for that yourself, thinking you were about to make the same fucked up mistake.” As he talked se slowly transitioned into more of a yell. And as he did his voiced seemed to sound more like an echo, like it didn’t so much come from his mouth but rang from …everywhere in the building until he sighed again and it disappeared as if it had never been there. He stopped up again and then glanced to his side, down to the phone on the ground. And a glance was all it took for the screen to light up; “Hey.. this is most likely just a waste of time…” and it started replaying her video recording.

Turn it off? No. He didn’t feel like doing that. It took enough energy as if was to having turned it on - what a lie that was, though. All it would take was another glance and poof. Instead the phone suddenly exploded! “Jesus fuck!..” he blurted out with both brows having jumped up, now sitting high up on his forehead. Now that was something. She hadn’t just cracked the screen. She fucking annihilated the phone. He was sure it was her doing. There was no one else around after all. Just the two of them. No other humans like her. And no other ghosts like him. He’d know..

Noah felt pretty uncomfortable with how she was freaking out, because what else could be do than stand there and watch like some cynical psychopath? His eyes averted her for a short while, looking around, at the broken glass. He wasn’t a problem solver. Not emotionally at least. “Hey, blondie. Tell me one thing,” he finally spoke out by the end of her panic and screams of help. Wrapped up tightly in what he could only guess to be self-deterioration. He tensed up in his shoulder, it was almost a relaxing sort of stand actually, and he kept looking more obviously about the warehouse before the burning-orange eyes found back to her. “Why is it so important that you need to be strong? I mean, how old are you? Seventeen?” To his defense; she was a very small bean even with the grown-up harsh look to her eyes. “And you already feel like you have to carry the whole world on your shoulders, huh? I can’t lie. That’s rough.”
But… he knew a little about what she was going through. Kind of. He had no real idea of what was going on in her life, and he wasn’t sure if he even cared. Pah! Of course, he didn’t care. Other people could ramp it, and yet he had intervened. What he did know something about was that heavy empty feeling as well as the drinking that eventually lead to an inability to stop a spontaneous action.

Abruptly the poltergeist let out a loud sigh, that send out a strange echo in the warehouse. A sound that was both there and not. “What’s your name?” He had to strain himself a little to get himself to finally ask that. He wasn’t a fan of doing that. It made an interaction more personal, which he for most of the time tried to stay away from.