Owner	Pose
Buttercup	"Come... they call me, pa-rum-pa-pum-pum..." the thin strain sounds so little in the great, cold winter night. The way it hits against the half-crumbled walls, hopeful in the midst of hopelessness, small but steady-- Buttercup's not belting, she's all but half-humming the little Christmas ditty. She's wearing a backpack and a big puffy green coat, fluffy boots with jingle bells sewn on on top of leggings that hug the shortie's long legs between the bottom of her coat and the tops of her boots. There are dozens of people out sleeping on the streets, huddled under whatever they can find, just hoping not to freeze solid before the morning. She's doing her part. Below the zip of her coa, her throat is glistening with golden sunflecks, and she's pacing the perimeter of this slum, gradually warming it up above freezing and to a less fatal and more comfortable sleeping temperature. It's almost two in the morning.
Slimer	"No, my house is haunted." "You don't have a house," another homeless man growls at the first. "I do." A gesture is given raggedly towards a set of shanty tents set up under the overhanging concrete. "And... it's haunted." "...Since when?" "It just got haunted tonight. I'm staying in your tent." "No." The others gathered around sharing conversation ignore the complaints, no doubt he has mental problems. Or is confused. The warmth that Buttercup is projecting, though, attracts a great deal of attention. Not that they know it's her. But there's some brief chatter that it's getting warmer, and maybe they can get some sleep now. Not that the haunted man will sleep--The haunted tent seems to have large, glowing red eyes peering out from the leaning opening, getting a very good look at the heat source.
Buttercup	Buttercup steps a-jingle-jangling down the street, and, noticing the collection of indigent folk sharing a patch of ground as a squat, she decides to saunter over that way. She'll be able to better disguise her powers as the spreading heat from their wastebin fire, and she'll be able to unload all the foodstuffs she's carrying in her backpack. "Hi, guys!" she chirps merrily on her arrival. She's not unknown to the most sorrowful souls on this little triangular island. "Who wants some mac and cheese?" she asks, more rhetorically than not. Everyone does, obviously. She slings down her backpack onto the ground and unzips it. There are a large stack of tupperware bins filled with the rich, gooey warm pasta in there. "What's wrong with your house now, Jackie? It's haunted?" she asks more earnestly.
Slimer	That's like a clarion call for the ghost. It comes bolting out of the tent in a swirl of green transparent fluttering ectoplasm, a light spray of ooze on the tent flaps, as the strangely formed, legless entity does a spiraling flight around the area, and, reaching the backpack, extends one hand to pull up on the flap. Naturally, there's some screaming from the 'nonbelievers' and a "SEE, HAUNTED," from Jackie. The ghost himself looks innocently at them with giant, probably terribly scary reddish eyes. And then crooks an ENORMOUS smile of bent and yellowed teeth. See, so innocent?
Buttercup	Even Buttercup is slightly startled by the sudden floating greenery. Her lips form a perfect little o of surprise and her hands rise to the level of her shoulders, palms forward as she collects her thoughts. When the ghost goes for the goodies, though, she gives a tiny gasp, then reaches out to swat teh ghost upon the wrist. If she can. "No! Bad ghost," she scolds mildly. "No stealing the food." She's encouraged, somewhat, by that innocent smile. "What, are you hungry, little one? Maybe we can share."
Slimer	She does swat him, indeed. She gets green, stickly, ectoplasmic goo on her fingers for it, but she definitely touched something. He has solid form, at least at the moment. "Aaaaaaaaw," The ghost whimpers at her, lower lip trembling in dismay from being told off. His small arms hook in towards his chest, fingers wiggling together restlessly, as if he's having trouble not grabbing the food.
Buttercup	Buttercup keeps her own fingers spread slightly, not sure what the goo is she's gotten on them, but not really wanting to wipe them off on her coat or leggings. "Don't think you can whine and make it all better. You scared these nice people and almost took away their breakfasts, too," it's almost breakfst time, after all. "Come, we'll see if there's any left over once everyone here has a serving," she dictates, sweet-voiced but brooking no argument. "And if not, you can come home with me and I'll make you something myself," she nods firmly. And it'll get the ghostie out of these nice peoples' hair, too."
Slimer	The spud nods at Buttercup. It agrees. But. ....The ghost hovers over the food, making mean faces at anyone that comes over to have breakfast. That way, clearly, more breakfast will remain for him. He's playing by her rules. He rolls his eyes back in his head, stretches out his tongue and drags it around on the concrete, and similar terrible actions.
Buttercup	Well, the poor blokes are plenty spooked, and there's only so much Buttercup can do to maintain a cheery demeanor in the meanwhile and try to keep the fellows coming to collect their little care parcels. Maybe once she hip-checks the spirit if he's getting too close, bumping him with a full, round hip and giving him a look of warning if he's behaving too badly.
Slimer	The Spud isn't hard to manage, really, when she clearly makes her position about it known. He appears to be cowed: just testing the limits of what he's allowed to do. He sulkingly retreats to the tent, and stares at her from the door like a resentful child sent to sit in the corner.
Buttercup	The vagrants let their hunger outweigh their fear once the spirit is no longer performing his grotesque linguistic contortions out in the open. But they do rather take their food and scatter, which, well, Butttercup has got this area nice and toasty, by now, so it's a real shame. Even Jackie comes back, and Buttercup, in between giving the touched old man his mac and cheese and a sweet Christmas kiss on the cheek, she assures him that she will take the spirit away with her when she leaves. Which, once finished, she does make an effort to do, posting herself at the door of the tent with her hands on her hips. "Honestly," she murmurs. "Scaring these poor people who have had just about their share of ill luck in life already. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Slimer	Slimer looks at her with large eyes. And then opens his mouth, and points inside it in a clear 'but hungry' emotive. He mopes, slowly moving towards her as she stands there, truly being a sad sack as much as possible. And maybe looking to see if there's any food left over. Maybe.
Buttercup	"Follow me, then. I'll get you something to eat. But you have to come away from here and let these nice people alone," Buttercup is speaking a great deal more loudly than needful. Publicising the eviction, as it were, so that her heated area will be populated aplent once more. Turning on one heel, she struts back to the garbage can and leans down, zipping up her backpack and then slinging it up and over a shoulder as she stands. "Good night, boys! Happy holidays!" she chimes, treading purposefully away, hoping that the green one will follow suit.
Slimer	Slimer prowls after her, drifting VERY close to her back, following perhaps uncomfortably close-- well, if someone is concerned about a ghost right up against them, anyway, which Buttercup does not seem to have as much of an issue with. He does kind of try to peek into her bag before she zips it up, making another grumbly noise when he doesn't get to check it for food. But she promised him... so yes, he's following, drifting and looking around in case another food offers itself.
Buttercup	Buttercup tilts her head to the side, maybe feeling her little hairs stand up at the back of her neck at the close presence lurning behind her. But she's going to get out of this section of town, then quickly turn aside into a shattered opening into a space devoid of even insects at this time of year, though webs drift from the corners and moonlight shines in tattered window dressings. "Come here, little one. Let me have a look at you. Where do you come from?" she wonders, settling down into a squat and opening up her bag again, which has a big bin of mac left at the bottom, which she presently unloads and then holds on her crossed lap.
Slimer	"My hotel," The ghost informs her, in his unusual voice. It's a little one the squeaky weird end, but also has a spiritual gravel and vibration in it as an undertone, as if the air wasn't quite sure how to deal with his sound. He's started to kind of parade behind her, as if starting to forget about that he was moping. That is, until she shows off the food, and he's abruptly on top of it, hands reaching out into it eagerly.
Buttercup	It's still nicely packed inside the tupperware lid. But not for long. "Your hotel?" Buttercup coos sweetly. She's just a little lamb, isn't she? "You own a hotel? Or you live at a hotel?" she asks some guiding questions as she peels the lid from the bin. She keeps it in her lap, to any and all evidence not to be put off by the spirit coming closer to gorge.
Slimer	"Don't live; am the best hotel ghost; but now, wander," The spirit says helpfully before unable to resist the food, since there seems to be no requirement. He begins to very messily start to shovel it into his mouth in fistfuls of bliss, eagerly.
Buttercup	"Oh! A hotel ghost!" Buttercup is surprised, maybe, but she doesn't sound it, too badly. "Why are you wandering, then? If you're such a good hotel ghost, why not stay at the hotel?" She's heard of haunted hotels, certainly. The zeal with which the little spud gorges-- aww, it makes her smile, a little bit. She even, quite daring, tries scooping out some of the gooey mess with one of her hands and feeding the ghost, herself.
Slimer	He's gentle, he doesn't bite her, but accepts that hand like a third hand of food just along with his own. She's going to get slimed with green goop and mac and cheese probably all the way to the elbow with how much spray he generally has, let alone with this type of very messy food. He's consuming it, too: it's going inside the ghost. Somehow. Definitely a trash bin spirit! "Naw, helping. Gonna be hero." Obviously.
Buttercup	Buttercup looks at her hand, smeared in opaque orange and translucent green all over once she's withdrawn it from Slimer's mouth-- she looks at it in wonder, then sort of wipes the palm of her hand off on her leggings, without another option much available. "Aww! My hero! Is that why you were in the Triangle?" she wonders. "Helping people for the holidays?"
Slimer	"No, got lost," Slimer admits. He won't take credit he hasn't earned, and in this case? Yeah, that wasn't like he was helping anybody. "Needs help? Can help," Slimer assures her, starting to puff up into what he must assume is a heroic posture but mostly just makes him look swollen.
Buttercup	Buttercup purses her lips into a charmed little smile, then lifts her hand to cover her lips as they threaten to look amused at his heroic stance. When her hand comes away, she's smiling kindly at him once more, "I think people need to get used to you, first, before you start helping," she advises. "What kind of things can you do?" she wonders after the ghostling's skillset, so she might be able to hook him up with needful work.
Slimer	Slimer bounces a little. And slides to the side... and becomes nearly entirely transparent, cloaked next to the wall. And then zooms back. "Sneaky see. And. Know ghosts. Good with ghosts. And also eating. When things need eating." He's starting to speak a little bit better, as if the practice is helping.
Buttercup	Buttercup's eyes widen, as though to see the nearly invisible ghost the better, and she claps her hands at the trick, an excited and happy clatter echo-pattering off of the walls of the abandoned warehouse. "That's very good! I will definitely call on your if I need your sneaky skills," she smiles. "Where can I find you, now that you don't stay at your hotel?"
Slimer	"Oh also!" The ghost says, distracted, and suddenly moves towards a wall.... and then with some care, just ... disappears through it. Without a trace. Just gone. Slimer appears to have just ... gone somewhere else, throuhg the wall.
Buttercup	Buttercup leans forward, half-rising to her knees to watch Slimer's display with enthusiasm. She's glad that he's proud of his abilities, and her smile is all encouagement, her eyes all admiration. She gives a loud whisle of approval when he makes it through the wall. "Very good!" she calls to... nobody.
Slimer	He comes back a little bit later, behind her. "BOOOOooooooo!" He ghosts from behind her. Of course. And then returns to the plate of food, to start to lick it 'clean'. Meaning, make it green instead of orange. "Ghostbuster sometime. Or just wander." Nope, he lacks a phone.
Buttercup	"B--eeEEEEE!" Buttercup squeals a little bit, her hands flying up to her chin when Slimer comes to spook her from behind. When he goes back to lapping at the cheese goo, she stands up and tugs down the hem of her puffy green jacket. "You scared me!" she accuses. "And just when I thought that we were getting to be friends!"
Slimer	In the distance, there is an ice cream truck sound. Slimer can't contain himself. "Find later. Bye!" The ghost suddenly says, smiling at her broadly, and suddenly flying off into the night.