Petrichor Memory (Beckett)
Finally FINALLY more Beckett. And, after Annis demanded to be a main character, I spent some time developing her and woooof I sure love her so much. So, here's a drabble where she drags Beckett on a ghost banishing quest. Yes, these stories are getting plotty. I can't help myself. Enjoy!
Beckett's voice cracks as he calls ahead to the figure bobbing and weaving, as if dancing at a ball rather than picking her way down the bleak edge of a less savory village.
“Ms. Doughtry…”
“Annis.” She calls back, her voice light but assertive. “You shall call me Annis.”
“Beckett flushes, and picks up speed to match her stride.
She wears a lace bowknot bonnet that matches her dark bodice, embroidered to look like spiderwebs silked across her chest, spilling to her waist and fanning down to crown her thighs in a parasol of inked webs.
Her dark eyebrow quirks with amusement when she sees him staring. “What compels you to call me Ms. Doughtry? Social status?” She taps a thin, manicured nail to her heart shaped chin. “Hm. Then as social status dictates, you must adhere to my wishes. And my wish is for you to call me Annis. Now that that is settled, let us move on to matters of importance.”
She plucks her skirts so they don't trail the damp boards of the deck they've approached and leads Beckett further from shore.
He smells the tang of salt and silica. A fishing harbor. The boards groan with the weight of their new visitors and they pause halfway down.
“Why are we here?” he tugs the collar of his sweaty blouse. “Miss Annis?”
Her rouged lips are so bright, even in such darkness. At the graves, her frown is pinched in mourning. Respectfully, as one should. But here, it is unleashed. She smiles when he says her first name and it makes his chest flutter.
“What happened here?” he asks.
She kneels, cautiously, sweeping her ivory fingers across the fractured wood. It strikes Beckett as quite strange she is not wearing gloves, as a woman of status.
“Someone perished here.”
“You can sense them?”
She rises and looks at him. “Occasionally. But that's not how I know.”
He tilts his head.
“Your nose itches,” she explains.
“E-excuse me?” he sputters. “How would you…”
She lets out a tiny laugh, “Your brow creases. Right,” she presses two of her clean fingers to his temple, “here.”
The action felt more intimate than it should have and Beckett feels his face flush with all the heat in his body.
She spins about face, straightening with renewed sincerity. She seems so whimsical one moment, then demure in a flash.
“One of the deceased here is possessing locals, using them to copulate.” She flutters her wrist. “Not that I blame her for desiring a body for carnal needs but if it is not consensual, it must be stopped.” She braids her fingers and looks at Beckett expectantly.
“And you want me to do…what?” he asks.
“Kf,” she covers a chuckle. “Beckett, you are the expert, not I.” She shoos him playfully toward the accumulating mist now frothing the docks.
Beckett takes a few tenuous steps, boots heavy with unease.
The mist coalesces, thickening into a more defined but translucent form of a ghoulish woman. Her whiplike gown drags through the planks like chopped ribbons. Her glowing eyes find his and Beckett shudders throughout his body.
Annis rasps behind him but his ears are buzzing with the winds of undeath.
“S-spirit,” he gulps dry air. “I would request that you please leave the people here in peace.”
The ghost glows at him as if he said nothing at all. Naught a shift in the wind indicates a change in her demeanor.
Annis makes a noise of annoyance. It prickles Beckett.
“Spirit--you must leave. Now.” He actually sounded forceful that time. Now, the ghost cocks her head to the side, hair spilling like a silver waterfall.
“Why,” she surges forward, making Beckett stumble back, “would I do that?”
Beckett’s throat rumbles with a cough, his face buzzing with pent up energy. “I.. I - hih! Nnn…”
“Beckett…” Annis whispers, closer now.
“I n-need you-heh… t-to go hng! Ekg-CzGH!” He catches a stifle in the collar of his shirt and snuffles. “Leave! Right n-now!”
A silver lip protrudes from her ghostly face. “You won’t grant my last request?”
Beckett pauses his nose scrubbing and hesitates. “What…do you want?”
Her voice lilts, “What do I want?”
She flows toward him like ribbons dancing in a breeze. Her voice timbres and melts into a buttery whisper. “A kiss…” the sound edges until her lips end up icing the lobe of his ear.
Beckett nearly throws himself backward. His ankle strikes and upturns a box, spilling its contents of fishing nets, warped metals, and other items.
“I--uh--I--”
She stalks his steps as he backpedals.
“Hng--I…” she must know he can’t. All the other ghosts do. They can sense it. They can feel the pull of their spirits. How their mist clings to his insides, buzzes within him. Aggravates and irritates.
Until…
“I c-c-cahh…”
Beckett’s body bumps against something warm. Annis’s fingers wrap around his biceps and she tethers him.
“Oh Beckett! Can’t you?” the teasing lilt in her voice surprises Beckett.
He spins on her and his mouth guppies, “You-you wish me to--?”
Annis’s throat bubbles with a subtle giggle. “A kiss with a ghost,” her lips press together. “Rather amusing, no?” She squeezes his arms, almost comforting, but there’s a glint beneath her oiled lashes. “It is not as if you haven’t done this before, dear Beckett.”
His bones turn to stone. “W-what?”
Did she just imply--
“Kiss me!!!” The spirit moans, flowing toward him. Beckett’s heart speeds and he braces as the spirit’s cold translucent hands cup his cheeks.
Her lipless mouth meets his and…
He feels nothing but cold air. Well, that and…”Ihh…” he tries to hold firm. Truly, he does. But her spirit sways in and out of his and each time it does, “hih-ih-hieh!”
Annis’s breaths begin to quicken as well, likely from anxiety. Her fingers drum against her lips and cheek, her face flushing a rosy pink.
“Oh dear…”
Beckett’s nostrils open wider and with each scoop of air, more of the spirit gets sucked in.
“Hhh-p-plee-hieh!”
Beckett moans the final hitch. He can’t take it any more. His jaw has lowered, his lungs are full, his back is arched. His body is ready and it’s done listening to his pleas.
“HP’sHw!” Even his attempt to keep it contained still sends him bending fully forward, spritzing the deck with droplets and silvery wisps of ghost flesh.
“HF’SHH-IEEhh!” he’s not quite “IYssshHH!!” done. “Hhhyyy’IEE’SHHH-IEUuuu!”
That one sent him into a stumble.
Annis instinctively places a hand on his back, one arm wrapping around his waist to prevent him from tumbling over completely. Her hold on him is firmer than he would have expected from her.
Gasping, Beckett rights himself, and he feels the brush of Annis’ chest against his back.
She clears her throat and steps back once he’s secure. “Are you well, Beckett?” Her voice is slightly cracked, different from her usual confident tone.
Beckett scrubs the remaining itch from his nose and sniffles, “Yes, I believe so.”
“Good.”
Annis smooths wrinkles from her bonnet, not meeting his eyes. “Well, that was one way to do it.”
“Do what?”
She finally looks at him, “Banish…the ghost?” she frowns.
He mirrors her confused expression.
“You don't remember that either?” she asks.
“What do you mean either?”
Annis leans back, her spine arched, and folds her knuckle under her chin in a miniscule pout.
Beckett finally feels more than a twinge of frustration at her. “Apologies ma'am but I really must know what in hells you are--”
“If I may?” She reaches her hand out for him, fingers barely grazing his coarse curls. He jerks back at first but her hesitation as she waits for permission to advance calms him.
He swallows, throat bobbing. “What…are your intentions with me?” he asks pointedly.
She titters a laugh. “Nothing unsavory!” Her eyebrow lifts coyly and he thinks he hears her mumble, “unless you wish for it to be…”
He nods and allows her to carry on. He feels her warm fingers on his neck--such a stark contrast to the ghost’s touch that he leans into it. He imagines he hears a doting murmur from Annis as she parts his locks in search of…something.
In seconds, she pauses, observing. Then, with a conclusive hum, she moves away, face an analytical mask.
“What is it?” Beckett asks.
Annis tugs the brim of her bonnet over her brow and plucks her skirt off the squalid deck. “Nothing unexpected. Come now.” She begins to sway back up toward the street. “I must attend to other things.”
Beckett frowns after her.
What the hells was that about?
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