Chapter Text
As a kid, Beau had spent a lot of time reading fantasy books. She had always wished that she could have magic powers, that she would go through intense training and live a life of adventure. So far, the reality of the situation was, in comparison, deeply disappointing.
She supposed that after the events of the weird ghost-tour-house-party and Molly suddenly being able to talk to Jester and the weird walk with Yasha, that there would be immediate followups on these things; that Caleb would be back the next day for more sordid relationship drama, or that Molly would suddenly reveal some hitherto undiscovered ability that let him communicate constantly, or even that Yasha would show up and ask to go on another walk or something. It felt like a day that was too consequential for nothing to happen.
Reality was underwhelming.
It turns out that the reality of life with jobs is this: you may very well find out that your deceased friend's spirit lives on in his old abode, but you still have to show up to work that week. Beau's initial (and probably unfairly suspicious) thought was that this was merely an excuse to avoid them, that either Jester's odd behavior (sorry Jes) or the general weird vibe of showing up to try to talk to ghosts had put the rest of the friend group off, but was informed by Jester that everyone was simply busy, and that Caleb had specifically asked to visit in a week after a planned event at the library was over.
Molly's ability to communicate with Jester, similarly, was underwhelming in its development after the initial excitement of not talking to just Beau. He had seemingly no reach beyond his housemates; he disappointedly related that his striptease through a window had not seemed to make the UPS guy notice him. Beau privately decided that was probably for the best. He was, evidently, now able to hold full conversations with Jester, although she reported that she could only see him "sometimes".
("If you guys can talk, that means we can take down the bells," Beau pointed out.
She was, once again, outvoted.)
And to the last point, Yasha didn't show up the next day with a bouquet of flowers to proclaim her everlasting love, and worse, didn't even tell Jester if she was coming to visit again soon. Beau, who had felt absurdly attached to the idea that for some reason this would mark a turning point in their relationship where they would become friends if not lovers, felt bizarrely let down. She didn't sulk-- gods knew that she had too much to do to take the time to really wallow in self-pity. There were, admittedly, a few days where she lay awake turning over Molly's throwaway remark that they would be a good pair, and there was more than one time she had visited Yasha's instagram hoping to see-- well, she wasn't sure what she was hoping to see. Signs of life? A message to her?
Turning it over in her mind, she had to admit to herself that ok, maybe Molly's comment on the parasocial aspect of their relationship from a while ago had been accurate. Yasha clearly was not obsessing about Beau the same way Beau obsessed about Yasha, which. Rationally, was fine. Emotionally, maybe she had gotten a liiiittle bit too attached to the idea of having a buff and hot girlfriend and needed to take some time to get over that whole aspect.
Which turned out to be challenging, especially a few days after the visit when Jester reported excitedly that she had come clean to Fjord and apologized, and he had (somehow) agreed to meet her for a proper get-to-know-you first date, at a coffee shop and everything. Happy as she was for Jester, Beau couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy; of course Jester was a catch, but how come it had come so easily for her? And then she felt immediate guilt for, once again, seeing Yasha as a potential partner, rather than a potential friend. The obvious course of action if she wanted a partner was a dating app; she downloaded four, matched and chatted for a day, and then deleted all of them at once, somehow simultaneously socially overstimulated and lonely after making small talk with eleven people, none of whom she knew shit about.
"You're lucky that you don't have to use lesbian dating apps," she grouses over dinner. Jester hums sympathetically through a mouthful of ravioli. "Like, half of the people there are looking for a third, which is good for them, I guess? Cool for a hookup, at least, but then you look at the one photo with their partner, and nope, that's just a dude."
"That leaves half the people on the app," Molly points out. He's not eating, for obvious reasons, but Beau's gotten in the habit of putting a plate in front of him anyway, just for the aesthetics of it all. "Not enough choice with half the queer population of the city?"
Beau glares at him. "And half the people are like 'oh, I smoke cigarettes, but only socially,' which I'm pretty sure is just what you say on dating apps if you're a smoker but you think it's a turn-off. I don't respect that. Also, I'm pretty sure if I show up to work smelling like smoke that Dairon'll have my ass."
"Which would be a pretty neat solution to your problem, some might say."
"Gross," Beau says, grimacing. "Don't try to make me hook up with my boss."
"At least you get fewer fish pics," Jester says, finally finishing chewing.
"At this point I'd take the fish pics," Beau grumbles. "At the very least you'd know they can provide food if the apocalypse happens."
"Why are you even on dating apps?" Molly asks. "Last time I checked, you were utterly smitten with a certain tall friend of mine."
Jester does a terrible waggling thing with her eyebrows.
"I'm over it," Beau says crisply. She's met with two people making sounds of outrage. She raises her hands defensively. "Look, I'm not going to like, keep fixating on someone who is clearly not interested."
"Right," Molly says, giving her a look of disappointed skepticism. "You're over it."
"I'm over it," Beau insists. Neither of them take her seriously; the rest of the night devolves into Molly and Jester ribbing her mercilessly. Beau seethes for a night, but there is some good that comes out of the whole thing; she's spiteful enough to redownload exactly one dating app, where she encounters a delightful woman named (amusingly) Keg. They spend a night together; Keg's not looking for a partner, and Beau's really not into the whole long term relationship with someone who will make her boss glare at her if she doesn't wash her clothes thoroughly enough, but the sex is good. It's fun. She doesn't spend two days afterwards questioning her every move, or if she's creepy or unattractive or whatever; they part on good terms and then peacefully and mutually ghost each other.
It helps takes the edge off when Jester comes back from her first date with Fjord gleefully talking about how they stayed almost until closing ("but don't worry we left early, we didn't want the staff to get real mad-"). She can be happy for Jester and excited for the second date without wondering what makes her so undesirable, which is a big plus.
Unfortunately, they aren't the only ones with relationship changes. A week after Caleb comes the first time, he comes again, this time on his own. Jester and Beau leave the house-- Molly has a ouija board that's pretty consistent, and they're hopeful that his newfound proficiency with communication will kick in somehow-- and come back to Molly sitting on his own, dimmer than usual and dejected, in a mostly-dark house.
"Did you have fuuuuun?" Jester asks, somehow drastically misreading the vibes.
"No," Molly says. He looks up at them, wearing a brave smile that looks suspiciously like a grimace, and says fake-casually, "I broke up with Caleb."
"What?" Jester says, face falling. She hesitates. "Is it because-"
"Because I'm dead," Molly says bitterly. "Dead and in the ground. And in any other situation, he'd be free to move on with his life, and I don't want him-" the facade breaks slightly when his voice trembles, and they clear their throat and soldier on- "I don't want him to spend the rest of his life hung up on a dead guy."
Jester launches into a protest immediately, but Beau doesn't join in. She can't say she disagrees, necessarily; it's a lot to put on Caleb's shoulders. She meets his eyes, tuning out Jester's lecture on how you're only as dead as you think you are, and gives him the tiniest nod. He shrugs minutely in one shoulder-- what else can I do. This is, normally, where Beau suggests getting wildly drunk; it's a pity Molly can't drink. Unless...
"Hey," she says, cutting off Jester, "that's shit, man. Want to spend the rest of the night trying to figure out if you can get drunk?"
"I can't drink," Molly says sullenly.
"Okay, but have you tried?"
"Yes."
"Cool. We're trying again."
She can't say that it's a perfect solution to heartbreak, especially in the face of your own tragic demise, but, well. It's hard to stay gloomy for long when watching Jester try to pour vodka into Molly's mouth as he lies on the floor, even when it does lead to a pool of vodka on their kitchen floor.
"Should have laid down a towel," Beau complains.
Molly, jokingly, rolls over and pretends to lick it off the floor, only to sputter, and then go, "Wait, I think I got some?"
"Okay," Beau says, tipsy enough to find it funny, "So we get a cat bowl and fill it with vodka-"
"You are terrible," Molly says, but he's smiling for real this time. Maybe it's the liquor talking, but Beau feels weirdly at peace in this moment-- sitting on a kitchen floor at midnight with her best friend and their dead roommate (who, okay, at this point is a friend. You don't pull the cat-bowl-liquor-to-get-over-your-ex gambit with an acquaintance).
Things will be okay, she decides.