[ an accident. yeah, sure. sitting around in a fancy garden with a nametag on looking at a 'phone' that looks more like something out of star trek than real life, lydia figures she has got to be dreaming.
not that weirder things haven't happened to her, and recently, but still: after all the things she went through, for this to be how she ends up in the afterlife is a huge stretch. also, she doesn't believe the afterlife would have better technology than the living plane.
that said she's sitting at a table wearing a sticker that says HI, MY NAME IS LYDIA, staring furiously at a piece of sweet potato pie that she has no intention of eating, clutching a cell phone in one set of hands like she doesn't know how to use it; she has a veil on over her hat but underneath there blink several extra sets of eyes, perhaps apparent through the black lace when she looks up and reaches out to grab the sleeve of someone passing by with a hand from a second set of arms that'd previously been crossed over her abdomen. ]
Excuse me, sorry. You wouldn't happen to know how to use one of these things, would you? I've never seen one before.
anti-rumble technology
[ yeah, no. no thanks. since stepping down into hell, lydia's been the opposite of pleased. which isn't very different from her normal expression, but the vibes are rank down here. the vibes? god, she's started thinking like delia. the next thing she knows she'll be telling someone their aura sucks.
she's able to avoid the ruckus for the most part, being relatively good at keeping out of sight and being left alone, but when someone gets punched by someone else and it rams them into her in a way that crushes the camera hanging around her neck, it's the last straw. ]
Hey! You'd better pay for that!
[ yeah, it's finally rumble time, welcome to a plucky goth teen being absolutely apoplectic about someone breaking her camera. ]
lydia deetz. beetlejuice (film). hell-bound.
[ an accident. yeah, sure. sitting around in a fancy garden with a nametag on looking at a 'phone' that looks more like something out of star trek than real life, lydia figures she has got to be dreaming.
not that weirder things haven't happened to her, and recently, but still: after all the things she went through, for this to be how she ends up in the afterlife is a huge stretch. also, she doesn't believe the afterlife would have better technology than the living plane.
that said she's sitting at a table wearing a sticker that says HI, MY NAME IS LYDIA, staring furiously at a piece of sweet potato pie that she has no intention of eating, clutching a cell phone in one set of hands like she doesn't know how to use it; she has a veil on over her hat but underneath there blink several extra sets of eyes, perhaps apparent through the black lace when she looks up and reaches out to grab the sleeve of someone passing by with a hand from a second set of arms that'd previously been crossed over her abdomen. ]
Excuse me, sorry. You wouldn't happen to know how to use one of these things, would you? I've never seen one before.
anti-rumble technology
[ yeah, no. no thanks. since stepping down into hell, lydia's been the opposite of pleased. which isn't very different from her normal expression, but the vibes are rank down here. the vibes? god, she's started thinking like delia. the next thing she knows she'll be telling someone their aura sucks.
she's able to avoid the ruckus for the most part, being relatively good at keeping out of sight and being left alone, but when someone gets punched by someone else and it rams them into her in a way that crushes the camera hanging around her neck, it's the last straw. ]
Hey! You'd better pay for that!
[ yeah, it's finally rumble time, welcome to a plucky goth teen being absolutely apoplectic about someone breaking her camera. ]