Some Ghost Named PJs (An OC)

Phillip Joseph Snotweed, or PJs to the people that know him, was a very troubled man. Bothered by demons and angels alike bedeviling him. The gangly twenty-one year-old first had their job as a waiter ruined when the restaurant he worked for was destroyed by angel collateral damage in their tussle with some kind of giant bunny ghost.

Sure, he hated the faux-classy joint, but the place had a strong tipping policy as a courtesy of an additional No-Snitches rule, so he wasn’t totally dissatisfied.

So he went for another waitering gig, since that was pretty much the only thing on his resumé, and managed to score a massive opportunity. Basically, a live-in waiter to the mayors’ building! And just when he got kicked out of his dinky apartment as well, the offer couldn’t have shown up sooner.

Unfortunately, a wrong turn at the elevator accidentally made PJs stumble into one of the mayor’s daughters’ rooms…When she was in the middle of changing. Turns out the mayor has demons as daughters, go figure.

So he’s a ghost now, old body dead from the seething rage of being labeled a pervert over a mere accident. Though mostly due to being lacerated head-to-toe in scythe cuts and deposited down a laundry chute like a messy t-shirt. And his vengeance remained unsated as he floated down the streets ever since. Best he’s got left now is if he just hangs around long enough to figure out how to get a new body if it were at all possible. Either that or hope that one of the angels that he’s still mad at pop a cap in his ectoplasmic simulation of a head to send him on his way to the pearly gates.

He turned into a dark alley, and roared in fury at the week-old memory, kicking over a trash can to take the edge off of needing to hit something. Doing so seemed to grab the attention of someone that was also in the alleyway. PJs looked up in time to spy the alley occupant up ahead before he walked into them. It was no wonder that he almost ran into the dark figure, his silhouette was that of a man in a trench coat and hat, but the only thing actually visible amongst a black mass of shadow was a glowing eye on the left side of where his head would be located between two fins that seemed to look like a coat collar.

Said eye was a pulsing ring of yellows. PJs was very nervous now, until he remembered that he also was a ghost. He coughed, trying to save face as he brushed himself down and casually leaned against the brick wall.

“Oh, uh…Sorry, buddy.” PJs started, “I thought I was alone down here. N-nice to meet a fellow ghost, I guess.”

The ghost-man merely looked him over, and would see quite the whole-bodied ghost. Dressed in the former waistcoat uniform with a waist apron, the only thing that would stand out would be his unnaturally lanky limbs, ghostly face, and crackles of simulated hair swept back in a ponytail, as was the requirement for the uniform when you had long hair.

After an uncomfortable minute, he nods, and PJs felt calm enough to let out the breath he wasn’t holding, because, you know, he’s a ghost.

“Phew, okay then. So uh…What might…You be doing here?” PJs inquired, scratching the top of his head with the dulled talons that were now his fingers. “I mean, it’s not like there’s anything here, right?”

He gave a nervous chuckle, then after another long minute of silence and staring, the man, turning around to a wall, also shared in the chuckle. “My how wrong you are, my new compadré.” The figure uttered with a jazzy baritone of a voice.

From the darkened mass of his coat, a large taloned hand that seemed bigger than his torso extended a finger out towards the graffiti on the wall. It was a simple mural, typical pseudo-demonic sigils around a pentagram and such. The talon scraped against the outline of a brick, one that seemed to bear one of the sigils in the circle. PJs couldn’t tell what it looked like, but the best he could tell it looked kind of like a simple doodle of an old oil lamp.

The man pinched the brick free, holding it close to his face as he inspected it. PJs was just a little confused at what was going on, or why this specter was even doing it with him watching. If he didn’t know better from his mafioso cousin, he’d swear that this was a dead-drop kind of situation. Ironic, now that he thought about it.

“Err, excuse me Mr…”

“Gabardine.” He responded.

“Okay, Mr. Gabardine, but should I be here for this? I mean, what you’re doing seems kind of important and all…” PJs shuffled his feet, wondering if he should be booking it by now.

Gabardine only chuckled again, and crushed the brick between two fingers. The brick material fell like glitter down to the pavement. What was in-between the fingers now was merely a rock. Admittedly a very shiny rock that did not match the brick material, but a rock nonetheless.

“My new friend,” Gabardine said, never taking his eyes off the stone as he flicked it into pinching it between the nook of his index finger and the end of his thumb, “You knowing about this isn’t gonna make a lick of difference when I begin to use it.”

In a flash of black smoke and a loud screech, Gabardine appeared in the face of PJs, startling him. “But if you’re so worried, then I guess this is a happy birthday to me.” He held the rock aloft, with PJs slightly confused on what he means by that, but mostly afraid.

“Now, time for me to blow out your candle, and for me to make a wish~” His laugh became more menacing, another wicked claw extending out and looming over PJs, whom was merely a deer in headlights at this point. His jagged mouth was agape, in an attempt to scream, but was too paralyzed with fear to do anything, his voice mute, only the laughter of Gabardine echoing through the alley.

“I wish-”

BANG

Gabardine was interrupted as the one eye he had blasted open, a blue-white bead of light whizzing by PJs. If it wasn’t for the fact that his arm was so thin, it would’ve grazed him for sure.

Still paralyzed, PJs saw that the trenchcoated menace had a hole clean through his head the size of a marble. Then in an instant, the hole grew to basically remove the entire head, revealing the alleyway behind him to PJs vision. PJs now knew what happened. The angels were here, and they just popped this ghost in the head!

As was the way of ghosts killed by angel weapons, Gabardine exploded, leaving behind a single gold coin and sending PJs flying back at an angle, sending him into a wall. On top of that, he felt something lodge into his throat and down into his chest. He wouldn’t say stomach, as he didn’t have that anymore, but it kind of just settled into his chest.

As he staggers up from being knocked into the wall, he spies the angels. The one in red; a stunning blonde in an equally stunning red dress, clicked her tongue at the coin she picked up.

“Fuck, only a single? That was a shit ghost hunt!” She said, flicking it at the goth girl next to her.

Said goth also was also pretty hot, with long purple-pink hair extending down to her knees, and decked out in a gothic blue and black dress. She caught the coin and scowled down at a scrap of paper in her hands.

“That’s just typical, the one target we get that actually has a bounty number, and we get the wrong target. Dumbass, it looks nothing like what we were after!” The goth snarked back.

“Who are you calling a dumbass, whore?! If you weren’t lazing around on your fat ass and demanding that we wait for your show to be over, you’d-!” They proceeded to argue back and forth as PJs made his way up onto his feet. Now he was unsure of what to do. Does he go up to the angels and thank them for saving him? I mean, sure he had a grudge towards them for the first job, but then again, they did save his life…Unlife, whatever this is.