But in her experience, it was usually a Cainite. She was working on accepting the fact that Cainites weren't all the same in all universes. Her angry Care Bear of a room mate was proof of that. Still. Cainites sucked.
No pun intended.
She exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Well. The usual methods for dealing with ghosts don't seem to work here on this ship."
"Yeah, I wouldn't recommend trying to burn things on a boat. I know it's not all made of wood, but still..."
They had limited options for escape.
Okay, time to get to business. She sat up straight, planting her hands on her knees. "You know a lot about the supernatural," she said. "More the average bear. What's up with that?"
In a way, Diana's father had also brought her up on a steady diet of ghost stories, myths, and legends. The difference, perhaps being that he'd told them all, not believing for a second that any of it could be true.
The joke had been on all of them.
"You sound a little more hands-on than a scholar," she said. "I don't know a lot of students who actually consider salting and burning bodies." Maybe students of the Order. But they were a particularly special group of young people.
"Definitely not a scholar, God no," he laughs, shaking his head.
"Nah..my brother's the smart one. Wanted to be a lawyer. But, no. We didn't just study it. We took care of problems like that for a living. Saved a lotta people doing it."
She thought about making the easy joke, about how smart people rarely wanted to be lawyers. But there was too much going through her mind. It was churning. And it was churning out some kind of scary possibilities.
One particular possibility she was probably in denial about...
"You're better off without the tropes," she replied. Anyway, the Ghostbusters were kind of skeezy. Especially the one played by Bill Murray. She'd only seen the movie once, but that whole electroshock just to get laid was all kinds of bad touch.
She hadn't even bothered with the sequel.
"And I think the van was a hearse so...hard pass. There are only so many vehicles cool enough for a gig like that, and a hearse ain't one."
In spite of herself, Diana's eyes lit up. She had a lot of vices. Most of them were well-known: Sex, honesty, attention, showtunes, and occasionally reverting to a ten-year-old version of herself.
Less known, however?
"A muscle car! I love the '67! Do you have the 250ci six-cylinder unit or the 283ci V8?"
Yes, that was what she asked. Not the color, not the value, not the condition. Diana Amelia Abel knew a thing or two about engines. Couldn't do any actual repair work to save her unlife. But you couldn't spend as much time in a trucking union as she had without picking up...everything.
The invention of the automobile had been so liberating for her, back in the day. A way to travel fast. A way to move. It made her feel alive in a way that she hadn't expected.
He grins, because he does love talking about his car. Sam likes it well enough, drove it around for four months while Dean was dead, but Dean loves his car.
"She's got a 327 Engine and a Four Barrel Carburetor, and a 502-cubic-inch big-block V8. She got smashed up a few years ago, so I rebuilt her."
Did people actually say 'cherry' any more? Diana collected slang like boys in the 1950s collected baseball cards and grannies in the 1990s collected thimbles. It was fun and exciting and it kept her feeling young. The problem was she had a hard time letting go.
She shook her head. "Sorry about the smashing part, though. That always sucks. I once totalled my 1970 Plymouth Road Runner Superbird. I miss that car!"
It probably wouldn't stop her from using it, but noted.
"Well, guess you're gonna be handy to have around, if some of the passengers have their way." She sighed. "I keep hearing all this talk about rushing the bridge and trying to take control. I've seen Titanic. I don't want this story to end that way."
"Cute and has a brain," she said, giving him a little smile. "I like."
This really wasn't the time or place to flirt. She knew it. She just couldn't help it. It was like breathing, a reflex that kept her anchored to being...you know...human.
Sighing, she shook her head. "Yeah, I mean, storming the bridge sounds romantic and heroic, but I'm not sure any of us can steer so...I'd rather have solid land beneath my feet before doing anything dramatic."
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But in her experience, it was usually a Cainite. She was working on accepting the fact that Cainites weren't all the same in all universes. Her angry Care Bear of a room mate was proof of that. Still. Cainites sucked.
No pun intended.
She exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Well. The usual methods for dealing with ghosts don't seem to work here on this ship."
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Plus, he kinda thinks they're the ghosts of old passengers, which makes it all kinds of weird.
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They had limited options for escape.
Okay, time to get to business. She sat up straight, planting her hands on her knees. "You know a lot about the supernatural," she said. "More the average bear. What's up with that?"
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"That's also a concern of mine, yeah."
He hesitates a little, then just gives up and shrugs.
"I was raised learning about it. My dad taught me everything I know about ghosts, spirits, monsters."
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The joke had been on all of them.
"You sound a little more hands-on than a scholar," she said. "I don't know a lot of students who actually consider salting and burning bodies." Maybe students of the Order. But they were a particularly special group of young people.
no subject
"Nah..my brother's the smart one. Wanted to be a lawyer. But, no. We didn't just study it. We took care of problems like that for a living. Saved a lotta people doing it."
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One particular possibility she was probably in denial about...
"So you're like...Ghostbusters?"
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"Uh, yeah. Kinda, I guess. Without the van and all the tropes."
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She hadn't even bothered with the sequel.
"And I think the van was a hearse so...hard pass. There are only so many vehicles cool enough for a gig like that, and a hearse ain't one."
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"Yeah, it was a little...I dunno. Too on the nose? Nah. We use my car, instead. It's a '67 Impala. My dad gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday."
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Less known, however?
"A muscle car! I love the '67! Do you have the 250ci six-cylinder unit or the 283ci V8?"
Yes, that was what she asked. Not the color, not the value, not the condition. Diana Amelia Abel knew a thing or two about engines. Couldn't do any actual repair work to save her unlife. But you couldn't spend as much time in a trucking union as she had without picking up...everything.
The invention of the automobile had been so liberating for her, back in the day. A way to travel fast. A way to move. It made her feel alive in a way that she hadn't expected.
She friggin' loved cars.
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"She's got a 327 Engine and a Four Barrel Carburetor, and a 502-cubic-inch big-block V8. She got smashed up a few years ago, so I rebuilt her."
no subject
Did people actually say 'cherry' any more? Diana collected slang like boys in the 1950s collected baseball cards and grannies in the 1990s collected thimbles. It was fun and exciting and it kept her feeling young. The problem was she had a hard time letting go.
She shook her head. "Sorry about the smashing part, though. That always sucks. I once totalled my 1970 Plymouth Road Runner Superbird. I miss that car!"
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"It did suck. But she's as good as new, now. I've been working on her most of my life...I pretty much rebuilt her, ground up."
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It probably wouldn't stop her from using it, but noted.
"Well, guess you're gonna be handy to have around, if some of the passengers have their way." She sighed. "I keep hearing all this talk about rushing the bridge and trying to take control. I've seen Titanic. I don't want this story to end that way."
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"Yeah, heard some chatter about storming the bridge, too. As much as I want answers and yeah, I'm pissed, that seems kinda rash."
Like, kinda stupid too. What're peopel gonna do, barge in guns blazing and kill the only one who probably knows how to steer the damn thing?
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This really wasn't the time or place to flirt. She knew it. She just couldn't help it. It was like breathing, a reflex that kept her anchored to being...you know...human.
Sighing, she shook her head. "Yeah, I mean, storming the bridge sounds romantic and heroic, but I'm not sure any of us can steer so...I'd rather have solid land beneath my feet before doing anything dramatic."
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"Yeah. Same. I'd rather not bum rush out at sea then just...float until we all die."
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She tossed it back like a shot.