When Frederich Met Hayden

It was raining. It was cold. It was dark.

Frederich was outside, in the terrible rain, sitting on a bench. Waiting. Not because he wanted to, but because he had missed the bus. It was a nice, long two hour wait now.

"TITS!" exclaimed a loud voice from behind him without warning.

As was usual for Frederich, it took him a few moments before he registered the voice, and turned around to investigate. Even if he was withdrawn, he had a way of getting his nose stuck in other people's affairs, unfortunately.

A man dressed in high-waisted pants and suspenders threw his map to ground, stomping it into the sidewalk. He seemed completely unperturbed by the rain, despite the fact that he was soaked.

"Marilyn Monroe's dirty tits, that's what you're worth!" he screamed at the crumpled piece of paper.

Almost immediately Frederich knew he was a ghost. There's only one thing Frederich ever registered immediately, and that was it.

He just continued to watch, not inclined to ask just yet.

It was then that the specter crumpled to the ground in a heap, as though dead.

Frederich rose an eyebrow.

"...are you alright?"

No response.

After a minute, he went investigating. He crept over to where he had seen the man, looking around.

He began to shudder slightly, as if with sobs.

Frederich rose an eyebrow.

"...What are you...doing?"

Suddenly he sat up, moaning loudly.

"Oh, what a world!! Fuck you, Marilyn! Fuck you and your perfect, perfect tits..." He sobbed dramatically, taking out a handkerchief and biting it.

He cocked his head to the side.

"...What?"

He leaned back, placing a hand on his forehead.

"My fortune is so lamentable! I am as a Shakespearean heroine--doomed to tragedy at every turn!! I say again, fuck you, Marilyn!"

"...I don't think Shakespearean heroines spoke quite like that." Frederich pointed out.

He turned his head to glare at Frederich.

"Who the hell asked you?"

Frederich smiled ever so slightly.

"I knew I would get you to respond."

"Whatever, kid," he said, obviously irritated. "Why the hell are you so young, anyway--parents take away your ball, so you jumped off a bridge? Real mature."

This one took him a bit longer than usual to figure out.

"...Oh, I'm not dead." He said after a delayed amount of time.

He rolled his eyes.

"One of the delusional ones, I see--look kid, no matter what you may think--" He attempted to place a hand on Frederich's shoulder, shrieking when it phased through. "Holy carp!! You're alive!"

Frederich shrugged.

"Sorry. I'd like to be dead."

He slapped Frderich's face; this time it made contact.

"Answers, kiddo, I want answers--why the hell can you see me, and more importantly, the fuck is with this suicidal bullcrap? Cut it out."

Frederich frowned at him.

"Why?"

He smacked him again.

"Answer my fucking questions!"

He tapped his chin.

"Oh, I don't know why I can see you." He said simply. "Why should I cut it out?"