Thread Roulette

But she left me stuck
Stranded on a duck~

The tolling of the bell tower to indicate the shifting of classes and the possibility of the lunch within an hour caught Myrtle's attention. She had been floating about in the lavatory for at least the hundredth time since breakfast, alone and resigned to no visitors. No boy, no girl to trash the loo, nobody. Needless to say, it was quite the lonely life being banished away to the very place that you died. It wasn't fun to say the very least at all. But. The ghostie gal stared at the door to the loo, hearing squeals and screams from first and second years, expecting someone to still come through.

But no one was coming. Forever alone again. She really did try to be better than this! There hadn't been any instigations as of late and so, Myrtle had been a perfect lady. Ghost, whatever. "Won't someone pretty please visit?" she whimpered.

Just then, the familiar sound of wood scraping against stone was heard and she was off, zooming towards the door in her usual floating matter. "Hello, hello, hello!" she chirped up gaily, grinning as the door swung open to reveal....

The fortunate thing about mainly having study and a few prefect duties in the mornings was that it made it easier to break away for emergencies. In this case those of the digestive and other bodily function kind.

"Hello Myrtle," Ligeia said in a strained voice, shoes clicking across the tile at rapid pace. "Speak to you in just a minute."

Ligeia recalled the status of the bathroom as she last remembered it while passing stalls. Broken toilet, broken, prone to over flooding, Myrtle's favorite so it would be rude to sully, tended to be splashy...

Upon finding a stall Ligeia shut the stall door, hurriedly shifting skirts and nylons.

Myrtle waited for the sound of bodily fluids passing downward to the loo before speaking to the living witch in a few stalls down.

"You haven't visited in a while; in fact, save a few dunderheads trying to create potions in here again, no one's been about, to be honest," she prattled out, sounding quite dejected that the only people interested in this lavatory were mischief makers, Harry Potter and his gang, or the Riddle boy who had caused her enough grief as it were.

"Have you been busy, is that why? Or did I do something to offend you by? Because if I've offended you, I'm really, really, really sorry, Ligeia, and I hope you'll forgive me if you are." She paused to sniffle, wiping spectral slime on her sleeve. Post doing that, she curled her nose at it, now trying to fling it off. SPLAT! The goop went and flung itself on Ligeia's door stall.

"Oopsie~"

Whereas a love of layered skirts and pantyhose to accentuate her uniform would otherwise suggest complications in such an emergency, Ligeia got to her business with nary a fuss. A brief thought any notable changes to her diet before Myrtle spoke up from the other side of the stall door.

"I do try to keep regular visits, really Myrtle," a moment's pause to analyze potential entendres, "but it comes down to duty via location I'm afraid. No fault of yours, Myrtle, but most of my classes and Prefect duties pull me away from the second floor."

Ligeia tried to think how she would feel being unburdened with school or leadership roles--the entirety of life as it were--and with all that free time spent simply waiting for some kind of contact. That was the deliciously tragic about Myrtle, who was nothing of a school girl cut off from life at her most vulnerable state. And upon further reflection, all the potential lost for Myrtle, who might have a birthdate long before Ligeia's but the present sixth year approaching a maturity level past what Myrtle could develop as a ghost.

The albino Prefect would be needing to fix her eyeshadow at this rate, or deem the 'faded smudged tears' down her pigment lacking cheeks a new trend.

"Oh," Ligeia said with a moistened fingertip pulled from her eye, as the splat of ectoplasm phased through the door to match the stain on the other side. Such a curious thing, the residue to objects frequented to passing through ghosts, or released in their own 'emotional' moments. Intellectual curiosity turned to a rare frown on Ligeia's fast as she realized the significance of Myrtle's words.

"More illicit potion brewers? Do you happen to remember anything of them, Myrtle?" The issue was budding into a sore sport for Ligeia over the past year, not only from the dangers of improper brewing but the aggravation towards Myrtle.