The Beetle Bride (ON HOLD)

Chapter Nine; Conversations and Revelations

** Authors Note**
So, just updated this chapter. Made a few changes and extended it. I really hope you all enjoy. The clue is in the title, so you kinda know what to expect. xD
Also, I just want to mention it'll be a while before I can work on the next instalment. Unfortunately I'm having surgery on my eyes, so I won't be able to see in order to read and write for a while. I'm sorry, it really sucks. I'm so keen to carry on with this fic. So I apologise in advance for the upcoming delay, and I hope you won't be disheartened by it. I promise I won't let this story die. I will continue with it as soon as possible.

As usual, massive thanks for all your views/comments/votes. You guys are fantastic.

....one last thing, the movie featured in this chapter is 'The Horror of Frankenstein' starring Ralph Bates. Just in case you're curious :)

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"Did you say this was your favourite movie?"
Beetlejuice stretched, and the sound of several bones cracking accompanied his actions, making Lydia flinch.

"No, I said it was one of my favourite's. My tastes are varied but I love these old horror movies, and this one, the 'horror of Frankenstein' is so good."

"You mean in a 'it's so bad it's good' kinda way? Like me?"
He mused, as if to himself.

"No. Well yeah, maybe."

"What, s'ya don't think I'm bad?"
He frowned, sounding rather deflated.

"No I wasn't talking about you, I meant these Hammer Horror movies. They're classic."
She pointed out.

"Yeah, kinda like me as well."

Shifting slightly in order to make herself more comfortable, she chanced a look in his direction. Despite feeling decidedly more at ease thanks to the alcohol, she was still struggling with feelings of awkwardness after what had happened between them earlier.

"No, I mean they're good."
She continued, still focusing on the subject in hand.

"Gotta say I think they're pretty fuckin' bad, but that's what makes 'em good."
Clasping the glass bottle in his deathly hand, he lifted it to his lips and drained the remnants of it's contents.

"Yeah I guess I know what you mean. They're cheesy and dated now, and so clichéd it hurts, but they're not like 'bad' bad."

"But it's the bad clichés that make 'em good, and not just 'bad' bad.."
He pointed a long finger at her, almost accusingly.
"...you just don't know what's good for bad."

Pouting slightly, Lydia's small brow furrowed in confusion.
"Okay this conversation is starting to hurt my brain."

"Nope, that'll be the liquor. You'll feel as rough as poor old Frankie there, come the mornin'"
He sniggered, indicating towards the television screen.

"It is the morning now, it's passed midnight. And Frankie, um I mean Frankenstein, is the doctor not the monster. Why does everyone always get that mixed up? Have you never read the book?"
She whined, drunkenly.

Raising a slanted eyebrow, he feigned offence.
"Oh, so 'cause I'm dead ya' just presume I read all these creepy horror stories and shit? Like, 'ooooh, I'm a ghost, so I just hang out in my tomb, watching Tales from the Crypt'.."