(no subject)

[gone_byebye]

The last time Ray spent New Year's at the Firehouse was... forty-seven plus twenty-five, plus one... ow. Nearly seventy-five years ago. Not a number he likes to contemplate. The implications are simply far too weird. On the other hand, the last New Year that Ray actually experienced was... damn. Less than two months ago. He spent it in Antarctica, with Lake and Pabodie and the rest of the expedition crew. Also not something he likes to contemplate, though for different reasons.

Stupid time travel. Stupid immortality. Stupid alternate universes.

He's still thinking about the Dyer expedition and its new Year at the bottom of the world tonight. Peter and Dana made a date tonight, and so did Egon and Janine. Winston was off with his sister and her kids. That just leaves Ecto, and Slimer, and technically Peck. That's fine with Ray; he's not ready to celebrate another New Year just yet. Being surrounded by people intent on partying would be much too weird. So he begged off hanging out with his daughter (Ecto said it was fine, as she had some foreign markets to check up on), fed the Siamese fighting fish, tucked Slimer in for the night, and went upstairs.

The Firehouse is located in lower Manhattan, at the heart of one of the biggest pits of light pollution on the Eastern seaboard. Between the mucky sodium light scattered uselessly upwards and the clouds that ghost over the island, headed out to sea from the Jersey side, it's almost enough to let him forget that they're coming 'round right.

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[etananesoe.livejournal.com]

There is a kind of laughter which has nothing at all to do with menace, and yet is menacing. The laughter which echoes over the rooftops is that of someone who has seen something amusing beyond all reckoning, and that laughter pours from a spot one foot behind Ray Stantz, and from a being which does not look at all like him.

What, exactly, the figure looks like is blessedly obscured by the tatters of nightmare and flame that cloak his body, but the hand offering the Ghostbuster a champagne glass of something the color of Shoggath eyes in the dark is the bitter black of charred wood and tipped in equally black nails that fail utterly to reflect the lights around them.

"Happy New Year, Raymond Stantz; Ghostbuster."