She was petulant, in whatever sense in which she was anything at all, as she viewed the building she connected with. As only she was in a position to hear, she murmured to herself. "He has not come to me in far too long, even though the time is just right. It is as if he has forgotten, and must be reminded."

In whatever sense the disembodied can, she gestured then, and exerted her will. Small things began to happen in her building as the dusk began to gather.

A young man, who had decided to live with the drink he had mis-ordered, changed his mind and tipped that drink surreptitiously into the trash before leaving with his crowd. The sweet liquids flowed free in that hidden place, and began to turn rank and foul.

The lady in charge there, the eldest of the newest, sighed the sigh of her some time later, darkness freshly fallen, and her crowd then mostly past. She moved to her cleaning responsibilities, lifted the waist-high bin for trash out of its niche, and made a mouth when she noted the fluids there gone awry.

Not quite miles away, a sudden sound shattered an older man's new-spun web of thought, leaving it crazed and scattered all around him. He sighed the sigh of him, and ran his hand through his hair as if feeling the progress of its greying. He kicked his slippers away and stood, and reached for more well-traveled shoes. He had had an impulse, and of course he was going to follow.

Back in the building, the trash bag had been removed from the bin, and the eldest of the newest prepared to confront what was left in the bottom. The crowd all mysteriously gone (save some few in the next room) she breathed deep of the fall air streaming in the open door, and leaned to reach her work. The waist-high bin could have held her completely, and she was careful as she worked to let no part of her touch the sides as she scrubbed its bottom.

The petulant one, wherever she was, felt that older man approach her building, and noted somehow that he was parking in the space she'd made clear for him, just out front of the room she'd likewise cleared. She shifted her bodilessness as his walking shoes hit the sidewalk, twitched what served her for a skirt a little higher. Leaned to the scene she'd contrived, parted lips against steepled fingers as she, in whatever sense, watched.

He moved through the open door, looked around the apparently vacant place as he took his first steps inside. He noted the ladies on the couch in the other room before finding that eldest, and realizing he was seeing only half of her, and unexpectedly. His mouth opened to speak words of greeting, and then he just left it open and pondered what should be said.

The eldest of the newest was facing away from him, head in a bin she was scrubbing, still as alone as when she started so far as she knew. Slightly en pointe, bent utterly over, heels together but shifting slightly as she worked. Jeans framing nicely, but under stress; failing to conceal. She was a perfectly posed reminder of why we draw Valentine's hearts the way we do, and he was damned if he could remember her name.

Seconds passed, him watching her, her working unaware, the petulant mood of the place shifting towards something completely else. He thought the green of lady's thong would go nicely with her hair, if any...

... and then as silently as he'd stepped in, he stepped out.

Two steps outside the front door, he stopped, where he could see the remnants of the hunter's moon rising. He took a breath, and spoke towards somewhere as best he could, lips tightly together and unmoving.

Nice one, ghost. I thought this moon was over.

He walked back in, making more noise this time. Feeling, from somewhere, a faint sound of gleeful clapping, silvery laughter, wicked as a werewolf's teeth. Sweet camaraderie all around him once again, and the feeling that it was all in fun, and she was glad that he liked it.

Yeah, well, you've done better, and so's your face, he thought in that direction, as he spoke aloud a more proper form of greeting, and withstood the yelp of surprise.