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fakebrain"It's Like Breakfast Club with Monsters."
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sharon_hate
Rated: R (language)
Disclaimer: These are fictional events.
Notes: Genfic, no pairing. Possible sequel in the future, but it looks grim.
Joe's a seer. Patrick's a werewolf. 16candles!verse, Scooby Doo combo. Fun fun.
1.
“So,” Pete says after a full ten minutes of silence, “Do you use special herbs when you see?” He doesn’t even try to mask the especially wry tone in his voice but instead, lazily smirks and flicks his tongue out to lick at his pointed incisors. Joe manages to release an exasperated sigh, before responding dully.
“No.”
The tips of his fingers are beginning to lose feeling in the cold, damp room so Joe rubs them hastily against the denim on his legs. Pete had brought him here because it was, supposedly, a completely and totally clandestine location (Joe nearly punched him in the head when they had to frighten away four teenagers with a Ouija board).
They had needed somewhere discreet, alone and out of the way. They were waiting for a werewolf.
2.
The Werewolf (whose moniker Joe had settled upon after nearly 97 minutes of waiting in the almost pitch black shack) was considerably less intimidating than they thought he would be. He was wearing glasses and that has never, in the history of everything, ever been a cause for alarm or distress.
“Hi, I’m Patrick.” He had even gone as far to introduce himself with a small smile and half-hearted wave. Not scary.
Patrick was hardly the blood thirsty beast Joe had thought he would be. Pete had announced in a faux-dejected manner that, as resident vampire (vampyre, he smiles), he would just have to take over the position. Though, he continued, he had hoped he would have been able to be titled as Hot-Tortured Lack of Soul Vamp’. Alas.
3.
“Who else do we need?” Patrick asked, Pete’s arm thrown casually around him as if old friends. Joe had to admit, he was a bit glad that The Werewolf is more David Thewlis than Katherine Isabelle.
“We need like, a magician or something,” Pete grinned wildly, pressing the side of his face up against an obviously uncomfortable Patrick. “Or a cursed spirit trapped in an old, gaudy, jeweled-up necklace. Something fucking cool.”
Joe snorts and tries to contribute to the discussion, but a shooting pain suddenly erupts behind his eyes before disappearing completely.
“No, we’re going to get a demon,” he announces easily and both Patrick and Pete stare blankly for several milliseconds.
“Huh?” the werewolf asks. Pete only beams triumphantly and throws his arms around Joe’s unsuspecting torso.
“So that’s how it works!” he laughs into his shirt, “I thought you had to like, use candles and incense and shit.”
4.
The neighborhood they were in was a pretty well-off place. Not ritzy, by any means, but not a total heap, either. Both Joe and Patrick had half-suspected his residence to be some rented room above an up-and-coming meth lab.
Each light hanging on the hallway ceiling buzzed with electricity and occasionally would flicker rapidly before returning to usual. Several moths flew around blindly and constantly kamikaze’d themselves into the side of Joe’s head, much to his chagrin.
Pete paid no mind to the seer’s annoyance, taking it in stride, and glided down the hall with a look of sheer confidence etched into his features.
“You want to know what I think?” Pete began, throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder at the accompanying two. Joe choked back a cackle at Patrick’s under breath reply of, Not really. “I think I would make an excellent-”
Leader, Joe finishes. It wasn’t his clairvoyant senses that told him, but rather his knowledge of Pete having a rather large head.
“Hey, I think this is it,” Patrick interrupts. Bursting from behind the two, he knocks lightly on the green painted door. It only takes a few seconds before a thin man with glasses pops his head out.
“Hello?”
5.
“Are you Andy the demon?” Pete asks quickly. Without hesitating, Joe slugs him in the arm. “Hey, ow!”
“Dude, shut up, someone might hear.” The vampire pouts and rubs his arm in small circles, before looking down the hall dejectedly.
Andy, who they’re assuming he is, only gapes, horrified, at them. “Y-yes, that’s me…” An apparently random sitcom can be heard coming from inside the apartment, the laugh-track going off seemingly every 10 seconds. “What is it you want?”
“Hi, I’m Patrick,” Patrick greets, thrusting his hand out in the unknown demon’s direction. Pulling the door open some more, he grasps onto the offered hand and shakes it lightly.
“Andy.”
“So you’re a you-know-what?” Pete asks with a large smile on his face. Andy nods, tossing him a furtive glance. “Cool. Just what we needed.”
“Needed?” he questions. Joe understands his confusion and mentally chastises Pete for his lack of clarification and poor choice of words.
“For our gang. Er-” Joe pauses, “Not a gang, really. Club, maybe.”
“Society?” Patrick offers.
“Frat!” Pete chortles.
“Right…” he sighs, “We want you to join.”
Andy pulls the door open all the way and stares at them, hip cocked to the side. He has a plain blue t-shirt on and baggy khaki shorts. He’s not even wearing socks.
“What is it exactly you do?”
“We hunt monsters,” Joe states.
Author:
sharon_hateRated: R (language)
Disclaimer: These are fictional events.
Notes: Genfic, no pairing. Possible sequel in the future, but it looks grim.
Joe's a seer. Patrick's a werewolf. 16candles!verse, Scooby Doo combo. Fun fun.
“So,” Pete says after a full ten minutes of silence, “Do you use special herbs when you see?” He doesn’t even try to mask the especially wry tone in his voice but instead, lazily smirks and flicks his tongue out to lick at his pointed incisors. Joe manages to release an exasperated sigh, before responding dully.
“No.”
The tips of his fingers are beginning to lose feeling in the cold, damp room so Joe rubs them hastily against the denim on his legs. Pete had brought him here because it was, supposedly, a completely and totally clandestine location (Joe nearly punched him in the head when they had to frighten away four teenagers with a Ouija board).
They had needed somewhere discreet, alone and out of the way. They were waiting for a werewolf.
The Werewolf (whose moniker Joe had settled upon after nearly 97 minutes of waiting in the almost pitch black shack) was considerably less intimidating than they thought he would be. He was wearing glasses and that has never, in the history of everything, ever been a cause for alarm or distress.
“Hi, I’m Patrick.” He had even gone as far to introduce himself with a small smile and half-hearted wave. Not scary.
Patrick was hardly the blood thirsty beast Joe had thought he would be. Pete had announced in a faux-dejected manner that, as resident vampire (vampyre, he smiles), he would just have to take over the position. Though, he continued, he had hoped he would have been able to be titled as Hot-Tortured Lack of Soul Vamp’. Alas.
“Who else do we need?” Patrick asked, Pete’s arm thrown casually around him as if old friends. Joe had to admit, he was a bit glad that The Werewolf is more David Thewlis than Katherine Isabelle.
“We need like, a magician or something,” Pete grinned wildly, pressing the side of his face up against an obviously uncomfortable Patrick. “Or a cursed spirit trapped in an old, gaudy, jeweled-up necklace. Something fucking cool.”
Joe snorts and tries to contribute to the discussion, but a shooting pain suddenly erupts behind his eyes before disappearing completely.
“No, we’re going to get a demon,” he announces easily and both Patrick and Pete stare blankly for several milliseconds.
“Huh?” the werewolf asks. Pete only beams triumphantly and throws his arms around Joe’s unsuspecting torso.
“So that’s how it works!” he laughs into his shirt, “I thought you had to like, use candles and incense and shit.”
The neighborhood they were in was a pretty well-off place. Not ritzy, by any means, but not a total heap, either. Both Joe and Patrick had half-suspected his residence to be some rented room above an up-and-coming meth lab.
Each light hanging on the hallway ceiling buzzed with electricity and occasionally would flicker rapidly before returning to usual. Several moths flew around blindly and constantly kamikaze’d themselves into the side of Joe’s head, much to his chagrin.
Pete paid no mind to the seer’s annoyance, taking it in stride, and glided down the hall with a look of sheer confidence etched into his features.
“You want to know what I think?” Pete began, throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder at the accompanying two. Joe choked back a cackle at Patrick’s under breath reply of, Not really. “I think I would make an excellent-”
Leader, Joe finishes. It wasn’t his clairvoyant senses that told him, but rather his knowledge of Pete having a rather large head.
“Hey, I think this is it,” Patrick interrupts. Bursting from behind the two, he knocks lightly on the green painted door. It only takes a few seconds before a thin man with glasses pops his head out.
“Hello?”
“Are you Andy the demon?” Pete asks quickly. Without hesitating, Joe slugs him in the arm. “Hey, ow!”
“Dude, shut up, someone might hear.” The vampire pouts and rubs his arm in small circles, before looking down the hall dejectedly.
Andy, who they’re assuming he is, only gapes, horrified, at them. “Y-yes, that’s me…” An apparently random sitcom can be heard coming from inside the apartment, the laugh-track going off seemingly every 10 seconds. “What is it you want?”
“Hi, I’m Patrick,” Patrick greets, thrusting his hand out in the unknown demon’s direction. Pulling the door open some more, he grasps onto the offered hand and shakes it lightly.
“Andy.”
“So you’re a you-know-what?” Pete asks with a large smile on his face. Andy nods, tossing him a furtive glance. “Cool. Just what we needed.”
“Needed?” he questions. Joe understands his confusion and mentally chastises Pete for his lack of clarification and poor choice of words.
“For our gang. Er-” Joe pauses, “Not a gang, really. Club, maybe.”
“Society?” Patrick offers.
“Frat!” Pete chortles.
“Right…” he sighs, “We want you to join.”
Andy pulls the door open all the way and stares at them, hip cocked to the side. He has a plain blue t-shirt on and baggy khaki shorts. He’s not even wearing socks.
“What is it exactly you do?”
“We hunt monsters,” Joe states.
