I was lurking in the depths of fanfic when inspiration struck. Hence, this piece of dribble was spawned...I just realized I've never attempted a Steve-Gannen flick, so I'm going to try one out. If you're expecting a pairing between the two however, steer your eyes away because this was just some random light hearted fun I decided to try out.
P.S. I've attached a small Author's note below this story for all my faithful fanfic fans and reviewers regarding the fate of all my stories on the site. Please read and PM me if you have any questions (this is especially for the old crowd who supported me and had my back during difficult times in 2004 when I first joined the site. Thanks! ;)).
Summary:- There were three things that Gannen Harst never did. He never smiled, he never wrote and he never ever, EVER cooked. Steve Leonard is about to find out why.
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Toast!
A loud curse followed by the sound of metal crunching wailed in the air. A certain irritable Vampaneze Lord jolted awake at the aforementioned sound, adding a long string of expletives when his head banged against the still-closed coffin door.
"Damn infernal thing! Why can't you work for once, you useless tinpot of a contraption!" a loud growl echoed from outside, followed by more grating noises.
Steve Leonard groaned and fell back against the base of his precious wooden box of hell, lifting a single hand to his forehead. Feeling a bump the size of a goose egg under his fingers, he snarled and punched a fist straight through the door of the coffin. It was only when he heard a feeble squawk of alarm followed by a muffled curse did Steve realize asaid coffin door had somehow detached itself from its hinges and slammed into a currently hopping vampaneze in the far corner of room.
Although why in seven levels of hell was there a vampaneze standing there in the first place, he'd never know...But then again, some of his minions had developed a nasty sense of paranoia that their precious Lord would accidently lock himself in his own coffin and uh, starve to death or something.
So in order to save themselves the trouble of extracting a shrivelled up half-vampaneze corpse from a block of wood after one week of realizing Steve hadn't woken up yet, he now apparently had stalkers. Bodyguards! I mean bodyguards...yes.
"Damn you!" The vampaneze yelled menacingly, shaking a fist at the irritable Lord. "Damn you straight...O-Oh, shit. M-My lord. My a-apologies," he spluttered, hanging his head low when he recalled who exactly he'd been reprimanding. "I d-didn't see who – I m-mean why t-the damn door – ah, fuck."
Steve just snorted at the pathetic idiot's bumbling behaviour. He pushed himself upwards in one fluid motion before swinging his legs over the wooden edges and down on the musty floor below. The warehouse they'd been taking refuge in was seriously downtrodden and dilapidated, and it irked the shit out of him to even walk barefooted in the filthy place.
Which made him question...where were his prized Converses anyways?
He glared at minion 1, who continued to babble. Minion 2 – a burly vampaneze with muscles the size of watermelons stuffed with growth hormones and a katana sheathed at his hip – was looking uneasily at anywhere but him while shivering.
Aha! His mind preened triumphantly. Found you, you creepy shoe-fetish kleptomaniac!
But before he could ask about his damned sneakers, another fetid curse rent the air –one that came from the direction of the makeshift kitchen some of his more hardworking subordinates had set up two weeks ago.
"Urgh! Work, damn you! Just work already!"
A horrible stench of burning fabric coupled with rotting eggs and one week old mouldy socks wafted across the hall and Steve Leonard – vampire-downfall plotter and tall-dark-dangerous-suave extraordinaire – nearly gagged.
He scowled at one of the bristling vampaneze – a minion 3 that had been somehow lurking in the shadows all this while (Jesus, three grown men watching him sleep? Was there no such thing as a personal space bubble anymore?) in the corner – and all three cringed under his gaze.
"What's going on? Who the fuck decided to burn down the kitchen?"
Minion 3 mumbled indiscernibly under his breath.
"What?" Steve growled impatiently.
"Gannen," he blurted, grinning sheepishly like a moron. What the imbecile didn't know was that he was taunting the leopard, and leopards had a nasty tendency of ripping throats out when angered. Within a flash slender fingers wrapped themselves around the vampaneze's thick throat, prompting ruby eyes to bulge in shock.
"Stop mumbling like a buffoon and answer me," Steve hissed, tightening his grip. Oh, damn. Some days it felt good to be the all-powerful badass Lord. The vampaneze choked under his grasp and pointed at the kitchen.
"Gannen...trying...cook," he gurgled between breaths. Steve's grip slackened and the vampaneze slid down to the floor in a haphazard heap, gasping and sputtering.
No way. He couldn't have heard that correctly, could he? Gannen? COOKING?
Now those were two words that never meshed together, no matter what anyone else said. A weird image of Gannen flitting around in the kitchen with a chef's hat perched on his sleek red hair and a pink frilly apron snaked around his waist floated across his mind and Steve couldn't hold back a cringe.
That was one very, very disturbing mental image.
"ARGH!" another frustrated groan loomed several feet away, followed by the sound of glass shattering.
Steve immediately zipped over and stared in shock at the sight that greeted his eyes. The dank kitchen reeked of mould, grime and indespicable remnants of soiled food, but the dirty pots and pans stacked in the corner didn't hold his attention. What did was the back of his usually composed mentor – now tense and coiled to attack – obscuring something that appeared to be spewing thick swirls of black smoke.
Well, at least he's not wearing an apron or watching Rachel Ray for tips, the more sinister part of his mind chuckled.
Shut up, he threw back, still staring at Gannen's furious stance.
And just when Steve thought things were getting weirder, there was a loud cheerful 'Ding!' followed by a muffled oath from the older vampaneze.
"So now you work? Well, too late shitpiece. You already charred my-"
"Gannen?" Steve voiced out tentatively. The older vampaneze yelped and swivelled around, eyes wide as saucers with a mixture of shock...and oh my God, was that guilt? Steve wondered, equally surprised himself.
The Gannen he knew was a fierce warrior – a ruthless, heartless bastard with a mind so deviously cunning that only he stuck around long enough to know about. Gannen Harst was simply ice cold; he never bristled – never flinched, and most certainly never cooked.
And judging by the appalling smell issuing out of whatever Gannen was currently hiding behind his back, it was an enigma how he'd survived all these centuries alone.
"Er, what are you doing?" the younger vampaneze questioned, running a hand through his hair.
Gannen shot him a nervous glance, one that was bordering sheer panic.
"Nothing, my Lord," he said immediately, giving a tight smile that ruffled Steve even further. Gannen never smiled. And when he did...it was almost like watching Freddy Kreuger sit on nails or something. A truly creepy expression.
"Doesn't seem like nothing," Steve pointed out, snorting. "The whole warehouse pretty much heard your screams of redemption and smelt that Godawful stench."
Gannen's cheek mottled with embarrassment and Steve suppressed a grin. He padded over to the older vampaneze's side and coaxed him away from the counter. After much grumbling and incoherent swearing under his breath, Gannen slouched off, shoulders slumped in defeat and lips jutting out in a pout.
Steve almost chuckled at his mentor's expression. And he almost downright laughed when he saw what the man had been concealing all this while.
Two charred rectangles of what appeared to be once upon a time pieces of innocent toast glared back at him forlornly from a grimy plate, laid carefully side by side next to a mangled toaster full of dents, scratches and...wait. Was that teeth marks?
Steve glanced back at Gannen and the purple flush of his cheeks deepened.
Yup, his mentor had attempted to bite a toaster. Steve wasn't even going to think what prompted a dignified bloodthirsty denizen such as Gannen to do so in the first place.
Just to prove a point, he heard the older man make an odd choking-gurgling noise before spitting out a shiny piece of metal the size of a dime into the sink.
Yeah...he was losing it.
"What in God's name were you trying to do, Gannen?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.
Gannen shrugged aloofly, all previous traces of embarrassment gone.
"Toast."
Steve sighed. "You didn't need to bite it." Gannen scowled and opened his mouth in protest, but Steve just continued in a deadpan voice, "You just need to put two slices of bread in-" he placed two fresh pieces of bread in the toaster rack "-set the timer according to how crispy you want it to be-" he twisted the dial to two minutes "-and when it's done, it'll just automatically pop out."
The vampaneze's scowl deepened and he crossed his arms over his chest petulantly.
"I did that."
"Uh huh."
Gannen ground his teeth and stalked out of the kitchen without further ado. Steve just sighed at his mentor's departure and grabbed the ash black pieces of toast, all gung-ho to toss them out of the window when he looked down at the plate more carefully and spotted a tiny piece of paper folded between both slices.
Scowling, he set the plate down and grabbed the tiny yellow piece, eyes widening in shock when he recognized Gannen's flowing script on the surface.
That was another thing that Gannen Harst just didn't do – writing.
And he was about to find out why.
Dear Steve, the note read. I am going to head out to feed so I have made breakfast for you. Hope it is not too bad. There is one last glass of blood left in the fridge, drink that if you feel hungry. Enjoy.
–Gannen.
Choking on his own saliva, Steve crumpled the note in his fist. It was so uncharacteristic of Gannen to care about anyone or anything, let alone an ignorant bastard's child that Desmond Tiny had dumped on the older vampaneze's shoulders such as himself.
But that still didn't mean the man didn't have a heart, as proved by the languid scrawls wedged between two pieces of his supposed breakfast attempt.
And before Steve knew it, he'd zipped out of the kitchen in search of Gannen – about to demand an explanation for his sudden chivalry...but he was too late.
Gannen was already gone.
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A little fluffy mopey ending. My apologies if I didn't do such a descriptive job this time around – I didn't feel like prolonging the story by filling it with too much narratives. Hope you guys liked it. ;)
A/N : Regarding all my fics, I was initially planning on rewriting some of my ficlets, especially my Twilight ones. But then I grew up and began to see Twilight for what it was – an obsession for a perfect fictional being that is bordering insanity in terms of fandom. So I lost interest in the whole saga and I'm NOT going to continue it. I will be continuing my DS ficcys however, and update extremely rarely. The one story which you can guarantee that I'm not leaving is 'The Chatroom'. Btw, please stop trying to invoke old issues and sending anonymous flames regarding my old stories – it just wastes my time and frankly speaking, the past is the past. Leave it and move on. X-men, HP and Eragon ficlets will be updated when I have time – I'm focusing on some art commissions, my book publication and the final year of my studies at the moment, so I don't have time to multi-task like before. Follow me up on fictionpress if you wish to catch a glimpse of my other personally created stories. Thank for reading, reviewing and supporting! :)