This is me.
*Insert lovely picture of a disgruntled teenager*
And this is me at a party.
*Same disgruntled teen, but at a party*
I have no clue why I'm even here. Who even had the bright idea to invite me? All I can imagine is the conversation that went down:
"Who else should we invite?"
"Why not that nerd Salem?"
"...Eh, what the hell."
It was then decreed that I was cordially invited to a royal asshole's party. Which I would have been more than happy to decline via some believably made up illness, if it weren't for my sweet...helpful...Aunt Jojo. Who accepted the invitation for me. In front of the inviters. Leaving me no escape option as she drove me to the party herself. And stayed to make sure I went in. Sweet Aunt Jojo.
So it's understandable that I'm in the corner pretending I don't exist and making sure no one notices me and think it's a good idea to engage in conversation.
And I would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for some dumb blonde wearing shades indoors.
"And what's a tiny thing like you standing in a corner by yourself?" he asks, leaning casually against the wall.
"Not interested, hot shot,"I say, deliberately stepping around him and bee lining it for another empty corner.
"Not even going to introduce yourself?" Oh hell, he's following me.
"You didn't," I shoot back over my shoulder.
"Touché. Call me Strider for now," He's acting like that'll make us friends. Cocky bastard. Can he be so oblivious to direct rejection? Wait, he's still pursuing me, that was a dumb question.
"Alright, get away 'Strider'," I flick some of my dark hair over my shoulder in agitation. I'm already irritated enough as it is just by being here. This asshole Strider isn't helping.
"Okay, I'll leave you alone for now. But I'm getting your name before you leave," He chuckles. And then he simply vanishes. I turn around to say something extra snarky, but he simply isn't there. I can't even see him weaving through the throng of people. Then again I'm really short. Which that jerk called me when he first showed up. He didn't even bother flirting! Douche was just messing with me. What a swell party this is. Thanks for accepting the invitation for me Aunt Jojo. I hope you're all wrapped up in a big blanket, watching that new episode of Untold Stories of the ER, and that you feel my wrath all the way from here in my little corner.
There's a bit of racket coming from the outside of the house, and it pulls me out of my seething rage and dark musings for a brief moment. But that's it. Well, it should have been anyways. I would have gone on to imagine painful things happening to Strider's lower region if it weren't for an ill timed party crash.
Of zombies.
A growing problem in today's society is monster uprisings. And it's not the politicians you see on tv asking for your vote and making false promises they never intended to keep in the first place. It's real, living, breathing bonafied monsters. You've got the vamps, wolfbloods/werewolves, spirits, myths, and yes, zombies among hundreds of other different species.
There are a lot of monsters in the world right now, and they're tired of hiding. So they've been invading human society trying to take over again. As must be something akin to the case right now.
The only difference between how most people depict zombies in comics and tv shows vs. how they are in reality is that zombies aren't mindless rotting husks. They can think, run, and blend in society just like any other supernatural creature. And also, they're freaky strong.
There's chaotic screaming everywhere, which only results in rabid zombies silencing it with disgusting eating sounds. And then there are idiots running bat shit crazy and running right into a zombie and being ended by more disgusting eating sounds. Jeez you would think zombies would at least retain good table manners but nooooo.
I glance around my little corner and feel some what relieved that there's a mini table with a lamp on it. Lamp's are great. I love lamps. It's like whacking a bad dog with a newspaper, but the dog is a zombie, and the newspaper is the lamp.
Of course you can kill a zombie, even with a trusty lamp at your side, but doing that is a bad idea. If you do, the rest of the zombies will swarm on you and you become SOL. That's why stunning is preferable option numero uno, thus still concluding that a lamp is a trusty friend.
Carefully I cling to the wall. Even though that bastard Strider made it a point of making it obvious that I'm short, it has its perks. Short people are good at going unnoticed. Even in a mass panic because of zombie party crashers. Zombies forget about us just like regular people do.
This allows me to make it into a room so I can stay hidden until the wave crashes. Zombies never stay active for long. Just enough time to satisfy their munchies for brains and then they're chill. They retreat into whatever dark hole they came from. All I have to do is stay in a room and hope that none of them thinks to check in here or look through a window, since they're rampaging out there too. And if they do it'll be time to put my forget-me-lamp to use.
I quietly shut the door behind me.
"Nice to see you're still alive, Shorty. Seems you've got some sweet brains in you too," I freeze with my hand almost off the doorknob. Please don't be the asshole when I turn around Please don't be the asshole when I turn around Please don't be the asshole when I turn around.
"Dammit it's the asshole," I hiss after slowly turning around. Blondie Strider boy is perched on top of a bed with lavender sheets- probably satin- like he's posing for a photo shoot.
"That's Mr. Asshole to you," he smirks. His round shades hide his eyes, his true emotions to my direct insult. But I get the feeling he's had a lot of time to cultivate his personality to not give a damn about what people call him. A cool guy if you will. One that thinks it's necessary to wear shades indoors. An irritating idiot.
"Was a pretty stupid to plan a party this far out from the city if you ask me," And the asshat continues speaking as if we'd been having a casual conversation right from the start. "Noise attracts the Monsters you know. They always want to investigate and destroy."
"Thanks for the Monster 101 lecture, but I already knew that," My grip on the lamp tightens. There's more crashing and screaming, muffled as it is, coming from beyond the door.
"If you knew all that, why'd you come?"
My eyes roll over. "You're a genius, can't you tell I never wanted to be here in the first place?"
"Oh I thought you were just playing hard to get," his grin widens, and I know he knows he's getting under my skin. Jeez, I hate to admit this, but he is good.
"Still, it's a shame that a cool party like this was ruined by some homewrecker zombies. Not that it wouldn't have been crashed anyways by a different person. Namely, me."
"You?" My eyes narrow ever so slightly. In a different lighting I was beginning to notice a few other things to this Strider guy. For starters, he's pale as fuck. And not just naturally pale, bloodless pale. The other thing is the almost translucent beauty he has to him- almost like he were carved from marble. And his nails look normal, but slightly pointer than the average humans.
But then my eyes are drawn to something orangish on the floor. Hair. And it's attached to a head, which isn't attached to a body. Not only that but I recognize the chick, even through her bloodied, glazed eyed, make up filled disaster. It is the royal asshole who cordially invited me to this party.
Strider follows my gaze, disgusting enjoyment lighting up his features. He leans over and picks the head up by the hair to show it off to me, before grasping around her neck to examine it himself.
"She was entertaining while she was alive, in a petty, human sort of way."
I am speechless. More so because of the head in his hands than anything else. The fact that he is an asshole and a Monster to boot doesn't really come as a shocker to me.
"Now I wonder how entertaining you'll be," he looks away from the head, grinning with pin point fangs.
I so have no intentions of being apart of any game he has in mind. Dammit Aunt Jojo! I'm adding this to the list of reasonable excuses of why you shouldn't accept invitations for me.
Strider lets the head fall from his hands, hitting the floor with a thud and it bounces away. He stands up and I back into the door. Now trapping myself in a room seems like a bad idea. But he doesn't go for me. Instead he heads for the dresser that's about an arms reach away from me. There's a vase sitting on top, elegant floral patterns adorning it. He reaches for it.
And only before does he say, "Let's see if you prove to be better than she was."
He picks up the vase and smashes it against the wall. The shattering of ceramics is like a loud crack of thunder. Before I have time to do anything ridiculous in regards to being horrified, I slam myself against the door.
Growling and gnashing becomes louder, and a zombie rams into the door. I hold firm, keeping my back to it and lamp at the ready to whack some hands away if they break through the door. I glare at Strider, sinking to the floor as I struggle to keep it closed. My feet run into the dresser, and for a moment I find that I am at my strongest so the door can't budge, my arms braced against it and the wall.
But then I realize my mistake and know that I am also at my weakest. Strider is also the enemy here. And I am completely at his mercy.
Another zombie runs into the door and my head snaps forward. In that moment he strikes. Like a blink of an eye, maybe even faster, he was in front me in a crouched position, legs spread in two different time zones. His hands gripped my shoulders, and I felt frozen.
"Perfect, just how I like them," his voice is still suave and cool. Irritating enough to snap me out of the stupor. Like hell am I going to be his submissive fodder! I swing my head up, slamming into his chin. His glasses slipped and looked skewed on his face. But I finally see his eyes.
Burning red coals stare back into my own eyes, which I know to be a cool glacier blue color. I feel sucked into them, losing my will slowly. He takes my distraction as an opportunity to strike and sink his fangs into me.
I'm sure I would have died an agonizing death knowing that this limp noodle had gotten his nasty fangs in me if it weren't for the fact that he retreated so fast coughing and spluttering my blood all over the place.
"You're anemic? With sickle cell? Why didn't you say something?!" he choked, hurrying to push his shades back on and get away from me.
"Oh, well, you know. What with a vampire in front of me- dead body included, and zombies at my back, I apologize for not telling you my medical condition," I snap at him. Tiny droplets of my blood trickles down my neck from the bite mark, and a numbness grows and spreads. Not long after I notice this my right arm refuses cooperation. Then my left. I'm going limp one limb at a time.
"What the hell?" I mumble. My head feels light, and my vision bounces between dimming and fuzzying. "What'd you do to me?"
"Well it's supposed to make your death less painful," he grumbled. "But now I guess you're just gonna take a nap."
After a moment of thought, a bright idea seems to come upon him. He grins, getting back down to my level.
"You know, you're not all that bad. I think I'm gonna keep you around instead of leaving you for zombie chow."
"Gee thanks," I so didn't sign up for this shit when I woke up this morning.
"What's your name Shorty?"
"Salem," I didn't want to tell him, but it seems that there's more to this numbness than first feels. The truth just wants to come forth. I let him win yet again.
"Sleep tight, Salem. I won't let those zombies bite."
The last thing I saw before the light switch was pulled was Strider's infuriating grin.
So if you've made it here, I applaud and thank you. The idea for this story was a highly intriguing one for me, and I've been busy thinking up plots to help me work on certain things. I know that there's still a bit I could use improvement on, but if there's anything in particular, please let me know! Also, I don't really intend to to make this a romance, but there will be moments where it seems like it. If I do stray off my path too much, come slap me with a dead fish.
Disclaimer: Y'all should know that I ain't Andrew Hussie, but I can be devious enough to be one of his relatives (not really). I don't own le Homestuck, just Salem and the plot to this story.
(After note: I'm going through and editing this even though I still have yet to finish the story. My editing process is jacked up af but oh well. Mostly I'm just fixing spelling/tense mistakes. If you see something I might of missed help me out a bit and point it out please!)