A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD
CindyR
"... and now Lynn won't even come to the phone," Peter Venkman went on as though he hadn't repeated his complaint a dozen times since they'd left the firehouse. "You'd think she'd at least give me a chance to explain." He angrily tossed a long brown lock out of his eyes, then leaned forward over the passenger seat of the car, addressing the powerfully-built black man behind the wheel. "Wouldn't you?"
Winston tactfully cleared his throat. "I don't know, man. I mean, we've all been smooched by Slimer before, and if she thought it was you--"
"Yuck."
Peter retrained his gaze to his immediate left. "You have something to say, Dr. Spengler?" he inquired sweetly, and if Egon wasn't warned by the glint in those green eyes it was only because he had woken with a sinus headache that morning and was in no mood to be consoling.
"Only," the tall blond went on, not looking up from the calculator he cradled in one large hand, "that if Lynn Stacey isn't that kind of girl, then she probably isn't your kind of girl, either."
"Like Wynette is all that hot," Peter shot back. "If she's going out with you, she obviously doesn't have any taste."
Spengler braced himself against the armrest when Ecto slid to a stop. "Unlike Lynn," he volleyed smoothly, "who had enough taste to dump you before she got started."
The acid reply was already on Peter's lips when the fourth member of the team, an auburn haired young man wearing a sand-colored jumpsuit, twisted in the passenger seat and laid a hand on his arm. "Come on, guys," the young man said in a cheerful we're-all-friends-here! voice, "there's no need to argue this early! Lynn will listen to reason, Peter. Once she understands...."
He broke off with a start when Winston tapped the horn. "No, thanks!" he yelled.
"He said we don't want the windows washed!" Venkman bellowed, sticking his head out the window.
The shabby street denizen he'd addressed, paused before applying the filthy rag to the windshield a second time. "Get it clean," the man wheedled, his smile revealing blackened teeth. "Only a dollar...."
"Don't touch...." Peter snarled, making to open his door.
"Never mind. Here." Ray produced a dollar from his breast pocket and held it outside; the man was around the hood in a trice, snatching the money and heading toward the next car in line.
Peter subsided, glowering. "Lousy beggar. Look what he did to the windshield."
"No problem, Pete." Zeddemore pressed the windshield washer control, soon clearing away the mess the bum had made; the light changed to green and the big hearse continued on its way. "Besides, I'm giving Ecto a bath once we get back -- those kids at the school got fingerprints all over her."
"I believe I explained anthropomorphism in a previous existence," Peter sighed, placing his hand over his eyes. "You know, Lynn was absolutely the perfect woman -- intelligent, beautiful, rich...."
Ray gestured toward the abandoned warehouse to their right, a crumbling structure that jutted over the East River on equally crumbling supports; Winston pulled the car in front of the door and shut off the engine. "I'm sure Slimer didn't mean to spoil your date," Ray offered soothingly, reaching for the doorhandle. "He's real sorry, too, aren't you, Slimer?"
Their ghostly mascot, safely ensconced on the front seat between Zeddemore and Ray Stanz himself, broke this optimistic olive branch by emitting a high-pitched snicker. "She kisses reeeeeal good," he said, forming lips several feet long and smacking them noisily. "Pretty pretty."
"I'll pretty you!" Peter made a grab for the little ghost but Slimer had already dematerialized, leaving the psychologist with nothing but a handful of ectoplasm for his trouble. "I swear, when I get my pack...!"
Slimer, choosing the better part of valor, sank through the floor of the car and vanished.
Winston and Egon gathered at the rear, Winston applying the key to the tailgate. "Forget it, Pete," he advised, reaching in for a proton pack and handing it to Stantz, who promptly slipped in on. "We've got more important things to concentrate on right now."
"Far more important," Spengler put in, rubbing his forehead. "Let's get this case over quickly; I'd like to lie down for awhile with an icepack." He withdrew a glowing, box-shaped instrument from one pocket and studied it critically. "Hmmmm. I'm getting interference from the natural ionization of the river. I'll need greater propinquity before I can effect an accurate reading of the entity we're confronting."
Venkman dragged his own pack nearer the edge, heaving a gloomy sigh. "I really did like her a lot," he lamented with authentic woe. Not bothering to don his pack, he unhooked the thrower mechanism from its clip and waved it around. "Oh, Sliiiimer?"
Ray snagged his wrist, having to reach around the uninterested Spengler to do so. "He didn't mean it. He didn't think...."
Twisting himself free, Peter spun on the younger man, green eyes narrowing dangerously. "Come to think of it, you were the one who helped him with that stupid 'Venkman' costume!"
Ray froze. "B-but that was supposed to be a joke! I didn't know he was going to use it on your date!"
"That was Slimer's own idea," Winston put in.
"You knew he was going to use it against me," Venkman growled, ignoring Winston and poking Ray in the chest with his forefinger. "That didn't seem to bother you, did it. Figured you'd sit back and laugh while Slimer ruined my life?" Hurt darkened Ray's sunlit amber eyes to brown; that stopped Peter in his tracks, but stubborn pride firmed his jaw, preventing him from retracting the statement.
Ray's lips parted then closed tightly. Without another word he picked up a trap and disappeared into the dimly lit building, buckling his weapon on as he walked.
"Ray! Wait!" Egon lifted his hand in a useless gesture, for the young engineer was already gone. "Blast. He doesn't know what he's walking into. Winston, hand me that pack." Zeddemore complied, and Egon slipped it on, his icy gaze riveted firmly on the glowering psychologist. "That was completely uncalled for," he reproved sternly. "You know very well it isn't Ray's fault Miss Stacey won't accept your calls."
Resentment re-igniting now that he had a fresh -- and more equal -- target, Peter's lips drew back. "As if it's any of your business," he said sullenly, anchoring his own pack around his waist. "I know you, Spengs; you didn't have a prayer with her and now you're happy I don't, either."
"You," Spengler replied with great dignity, "are an ass."
"Later for you, pal." Hastily attached trap flapping from his belt, Peter stalked off, the thud of his heavy boots ringing on the old floorboards briefly before fading away.
Egon cursed. "We'd better go after them," he told the exasperated-looking Zeddemore, who was stuffing a field communicator into his pocket. "I'd prefer neither one of those two idiots be the first ones to contact our target; in their present state that could be inadvisable."
The black man rolled his eyes. "No one mentioned babysitting as part of my job specs. I feel more like Mary Poppins than an ex-vet turned Ghostbuster."
"Hellllllo!" Slimer greeted, sliding up behind Egon and patting the top of his blond head amiably. "Gonna kiss Peter's new girlfriend, too!"
Egon drooped. "Mary Poppins was an amateur," he sighed, leading the way indoors.
***
CindyR
"... and now Lynn won't even come to the phone," Peter Venkman went on as though he hadn't repeated his complaint a dozen times since they'd left the firehouse. "You'd think she'd at least give me a chance to explain." He angrily tossed a long brown lock out of his eyes, then leaned forward over the passenger seat of the car, addressing the powerfully-built black man behind the wheel. "Wouldn't you?"
Winston tactfully cleared his throat. "I don't know, man. I mean, we've all been smooched by Slimer before, and if she thought it was you--"
"Yuck."
Peter retrained his gaze to his immediate left. "You have something to say, Dr. Spengler?" he inquired sweetly, and if Egon wasn't warned by the glint in those green eyes it was only because he had woken with a sinus headache that morning and was in no mood to be consoling.
"Only," the tall blond went on, not looking up from the calculator he cradled in one large hand, "that if Lynn Stacey isn't that kind of girl, then she probably isn't your kind of girl, either."
"Like Wynette is all that hot," Peter shot back. "If she's going out with you, she obviously doesn't have any taste."
Spengler braced himself against the armrest when Ecto slid to a stop. "Unlike Lynn," he volleyed smoothly, "who had enough taste to dump you before she got started."
The acid reply was already on Peter's lips when the fourth member of the team, an auburn haired young man wearing a sand-colored jumpsuit, twisted in the passenger seat and laid a hand on his arm. "Come on, guys," the young man said in a cheerful we're-all-friends-here! voice, "there's no need to argue this early! Lynn will listen to reason, Peter. Once she understands...."
He broke off with a start when Winston tapped the horn. "No, thanks!" he yelled.
"He said we don't want the windows washed!" Venkman bellowed, sticking his head out the window.
The shabby street denizen he'd addressed, paused before applying the filthy rag to the windshield a second time. "Get it clean," the man wheedled, his smile revealing blackened teeth. "Only a dollar...."
"Don't touch...." Peter snarled, making to open his door.
"Never mind. Here." Ray produced a dollar from his breast pocket and held it outside; the man was around the hood in a trice, snatching the money and heading toward the next car in line.
Peter subsided, glowering. "Lousy beggar. Look what he did to the windshield."
"No problem, Pete." Zeddemore pressed the windshield washer control, soon clearing away the mess the bum had made; the light changed to green and the big hearse continued on its way. "Besides, I'm giving Ecto a bath once we get back -- those kids at the school got fingerprints all over her."
"I believe I explained anthropomorphism in a previous existence," Peter sighed, placing his hand over his eyes. "You know, Lynn was absolutely the perfect woman -- intelligent, beautiful, rich...."
Ray gestured toward the abandoned warehouse to their right, a crumbling structure that jutted over the East River on equally crumbling supports; Winston pulled the car in front of the door and shut off the engine. "I'm sure Slimer didn't mean to spoil your date," Ray offered soothingly, reaching for the doorhandle. "He's real sorry, too, aren't you, Slimer?"
Their ghostly mascot, safely ensconced on the front seat between Zeddemore and Ray Stanz himself, broke this optimistic olive branch by emitting a high-pitched snicker. "She kisses reeeeeal good," he said, forming lips several feet long and smacking them noisily. "Pretty pretty."
"I'll pretty you!" Peter made a grab for the little ghost but Slimer had already dematerialized, leaving the psychologist with nothing but a handful of ectoplasm for his trouble. "I swear, when I get my pack...!"
Slimer, choosing the better part of valor, sank through the floor of the car and vanished.
Winston and Egon gathered at the rear, Winston applying the key to the tailgate. "Forget it, Pete," he advised, reaching in for a proton pack and handing it to Stantz, who promptly slipped in on. "We've got more important things to concentrate on right now."
"Far more important," Spengler put in, rubbing his forehead. "Let's get this case over quickly; I'd like to lie down for awhile with an icepack." He withdrew a glowing, box-shaped instrument from one pocket and studied it critically. "Hmmmm. I'm getting interference from the natural ionization of the river. I'll need greater propinquity before I can effect an accurate reading of the entity we're confronting."
Venkman dragged his own pack nearer the edge, heaving a gloomy sigh. "I really did like her a lot," he lamented with authentic woe. Not bothering to don his pack, he unhooked the thrower mechanism from its clip and waved it around. "Oh, Sliiiimer?"
Ray snagged his wrist, having to reach around the uninterested Spengler to do so. "He didn't mean it. He didn't think...."
Twisting himself free, Peter spun on the younger man, green eyes narrowing dangerously. "Come to think of it, you were the one who helped him with that stupid 'Venkman' costume!"
Ray froze. "B-but that was supposed to be a joke! I didn't know he was going to use it on your date!"
"That was Slimer's own idea," Winston put in.
"You knew he was going to use it against me," Venkman growled, ignoring Winston and poking Ray in the chest with his forefinger. "That didn't seem to bother you, did it. Figured you'd sit back and laugh while Slimer ruined my life?" Hurt darkened Ray's sunlit amber eyes to brown; that stopped Peter in his tracks, but stubborn pride firmed his jaw, preventing him from retracting the statement.
Ray's lips parted then closed tightly. Without another word he picked up a trap and disappeared into the dimly lit building, buckling his weapon on as he walked.
"Ray! Wait!" Egon lifted his hand in a useless gesture, for the young engineer was already gone. "Blast. He doesn't know what he's walking into. Winston, hand me that pack." Zeddemore complied, and Egon slipped it on, his icy gaze riveted firmly on the glowering psychologist. "That was completely uncalled for," he reproved sternly. "You know very well it isn't Ray's fault Miss Stacey won't accept your calls."
Resentment re-igniting now that he had a fresh -- and more equal -- target, Peter's lips drew back. "As if it's any of your business," he said sullenly, anchoring his own pack around his waist. "I know you, Spengs; you didn't have a prayer with her and now you're happy I don't, either."
"You," Spengler replied with great dignity, "are an ass."
"Later for you, pal." Hastily attached trap flapping from his belt, Peter stalked off, the thud of his heavy boots ringing on the old floorboards briefly before fading away.
Egon cursed. "We'd better go after them," he told the exasperated-looking Zeddemore, who was stuffing a field communicator into his pocket. "I'd prefer neither one of those two idiots be the first ones to contact our target; in their present state that could be inadvisable."
The black man rolled his eyes. "No one mentioned babysitting as part of my job specs. I feel more like Mary Poppins than an ex-vet turned Ghostbuster."
"Hellllllo!" Slimer greeted, sliding up behind Egon and patting the top of his blond head amiably. "Gonna kiss Peter's new girlfriend, too!"
Egon drooped. "Mary Poppins was an amateur," he sighed, leading the way indoors.
***