Chapter 1: Big News
Hardly anything new ever happened in Central Park Heights. The apartment complex saw few visitors, save for some random masses of people in search of a good party. And, occasionally, they would find one in apartment 13B, with a certain trio of party animals. The parties lasted well into the early hours of the morning, and caused quite a bit of agitation amongst the other residents in the building. However, the rest of the complex's inhabitants had little to do, and spent their days in leisure. But no one was quite sure what was up with apartment 15B, across the hall from party central. The four men who lived there were elusive. Everyone knew them, but they weren't sure what they did in there, or outside for that matter. They had been called the Penguins, for reasons unknown.
"I need options, Kowalski." One of the men in apartment 15B muttered to his roommate. He had black hair, which was styled into a military buzz cut, and wore a simple white t-shirt with black jeans. He was about twenty-one years old.
His roommate, who was the same age, adjusted his sleek glasses as he pulled out his notepad and pencil, looked over to him. He pushed back his short bangs. "Well, Skipper, we have about three options. One has a forty percent success rate. However, the other two have a one-hundred percent success rate."
"Excellent, Kowalski!" Skipper, as he was called, was glancing through their blinds down onto the street below. He was considered the 'leader' of the group. "So we'll go with either one."
Kowalski, who sat up on the pleather sofa he had been lounging on, cleared his throat. "We actually can't do either. While they do have a one hundred percent success rate, they also have a 'one-hundred percent sure we'll be evicted' tag along with it."
"Hoover dam!" Skipper spun around to face the living room. "We can't afford to work with those options. Rico, eighty-six that dynamite!"
A man of about twenty-two who sat at the kitchen counter groaned in exasperation. He had been attaching small sticks of dynamite together, as was part of one of Kowalski's options. He had a buzz cut as well, save for a styled Mohawk. A scar ran across the right side of his face.
"Um, Skippa?" A blonde boy with big baby blue eyes looked over at him. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his laptop in front of him. He was just shy of nineteen. "Do we really need to do anything? I mean, sure, our car is boxed in, but they'll come back and leave soon."
The predicament that the residents were dealing with was that someone had parallel parked way too close to the front of their car, and so they would be unable to leave. But it was the car of someone making a quick trip to the post office a few streets down, and so it would only be there for another twenty minutes or so.
But Skipper didn't like it one bit.
"Young Private, we can't let these suspicious activities go unnoticed." Skipper shook his head. "That car could contain a military grade camera, to spy on us; or worse."
The boy, Private, sighed and shook his head at his leader. Skipper was so paranoid. Private wasn't the boy's real name. But he had grown up in foster care, and had fiercely held onto pieces of his childhood because of it. When he was much younger in foster care, he and the other boys had played 'soldiers'. And he was always a Private, which never bothered him. He liked to have a leader. And so the nickname just stuck.
Skipper glanced back out the window, and saw the car begin to drive away.
"Probably heard me." He muttered underneath his breath.
He looked back to his 'team', and put his arms behind his back. He glanced at the clock; eight-thirty AM. "Men, we have a tight schedule today. First, a jog around Central Park. Second, we have to do laundry."
Everyone groaned at that.
Skipper lowered his brow. "You know the schedule. Every Friday afternoon, laundry. We can't have a pigsty here. Anyways, after that, we will come back for some foosball. But remember, it's not just for fun; it's a strategy game. And then, we will order take-out in preparation for movie night."
Private clapped. "I love movie night! Where are we getting food from?"
"Haven't decided yet, Private." Skipper replied. "Perhaps we'll make a bet of it over foosball. So, everyone prepare your laundry bags so they're ready to go when we return."
Everyone found their drawstring bags and began picking up clothes. The apartment was only one room, and it was used for Kowalski's science experiments. And so they all slept on separate mattresses in the living room. But it didn't look messy, because Skipper ran a tight ship. They organized every day and cleaned thoroughly once a week. Skipper had been in a military academy since the age of fourteen, and the strict nature had stuck with him.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock on their door.
"Helloooo, neighbors!" A familiar, accented voice could be heard through the door.
Skipper looked up, eyes wide. "Oh, no."
The door flew open, and a tall, dark haired man walked through the doorway, his hands raised. "Good morning, mysterious hall-mates!" Julien T. (no one could pronounce his real last name, which was intricate and Malagasy; Teloambin'ny-felo) flaunted in. He was twenty-one as well.
Skipper rolled his eyes and then looked at his team. "Who forgot to lock the door again?"
Julien had a big smile on his face and ran his hand through his hair. He was one resident of apartment 13B, the party destination. He also claimed to be descended from Malagasy royalty, and also the source of Skipper's biggest headaches. "I am having big news for you!"
"I am so excited about King Julien's news!" A little boy, simply called Mort, short for Mortimer, popped out from behind Julien. He had big, brown eyes and a mop of mousy-brown hair. He was related to Julien in some way; cousin's sister's aunt's boyfriend's mom's kid kind of way (in other words, no one was quite sure, but he had wound up in Julien's custody). Julien had told him of his supposed royal ancestors, and so Mort insisted on calling him 'King' Julien.
"What is it, Ringtail? We're pretty busy." Skipper called Julien that because of his nocturnal habits, much like a lemur. He didn't mean it as a friendly nickname though. The last thing he considered Julien was a friend.
"Let me tell you something." Julien plopped down onto the couch, accidently knocking Kowalski's notebook from his hands with his foot. He seemed pretty comfortable, even uninvited. "I am sure you will be liking this news, because I know that you are all totally against my amazing parties. And I always have my biggest party of the week on Friday."
It was true; Friday may have been the night for the Penguins to relax, but it was also the night for Julien's grandest, loudest, longest, and most obnoxious party of the week. He had it on a Friday so people had all weekend to recover from it.
"But tonight, there will be no party at my place." Julien finally delivered the news.
The Penguins gasped, but Skipper looked skeptical. "Really?"
Julien nodded, his golden eyes wide. "Instead, I am going to be going to a mansion party on Fifth Avenue! Can you be believing it?!" He glommed onto Kowalski, who made a face and pushed him off. Julien had never had a problem with personal space, as in his culture, there really wasn't anything like 'personal bubble'.
Private cocked his head. "Fifth Avenue?"
"Yes, silly boy." Julien explained. "It is where the most fantastical billionaires live. Anyways, one of my friends is friends with this guy who goes to Harvard – he's totally flunking by the way – but he comes home to New York during breaks. It is almost the end of the summer breaks, you know, and his parents are going to California or whatever, and so there is going to be a ginormous party there, and I am going!"
"Anyone who is anyone is going!" Mort said sweetly, repeating what he had heard Julien say earlier.
"Exactly, Mort!" Julien looked down at the boy. "And that is why you are not going. Maurice! Are you coming with me?"
Another man, who was much shorter and stockier, with a mess of hair, stood in the doorway. He looked very tired. He was probably the one who took care of Mort the most. "I don't think so, your Majesty." He called Julien that because it pleased Mort, and Julien didn't seem to mind either.
Julien waved him off. "Fine, fine." He looked back at the Penguins. "I wanted to invite all of you! You could really get out of the house more, you know what I am saying?"
"Yeah, we're not going." Skipper shook his head as he continued picking up laundry. "We have an inflexible schedule today."
Julien looked a little disappointed. He had never gone to a party by himself before. "Ah, it is no matter. My friend will be there, I think."
"Great." Skipper set his laundry bag by the door. "Well, we have to get ready for our morning jog, Ringtail."
"And I must be going." Julien began walking towards the door, Mort scampering behind him. "There is a lot of preparing that must be done for tonight!"
Finally, the Penguins were left alone again, ready to resume their day.
Skipper cleared his throat. "Alright, men, let's move out."
So, what did you think? Do the characters and descriptions seem right? Also, "Teloambin'ny-felo", means 13 in Malagasy. Y'know, like Julien the Thirteenth? :p I just couldn't decide on a last name, but I guess it works. Please review!