Disclaimer: I do not own Lost Boys nor reap any benefit.
Alan hated a lot of people.
Tall people, skinny people, fat people, short people, girls, boys, living or dead, Alan didn't care for them. People were the worst example of life most of the time. He wanted to protect them and all, but my God…Edgar had more patience than he did when it came to the whole hero thing, the whole savior thing. People didn't deserve his time or energy, especially the groups that were attacked. They were never intelligent, never grateful, and they always thought they knew best. And over time, Alan had come up with the three categories;
First were the bimbos, the chicks that twirled and giggled and flirted their way down the boardwalk, looking for a quick lay or a hook up or-Alan shuddered-that beach romance from some movie. These girls were easy to spot. They usually had sundresses on, faded in color, or they had a loose tank paired with a pair of shorts. Their hair was crimped and wavy, never something generally resembling style. And they wore sandals with heels-heels on the boardwalk.
That was the first giveaway.
They had bangles piled high on their arms and no make up except black eye liner. They usually were alone, to give that whole misunderstood teenager angst feeling that allegedly was so appealing. And they met up with the group because, or so they claimed to Edgar, they felt that these guys-these vampires, looked like they would get them.
Fucking bullshit.
Alan despised the lot of them.
Alan would have liked one thank you, ever, from any of the dumb bimbos they saved. If a girl was in peril, it was always a bimbo-no class act was walking around the boardwalk late at night let alone hanging out with vampires whom were believed to be punks and rebels. They could cry and heave and flutter their eyelashes at Edgar all they wanted, it didn't change the fact that they were loose with their morals and poor with their judgment. In Alan's eyes anyway. The big chested, scantily clad broads could blubber on and on about, "How they never expected those guys to hurt them!"
Yeah, of course. Because so many gangs of punks wandering around at three in the morning were just looking for someone to talk with and have deep meaningful conversations with. Because that totally made sense to Alan.
Stupid bimbos. And they never said thank you, ever. They just proceeded to share a story about how they totally didn't see that coming-the whole vampire thing. The thought they were just walking down the boardwalk with a group of nice young men. Anything to prove their already blatant innocence.
Yeah. Sure. Okay.
The next time Alan heard a girl scream that late, he was going to leave them to die. It would be one less person to make stupid mistakes. This decision could be viewed as heartless to his brother, but Alan wasn't wasting the energy to save some bimbo who was just going to do the same thing the next fucking night.
Well, Alan sure as fucking hell was not doing the same fucking thing every night. Next time she screamed, he would laugh.
And he would watch. Served her right.
…though Edgar would probably help her. And in order to make sure Edgar was safe, Alan would inevitably have to throw himself into the mix. His life was stuck in some vicious cycle where he continuously had to save his brother's stupid ass and a bunch of tacky bimbos running up and down the wooden planks in their heels, squealing and giggling as the motorcycles of the surrounding vampires revved and sputtered to live, marking their peaked interest in what was going to be their meal of the night.
At least with the bimbos, there was only one stupid shit for Alan to pretend to care about. The next two groups usually involved two or more people, usually six at the maximum.
One of these groups was always the drunk punk group who really weren't punks and nothing more than a frat who believed they were punk because they listened to Twisted Sister.
They had the mohawks, the piercings on their faces, they danced around the fire pits on the beach while drinking their booze. Yeah, to Alan they were obviously the epitome of badasses.
Or not. Because they just were drinking in public. How fucking rebellious of them.
These groups usually were the rabbits to the hawk of the vampires-the drunk, slow, stupid rabbit, mind you, but they really didn't have a fight. It was more of a challenge to save this group due to the fact that they just stood there, almost waiting for the vampires to pluck them off the ground, and unless they had a clear shot, Edgar and Alan couldn't do much except pull away the remaining screaming ninnies and hide them in the comic store.
Sometimes they would cry. Yeah, they were completely punk and cool. Alan never really paid much heed to these kids, logically it wasn't worth the risk of his life nor Edgar's. Statistically, a majority of the guys drinking were college students. College students got replenished every year.
It was cold and sadistic to some, but for Alan it was practical. Plus, what good would saving a drunk on the beach really do? So the guy would be all relieved and then come back a week later with a new group, jamming on the beach with some new beer. Alan couldn't stand them. He really, really couldn't take the shouting drunkards and wondered whether he would ever save something worthwhile.
He would just shake his head sadly at the waste of space that stood in the comic store, stammering shakily to his friend.
"Dude, dude…man, that was intense."
It took all of Alan's morality to keep himself from throwing the guy back out into the night to join his bloodied comrades.
These two groups were atrocities to the human species, but Alan still saved them. For within these groups, there could sometimes be one exception, one who does learn from their mistake and never dares walk the boardwalk at night. Not in the last group, never in the last group did this miracle occur.
The wannabe vampires were the absolute epitome of annoyance. They wore all black, they powdered their faces. They wore goth make up or jewelry-sometimes a black cross, which made Alan cringe due to complete ignorance for the species they wanted to belong to so desperately.
They were the worst. They would wait, for hours on the boardwalk, just sit there until it closed down for the vampires to come and make them immortal, eternally young…
When Alan found them, often times he would remind them that they were going to become vicious bloodsuckers who would slaughter multiple people. They often seemed to forget that little factor.
But they would still scoff and have the nerve to say,
"What do you know anyway?"
This…THIS is the comment that sent Alan over the edge. This arrogant indifference to the guy fucking coming out there to fucking save their ass was what made Alan despise them. You didn't want his help? Fine. You didn't see the attack coming? Cool. You talk down to the person trying to save your sorry ass?
Alan would not overlook that. Most of the time he'd walk away and wait until the vampire came. And while the person was initially excited by the presence of their God, their creator, as the horror of the situation grew, so did their reluctance to join the undead.
And Alan would come out, kill the monster and give them the best, knowing smirk that he could. They'd stare at him for a moment before the moron run off home into the night.
None of them ever said thank you. Hell if they even gave him a smile.
God, Alan hated people.