Frozen Yogurt (re-write)
A/N: To the people who were waiting for me to continue my first version of this story, I'm so sorry. Life's been really rough lately and I've been incredibly busy up until now. But now I have plenty of time and I'm going to do a re-vamped version now that my writing's improved. A lot of things are gonna be different.
Chapter 1: Frozen Yogurt
"That'll be twenty dollars and fifty seven cents."
"What? Twenty bucks for some frozen yogurt, are you kidding me?"
"Sorry, kid. I'm not in charge of prices."
"Ugh, alright. So much for that new pair of headphones. Hey, Tuck, you mind taking the tray?"
"Sure, man. But put your wallet away, I know you're a bit short on change right now. Today's on me, dude."
"Thanks Tuck."
Three years of high school, but some things never change. Tucker always had his back, whether it involved frozen yogurt or ghost hunting. And to be honest, they dealt with the latter with a depressing regularity. Danny was surprised that they'd all survived for this long, what with them putting their lives at risk on a daily basis. Not that the years had passed them by without leaving their mark, but honestly, he wouldn't change a thing. Especially not when the tourism the ghosts brought in led to a new frozen yogurt shop in Amity Park.
Danny shook himself out of his thoughts as they neared the table. Sam was sitting there, as beautiful as ever. He slid down the booth next to her and helped Tucker put the tray he'd been carrying on the table. The springy material of the cushioned seat squeaked as their friend sat across them.
"One plum flavored dairy-free frozen yogurt for my lovely lady," announced Danny, sliding his girlfriend her cup with an exaggerated flourish.
"Thanks, Danny," she smiled, snatching his spoon teasingly and using it to dig in to her own cup. Tucker groaned at his friends and made gagging noises at the sickening sight in front of him. Sam scowled at him and kicked his shin with her heavy boot-clad foot.
Next to her the lovesick halfa wore a goofy grin, unable to take his eyes off of his girlfriend's ectoplasm-green lips, a far cry from the color they'd been in freshman year.
After her parents had emptied her closet in the hopes of getting her to go shopping for more socially acceptable clothing, Sam had changed her entire wardrobe. To her parents' dismay, rather than purchase anything "normal", the teen had made a rather sudden jump from goth to a more vibrant, punk fashion, declaring mockingly that they had been right to suggest a change in fashion, this suited her much better.
And after first seeing her in tight black jeans, a neon green crop-top, and purple suspenders, Danny could only stammer that he completely agreed. His girlfriend was beautiful before, but he couldn't deny that her hair looked even better now that she'd let t grow to mid-back.
Seeing that Danny was still staring dreamily at her long after her and Tucker had dug into their frozen yogurt, Sam blushed and felt another smile tugging at her lips. Danny and her had gotten together during sophomore year, to the surprise of absolutely none of their peers.
Tucker cleared his throat, snapping Danny out of his glassy-eyed, sappy look. He blushed and rubbed his neck, embarrassed at being caught. He proceeded to shove a spoonful of pineapple flavored frozen yogurt in his mouth to avoid further embarrassment.
"Anyways," smirked Tucker. "What are we gonna do about that field trip tomorrow, guys?" his voice took on a more worried tone.
Danny groaned. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm trying not to think about that upcoming train wreck right now, Tuck."
Sam gave him an annoyed look. "Danny, our entire English class is going on a trip to the ghost zone. A trip that's going to be chaperoned by your parents. And that's supposed to last all day. There's no way that it won't go wrong. We need to be prepared."
"Fine, fine. You can't blame a guy for trying."
Neither of them missed Danny's sullen tone, but it was all in good fun, so Sam and Tucker just smirked. Tucker mimed flicking a whip and made a mocking cracking sound, earning him a dirty look from both his friends. He discreetly moved over in the hopes of avoiding another brutal kick from Sam.
"Okay, so I say, we bring out the big guns. Anything and everything can go wrong, and honestly it probably will. So lets talk 'Worst Case Scenario'."
"Um, Sam, worst case scenario is we all die."
"Shut up, Tucker, that's not what I meant."
Tucker woke up with a start, his alarm clock's glow lighting up the dim room. It was five in the morning. D-Day. 'Better get to work,' he thought. Throwing back his covers, Tucker slipped on his glasses. They were a new prescription, so they were a bit slimmer than before, but he'd gotten a squared frame for old times sake. Turning on the lights and wincing at their intensity, the teen ambled tiredly towards his closet. Hangers worth of clothes were shoved aside lazily, revealing a metal door set in the wall.
Tucker placed his hand on the scanner to it's right, half asleep still. It was all routine at this point. A yawn crept up on him as the safe gave a soft ping and swung open. He pulled out all the usual gear and reached toward the very back, where he'd stashed the equipment reserved for emergencies.
The techno-geek changed drowsily into a thick pair of gray jeans. He pulled on socks and sturdy brown boots. They were originally just plain leather, but Tucker had added steel to the front area and the soles. It had slight traces of ectoranium in it, so kicking away ghosts was made way easier. He would wear them more often if t hadn't been for that one time he stepped on Danny's foot. He would have felt bad if it wasn't so funny to see him squeal and jump around on one leg for a solid minute. Feeling more awake than he had a few minutes prior, Tucker paused in front of the mirror to admire himself.
"Damn, me. You look good." He shot finger guns at his reflection and clicked his tongue.
Tucker had in fact drastically changed his look since freshman year. His favorite beret had been destroyed in a fight with Technus, and after a good, long mourning period, he'd decided to just grow out his hair. Now he wore it in a mop of short dreads. The red strap of fabric that was left of his lucky token was tied around his wrist, seeing as he'd been unwilling to part with it completely. He'd worn that hat for so long it felt wrong not to keep up the tradition in some form.
And after years of Sam's forced training, the geek was also very much proud of his greatly improved physique. He wasn't buff by any stretch of the word, but he was very much fit, with a definition to his muscles that had been hard won after years of training in hand to hand combat. Or as he called it, "getting beaten up by Sam on a regular basis". Looking at himself now, however, he was glad that she'd forced him to spar with her. He'd never looked better. Not that Tucker would ever admit that to her. She'd get way too smug. Probably insist on more one-on-one sessions. The teen shuddered at the thought.
Turning from the mirror, Tucker threw on a yellow undershirt. He put his leather shoulder holster on and strapped it. It crossed tightly over his back and had a loop on each side for two slim ectoguns, buckling closed in the front. He pulled a loose flannel shirt out from a hangar and buttoned it to conceal the straps of his holster. Tucker rustled around through the clothes he'd shoved aside to pull out his favorite leather jacket. It was dark brown and had hidden pockets on the inside. Perfect for keeping his tech on him. Leaving it unzipped, he ran his fingers through his hair.
Tucker got out the belts he'd modified and slung and tied them around his waist. They were leather with a conductive wire on the inside that allowed it to work like the old Fenton Specter-Deflectors when he pressed a button on the side. Getting them to ignore Danny's ecto-signature without making them bulky and noticeable had taken up an incredibly frustrating week of his life. Thankfully, though, his efforts had paid off. All the belts had small pouches attached on the sides, which held vials of diluted blood blossom oil as well as spare knives and collapsible ecto-weapons.
The geeky teen placed a modified watch on his free wrist, tied a loose red handkerchief around his neck, and slung the backpack he'd prepared the night before over his shoulder.
Tucker left his room and made his way downstairs quietly, trying not to wake his parents. He got a sticky note from the kitchen counter and a pen and wrote a short note to his parents explaining that he'd gone over to Danny's place and not to worry, that he'd get breakfast there. He opened the front door and took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. 'Off to Fentonworks,' he thought.
Sam slowly drifted into consciousness, blinking drooping eyes at the dark ceiling above her. It took a while for her to consciously register the blaring alarm clock next to her. Groping blindly for the off switch, she smacked it into silence. Sam stretched out, her back arching and popping. Sighing in satisfaction, she claps the lights on in her room. Although she'd changed the scheme since freshman year to better fit with her new style, it had already grown familiar after two years.
Sam gets reluctantly out of bed and glances towards her neon orange alarm clock. Five in the morning. She groaned quietly. 'I am most certainly not a morning person,' she thinks. Well, there was work to be done. Walking stiffly to her closet, she looked around blearily for a suitable outfit. She grabbed a pair of mint-green skinny jeans with small metal skulls studding the pockets and black thread along the seams. Sam slipped them on absentmindedly. Rummaging through her shirts, she grabbed a comfortable tank top in a mauve color. Remembering that she needed to get the other supplies ready, she turned around and made her way back to the bed.
Kneeling down to reach under the frame, she slid out a thick cast-iron chest. Groping for the key that lay on her night stand, she finally grabbed it and unlocked the intricately engraved box. She picked out the weaponry she needed and placed it on her mattress. Standing up, Sam brushed herself off and went back to her closet. She grabbed what looked like normal, black leather suspenders from the front and clipped them on with practiced ease. They actually were custom made to have a holster on the back that could hold almost any kind of weapon she owned. Sam grabbed the collapsible ectoplasm-powered assault gun and worked the mechanisms around so that it folded in on itself, then promptly slid it into its place on her back.
Sam, feeling slightly more awake after moving around moved back to her closet and grabbed a loose black jacket with laces the same color as her jeans, and slid on her thickest combat boots. The soles were made of two inches of rubber, with metal embedded on the toes and heel. Neon green studs and spikes lay on straps that wrapped around the boots. She slid on the leather gloves that Tucker had given her on her birthday last year. They were padded on the knuckles, which had short, but slim and sharp spikes made with an ectoranium alloy.
Sam packed all of the smaller weapons into hidden pockets throughout her person and slid her iron chest back under her bed. As she walked out of her room, the teen grabbed the backpack she'd prepared the previous night and clapped the lights off.
Sam made her way to her private bathroom. Brushing her teeth quickly, she splashed her face before drying off and put on her favorite matte, neon green lipstick. The ex-goth applied a bit of mint-green eyeliner and mascara, and satisfied with her efforts, began untangling the hair that she'd allowed to grow out the previous summer. She quickly made a messy bun and secured it with a bright purple scrunchie, slipping in a small utility tool too, having learned that when being stripped of weapons, none ever checked in her hair for them. She gave herself a once over in the mirror, taking a moment to appreciate the height she'd gained in what was probably her last growth spurt. Unfortunately Sam was the smallest of the trio, reaching only 5'6, where Danny was two inches shorter than Tucker's six foot frame.
Sam left the house through her window. Her parents were early risers and would be waking up in about half an hour at the latest. She wouldn't risk getting caught by going out the front door. Dropping onto the ground, Sam shifted her backpack and made her way to Fentonworks.
Danny woke up with a scream. Panting, he struggled to collect himself in the wake of his nightmare. He calmed down slowly, taking deep, wavering breaths. He kept an ear out to see if anyone had been disturbed by his shouting. A minute passed in silence; he was in the clear. The space-shuttle alarm clock by his bedside read five in the morning. Groaning, Danny phased through his sheets and floated across the room to flip on his light. Checking that his door was locked, Danny went to his closet to get some clothes for the day. He grabbed a pair of red skinny jeans, some socks, a white tank, and a change of underwear.
He phased through the wall leading to the bathroom that connected his sister's room to his. A warm shower later and Danny focused on turning the water on him intangible, feeling it fall through him to the shower floor instead. Grinning, Danny ran his hands through his, now dry, black hair and shook it so that it looked awesomely messy (Or "adorably" messy according to Sam, but Danny wasn't cute, dammit. He was cool).
He changed into his clothes and phased back into his room. The sun was only just starting to come up. Whoops. Danny must've been in the shower longer than he thought. His friends would be there soon, if they weren't already there. The teens sensitive ears picked up the buzz of conversation below on the first floor. His parents must have woken up by now. 'Damn my need to have long warm showers in the morning!' thought Danny as he rushed over to his closet.
Danny pulled out a pair of sturdy dark green boots with white threads trimming it and brown laces that he quickly tied. He grabbed a couple of belts stocked with tightly sealed flasks of powdered blood blossoms and various ecto-guns and knives. He put his two favorite ecto-pistols in the small of his back tucked in his jeans. He shrugged on a gray hoodie that Sam got him for his birthday (It had a small Danny Phantom logo on the bottom right. The irony was not lost on him) to cover the weapons. Danny grabbed the backpack he'd packed before going to bed last night and went downstairs, and was that breakfast he was smelling?