Sorry for taking so long to get this up! Not going to bore you with reasons why.
Thank you to Hordak's Pupil for reviewing!
Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom and it's characters.
Ghost Writer strolled leisurely through the various corridors of his home, lost in thought about the Christmas poem he was soon to write.
He had almost everything he needed; his keyboard, his notes, paper, and pens.
All he needed now was a hot cup of coffee in his favourite mug and he would be ready to begin the poem. Inwardly he smiled. He never could write or read a book without a good mug of strong coffee, occasionally with a spoonful of honey. He smiled outwardly now as he thought about it. It brought back memories, memories of when he was alive …
Ghost Writer was rudely snapped out of his self-induced trance by walking into a corner of a worktop, which prodded his stomach rather sharply with its pointy edge. After removing himself from the worktop and casting a venomous glare in its general direction, he filled a battered kettle with water and set it away to boil.
Quickly he moved about, gathering everything he would require for the perfect writing coffee. A spoon, a jar of honey, a small carton of milk, his favourite mug (with a chip in the top and the words 'MY coffee!' printed on it) and last, but certainly not least the wooden box in which he kept his coffee assembled themselves before the dented kettle like solders.
Humming quietly to himself and thinking about his new poem, he opened the lid of the coffee box-
And stared in a mixture of shock, anger and fear.
He was out of coffee. The sentence swam around in his head, driving all other thoughts away. He was out of coffee. There was no coffee in the box.
It was the quickest he'd ever moved. In a single bound he had crossed the room to the cupboard where he kept his coffee and wrenched the door off its hinges in his haste.
He began to scrabble through the various packets, jars and boxes. Tea (several kinds), sugar, sweeteners, gingerbread syrup (for Gingerbread lattes at Christmas), cinnamon sprinkles, the Box Ghost, chocolate shavings, a half-eaten packet of marshmal-
Finally his thoughts caught up with him. With a wordless roar he turned on the unfortunate Box Ghost, who promptly began to quiver fearfully and held up a small sachet of sugar as a shield. Just about every ghost had heard of the Ghost Writers tremendous fury when he had no coffee – after all, who could forget the incident on a late August night in '99 when Bertrand had put all of Ghost Writers coffee in the bin, claiming it was rubbish? (Bertrand had discovered that being beaten around the head by two encyclopaedias and the fifth Harry Potter book was not very fun)
"Where is it? Where is it?!" he roared. The Box Ghost continued to shiver in fear. Ghost Writer let out a mixture of a snarl and a whimper and glared even harder at him.
The Box Ghost managed to finally murmur a response. "A mouse ate it?" he offered timidly. Ghost Writer was about to offer a suitably sharp retort when a high-pitched squeaking was heard. He whipped his head around, green eyes blazing with fury-
Only to see a glowing blue-furred mouse sprinting around the kitchen floor, red eyes wide with energy. His anger dissolving, he turned back to the Box Ghosts shocked face (it was either because the Ghost Writer was now relatively calm or because a mouse had actually ate the coffee and was still moving) and with a pleading note in his voice asked "Then where can I get some coffee? And it has to have caffeine in it."
"I, the Box Ghost, believe that the Lunch Lady may have some of your caffeinated coffee" he stated in usual fashion (though not dropping his makeshift shield).
Ghost Writer threw the Box Ghost back into the cupboard and ran out, nearly tripping over the caffeine-high mouse in the process.
Box Ghost blinked before turning back to a box filled with tea.
"I shall free you from your leafy captors soon, lovely cubical box!"
Ghost Writer hurtled through the Ghost Zone towards the Lunch Lady's cafeteria, eyes narrowed with frustration So many ideas skimming around in his head, and yet he lacked the one thing that he wanted – no, needed – to have when he wrote.
Why does all the bad stuff happen to me? He thought sadly. First I can't get inspiration, then I find out there's no coffee! What's next?
He suddenly winced in pain, partly because he got the feeling that Mr. Murphy had a warped sense of humour and partly because he'd flown straight into a large brick wall.
After peeling himself off of the wall, he floated over to a pair of worn cafeteria doors and hovered unsurely before them. In his haste to reach the heavenly drink known as coffee, he had forgotten some extremely important facts.
The Lunch Lady was frighteningly protective of her coffee. She could have mood swings in less than a second. And – horror of horrors – she might not actually have any coffee.
Ghost Writer immediately shook his head. Of course the Lunch Lady would have coffee.
It was getting the coffee that was the problem.
Hope you liked it!
