A/N
Thank you for being patient. I have serious writer's block going on. If any of you have any suggestions for how to get rid of it, please tell me because I am getting desperate. I need to begin writing my novel and every time I try to start it, I can't think straight!
Enjoy!
So as to not further anger his little sister, Dib reluctantly agreed to hang out with Zim. He grumbled to himself, all the while cleaning his glasses and pulling a jacket over his brown turtleneck sweater from the closet to prepare himself for the chilly night.
"Of all the nights," Dib muttered, "Gaz had to threaten me on the coldest one of October yet!"
With the door slipping shut behind him, he was on his way to the Irken's house. The walk held nothing special in particular, well, except for that radioactive squirrel that crawled out of a manhole and bit him on the arm before sprouting wings and flying away. Besides that, it was pretty boring.
Dib rang the doorbell and waited impatiently on the front porch. Zim opened the door as he was in the middle of slipping on a contact lens. He stared at the large-headed boy who was scratching at his arm vigorously.
"Fleas?" he asked.
"No, squirrels—hey, wait!"
"Oh, close your mouth Dib-worm. Let's just get this night over with and done." Waving a nonchalant goodbye to Gir, he closed the door. The two made their way onto the sidewalk and headed in the direction of the party.
"Listen, Zim. I'm just as put out as you about this. It isn't exactly my Saturday night plan to hang out with my worst enemy."
"Oh, please. This is the most fun you've had in ages." He smirked smugly. "Admit it. Anyone would be lucky enough to hang out with the mighty Zim!"
"The only thing I'd like to do with you Zim is land you on an autopsy table while taking pictures," he countered.
"At least I'm not wearing a frilly sweater."
"Oh, what, and you're dressed any better?" he asked, gesturing at Zim's red jacket and loose-fitting jeans.
Zim shoved him, crossing his arms and smiling triumphantly. Dib returned the favor with much more force. In no time, they were rolling on the ground, throwing punches and insults, leaves crackling beneath their backs. Zim was the first to untangle himself from the fight, screaming, "Enough!"
Dib wiped spittle from his chin. "You started it!"
"Give me that invitation," Zim demanded, snatching it off the ground where it had fallen from Dib's pocket in the struggle. "We're almost there. If we can manage not to kill each other by then, we should be able to get through this night."
"Don't make it sound so simple," Dib grunted.
Zim muttered, pointing at a house on the corner that blasted colors and music into the air. They quickly climbed the steps, trying their best to arrive before the other did, and Dib rang the doorbell. The door immediately swung open, and they both cringed at just who it was.
It was Keef. Donning a hoody and baggy pants that were right about to fall down, he looked like a clown instead of the "gangster" air he was going for. He smiled and quickly gathered the two into a hug. The chunky gold chains draping around his neck dug into their throats. "I didn't know you'd be coming!" he squealed.
Zim shoved the teenager off, wiping himself clean. Even years later, he was still an annoying person, bent on destroying others slowly through the torture of affection and hugs; not to mention that ridiculous high-pitched voice. Guess he was too stupid to go through puberty, Zim thought.
"Neither did we," Dib remarked, glaring at Zim. And then he had an idea. "Actually, we weren't invited. My sister Gaz was. So if we can't come in, I'll completely understand and we can just head home to—"
"Of course you can!" Keef hollered, even though they could hear him clearly above the blasting music. "Come on in!"
Zim growled and remained where he stood. Dib was forced to drag him in, fearing the beating he would take from his sister later if he did not comply to the agreement. Inside, strobe lights flashed and threw wicked colors and sights across the room. On top of a bookcase, someone had placed a fog machine that spit out mist across the entire ground floor. Zim coughed, waving his hand to clear the steam clouding around his face. Girls gathered around the stereo in the corner, dancing erotically, suggestively with their partners. Glass bottles filled to the brim with beer glistened in the lighting. Zim bent over, eyeing them curiously. Dib tapped him, shook his head, and they continued.
They looped their way through the groups of dancing, sweaty bodies. Dib thought he saw Zim gag and cover his mouth as they made their way into the kitchen. It was somewhat quieter, but not much. A radio was on the countertop, and the volume was turned all the way up.
Dib leaned uncomfortably against the wall, the only clear spot he could find. His Irken tagalong sighed irritably.
"Well, this is fun." He pulled a glass bottle into view and poured the beer into the sink. The smell wafted up. "I do not understand why you humans enjoy this partying, or the consumption of beard."
"Beer," Dib corrected. He shrugged. "At least we agree on that. I don't get it either, but Gaz was pretty serious and I'm not planning on playing with her temper tonight."
"Yo!"
They turned at the call and looked up at the young man who glowered angrily down on the pair, a red, plastic party cup in his hand. His pants sagged loosely around his waist, barely even staying in place with each step he took. They figured he had something to do with the influence on Keef's attire.
"Who said you losers could come?" he demanded.
"Excuse me?" Zim shouted.
"You aren't invited, shorty!" He leaned in closer.
Zim smothered disturbed gasps, trying his best to breathe through the man's heavy alcoholic breath. "You dare call—?"
"No, no, Zim," Dib waved him off. "He's right. We weren't invited." Zim eye him confusedly. He nodded. "We really weren't invited. I mean, yeah, even though Gaz, you know, Gaz Membrane, that creepy girl who's capable of, well, anything, who happens to be my little sister, did tell us to take her place here tonight, who are we to listen if, oh, what's your name?"
The guy blinked, dumbfounded. "Um…Chunk." He gulped. "My name is Chunk. Did you say your sister was Gaz—?"
"Okay, Chunk," Dib said. "I'll be sure to tell her that you're the one who interfered with her wishes. See you later!"
"Uh, on second thought," he grabbed Dib's shoulder just as they were leaving, "why don't you stay? I mean, there's no harm in you being here." He chuckled nervously, gripping his cup tightly.
Dib smiled. "Well, thanks, Chunk. I appreciate that."
They watched him walk away, timidly glancing over his shoulder and flashing them a thumbs up and a fake grin. Dib returned the gesture before saying to Zim, "Sometimes the reputation of Gaz's temper comes in handy. Hey, where are you going?"
Zim shuffled away. "Somewhere where I don't have to hear your nasally voice." He smirked. "Oh, and I'd watch out. We don't exactly blend in here. We're going to be the target for everything."
Dib scoffed. "Paranoid alien."
Little did he know, that crazy alien was right. About an hour into the party, Zim was pounding his head against the wall. He couldn't take it anymore! The pounding music, the loud chatter, gossiping girls, obnoxious boys; what anyone saw in these get-togethers he would never understand.
These filthy humans don't know that there is a mighty Irken elite among them, he thought, casting a glance to some guys jumping down a flight of stairs. Then again, they may kill themselves before I even get a chance to do anything.
He sighed and marched back downstairs into the living room. Dib was in the safety of the upstairs bathroom, secretly hiding from everyone else. Zim didn't bother him. It was bad enough he had to come here. The last thing he needed was to have the human hot on his trail, accusing him of his extraterrestrial roots.
Hopping off the stairs, he did not notice the group of guys huddled in the corner, whispering inaudible thoughts about him. His back turned, he fingered the shiny glass bottles of liquor and alcohol before he noticed they were directly behind him. There were three of them, one with a blue sports jacket , a short one with a piercing in his eyebrow, and another one who was tall and had a football stuffed under his arm.
"What's up, man?" the large one asked. He burped, scratching his arm.
Zim glanced up. "This is your house and you are asking me what is on your ceiling?" He pointed, shaking his head at their foolishness. "Your ceiling fan. That is what is up there."
They exchanged glances. "Anyways," the short one continued, "we thought we'd offer you a drink, or two or three…" He held the glass out welcomingly and leaned heavily against the alien. Clearly, he was no longer sober.
Zim rejected the offer and shoved him off. "I don't drink." Or else it will cause me to disintegrate, he added in his head.
"Oh, come on! One drink won't kill you!" they pressured.
"I already said no, filth sac. Be on your way!"
"Just a sip," they said, shoving it into his hands.
He pushed it back. "I am warning you, worm larva. If you do not—mph!" He was cut off as they shoved the bottle into his mouth, tipping it so that the harsh liquid coated the walls of his throat and fell into the pit of his Squeedily Spooch. He coughed, a scream already escaping his throat when he pushed the bottle away. And then he stopped. Ignoring the glances of everyone who stared at him, he looked down at his chest, surprised and unsure. His hands ran up and down, feeling for any holes, splits, or rashes. "I'm…I'm not burning," he breathed. "That liquid did not cause me to disintegrate!"
"Well, duh!" they slurred. "You only took, what, one drink?"
They were about to take the bottle back when Zim snatched it from their grip, and he began chugging down the substance. From anyone's point of view, it would seem Zim was just an average teenager wanting nothing more than to party and have a good time. What they did not know was that he really was just testing the liquid to see whether or not it could hurt him like water did.
"Still nothing!" he shouted. He giggled profusely. He slapped his leg, doubling over as his hysterical laughter filled the room. Everyone turned to stare. "W-What is this?" he choked out between giggles. "I feel all dizzy and…and tingly inside."
"Dude!" the one in the blue sports jacket shouted. "You're totally wasted! You're drunk!"
"I'm…drunk…?" Zim staggered. He frowned. "Is it contagious?"
Everyone broke out in laughter before cheering on the Irken to have another. In no time, he was plopped right in front of a table with bottles of alcohol dotting the top. His mouth watered, his tongue hanging out the corner of his mouth.
"Well," he reasoned, "maybe one more wouldn't hurt…"
A/N
Yeah, one more wouldn't hurt. If you couldn't tell, Zim was already getting drunk off of just one swig of it. Imagine what an entire bottle (or bottles) will do!
In case you didn't know, Chunk, the one who said Zim and Dib weren't invited to the party, is from Invader Zim. You may remember him as the bully. I can't remember any other episodes, but in Dark Harvest, he was the one who threw that dodge ball at that kid in the very beginning and caused him to collapse.
Lol I love how Dib wears a brown turtleneck sweater, something completely unlike a teenager to wear to a party. Even Zim already knows that XD
Well, chapter 3 will be up soon!