DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters. I do not own Johnny Depp. {sobs} HAPPYY????
I do not own anything I tell you! NOTHING! Now stop hounding me! {Sobs miserably in corner}
Oh look a birdy!!!! {Chases birdy}
A/N: HI EVRYONE! I haven't been on fanfiction for a VERY long time, so forgive me if I seem a little rusty. I promise more chapters will come, but only if someone actually reads this thing…..
Oh, and I know things like this have been done once or twice before, but I assure you, this is not like any of them! Really! In this one, they actually are living a life together, all these Johnny characters that is, and there is a plot….I swear!
So please just read, hope you enjoy it and I'd really appreciate reviews!
:::CheesyPizza:::
P.S RATED FOR SWEARING!
Characters:
Agent Sands (with eyes) – Once Upon A Time in Mexico
Morton Rainey – Secret Window
Edward Scissorhands – Edward Scissorhands
Ichabod Crane – Sleepy Hollow
Sam – Benny and Joon
Gilbert Grape – What's Eating Gilbert Grape?
Jack Sparrow – Pirates of the Caribbean
And more to come, perhaps!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
This story is dedicated to my wonderful, giving, unique and humorous friends Kookie (sprite anyone?), The Panda (..heheh..sorry about the name I think), Ann-Marie (notice the birdy??), Eliza (for keeping me in check), Vivian (for bringing out the kid in me), Kimberley (for saying strange things…behold the randomness) and Madison the Obsessive one (because come to think of it, this story is really for people like you. Okay, maybe not so much like you).
Thanks all you guys! And to everyone else, who I haven't mentioned at the moment, I am lazy and tired and would sincerely like to get this thing uploaded before 10pm! I promise I'll mention you guys later!
Thanks again for your support and patience with me!
Chapter 1: 66 Elm Street, 3rd Floor, Apartment 9
"Yes, Mr DeMarco, I have moved in and I assure you, everything's fine," Sands spoke with aggravation into his mobile. This was the fourth time Mr DeMarco had called him in the last 24 hours. Talk about paranoid.
Mr DeMarco was a wealthy man, or so it seemed, and at the moment he was trying his luck with a new apartment block. Now most men said that he was crazy to bother, he had enough money and connections to do much greater things. Like try opening a hotel or something. But no, he decided that buying an apartment on the most notorious street in the area would be much more fun. And so, 66 Elm Street came to be the new investment property for some bored old man, probably drinking cocktails right now, surrounded by several attractive women.
The issue was that Mr DeMarco was enjoying his travels far too much. And so he was left with one little problem, who could he get to make sure the place is dealt with properly? He hadn't bothered finding a manager for a while, and offered the apartments up for sale before giving it real thought. The first to offer to buy an apartment, however, was a man named Sheldon Jeffery Sands. Mr DeMarco knew this man, he was a friend of a friend of his so to speak. And so he reasoned, offering Sands a smaller price for one thing in return: Make Sure That Place Stays Exactly How It Should Be.
"Mr DeMarco, I really must go now. You're not the most important person I have to deal with today," Sands was verging on insanity with this man. Ok, so he had accepted management of the place. Big deal! It wasn't incredibly flash anyway. Twelve apartments, three floors, none of them particularly special in any way. Sands had pretty much ended his conversation with the owner, and was now getting irritated with the teen he'd paid to lug his crap up the stairs.
"Would you just take the twenty and fuck off!" Sands pointed to the door furiously. The teen snatched the twenty and lumbered out. "Geez, you'd think the kid had been pulling this suitcase through fucking China!" Looking at the state of Sands' suitcase, you'd be pretty accurate if you guessed that the kid had been smacking it wall to wall up the hallway. The pristine black leather was now dented in places. Sands growled profanity under his breath. After all, Apartment 9 on the third floor was to be his home, not some shabby crap hole like usual.
The apartment block was not very popular. Sands had been sitting around the place for a month and a half with no further offers to buy or rent any apartment. He even knew the neighbors now. That was incredibly unusual for a man like Sands. But it was then, when he was enjoying himself annoying the old woman next door, that he received a phone call from Mr DeMarco. Mr. D had just accepted a deposit for Apartment 8, on the 2nd Floor.
Ichabod Crane was feeling incredibly gleeful today. He finally found a place he could go, with no interruptions as he tried his hand at some writing. He realized that his recent experience with the crazy horseman would make a rather interesting novel, and so he decided to get away for a while and write. As he was picking a place, he decided that modest and peaceful were the main requirements. Modest as in prices wise that is. And so 66 Elm Street was to be his new home.
The hairy driver of the semi-trailer removal truck dropped him outside the cream painted apartment block. It seemed nice enough. Ichabod waited for the hairy man to unload his things, then paid him and watched the truck depart. Well then He thought to himself I'd best go in then, shall I? He couldn't get all his stuff up to his apartment on his own, and was pondering just what to do when a tall, dark haired man waltzed out the front entrance. His walk was cocky, with dark sunglasses that revealed nothing underneath them, shoulder length black hair and an incredibly strange hat (one of those cowboy ones, he thought after a moment). The man grinned in almost a sarcastic manner.
"Hi there," the man said, his voice revealing that he obviously thought highly of himself, "I'm Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, manager of the building." Neither of them seemed keen to shake each other's hands. And so the common courtesy was ignored.
"Ichabod Crane," he replied, smiling curtly. It wasn't that he disliked the large-headed man named Sands, it was just that he felt that they would never be anything remotely close to friends. They stood for a moment, then Sands exclaimed that he would get someone to bring the bags up the stairs. He called abruptly to a younger man next door, asking him to help them bring up the stuff. Sands motioned for Ichabod to follow, and Ichabod did so whilst picking up a suitcase. He noticed that Sands had no intention to help him actually carry the stuff at all.
Once inside with his things sprawled about the empty apartment, Ichabod thanked the younger man for his help. "Oh, no problem," he replied with a soft voice, "Uh, my name is Sam by the way. I live next door." Sam stretched out his hand. Ichabod shook it, and introduced himself. Finally some manners!
Gilbert was really looking forward to moving out somewhere. He had a better job now, working in a pub on the corner of Elm and Ethel Street. He wanted to rent somewhere nearby, and so was overjoyed when an apartment block nearby had apartments for lease. Within a month, he was getting ready to move in to Apartment Number 2, Ground Floor.
There were only two of the twelve apartments being occupied at the time. It didn't bother Gilbert. He worked a lot of the time. He didn't talk to the manager, Mr Sands, very much. He thought that Ichabod, the guy up a few floors, seemed a little paranoid. He got this feeling when their neighbour, Sam warned Ichabod not to go near the vine that overgrew the fence that separated the two buildings. Sam explained that it was full of bugs. Ichabod nearly fell from fright.
Working in the pub was okay. He knew the groups of alcoholics very well though. There was one particularly notorious group, consisting of four men who wore strange clothes. They would be the only ones ordering rum in the whole joint. Rum after rum after rum. Then, when they were all really pissed, they'd break into song and eventually stumble up the street singing loudly. When they weren't drunk however, one of them had spoken to Gilbert. He was mildly strange in his movements, but seemed ok. He had followed Gilbert to his apartment once, half-drunk and stumbling. Gilbert had gotten him a taxi, although he had no idea who this guy was, or where he had come from. All he knew was that he and a couple of others would drink the pub clean of their supply of rum…
Sam liked to wander around. He lived at the moment with an old woman named Kim, next to the three-story apartment block on Elm Street. She let him rent half her house. She was a tad controlling, and a bit odd at times, but that wouldn't matter to Sam. In fact, she thought he was crazy, what with the strange hat and cane. Boys like that didn't go around looking like that nowadays.
Sam was visiting the pound out of town, to get a dog for himself when he saw it. The most amazing garden he had ever seen. He went closer to have a look. It didn't matter to Sam, of course, that the place was huge, black and overgrown, obviously neglected outside. Sam had caught eye of a hedge, clipped into the shape of a large hand. It was so realistic; Sam entered the weird place to ask the owner how they did it. It was there that Sam discovered a great friend of his to be, named Edward.
Sands was walking down Elm street like he owned the place. Dressed in jeans, shirt and cowboy hat, he waltzed along, briefcase in hand. He had recently leased off another apartment, which made him happy, for some reason. As he walked he noticed Kim, the neighbour lady. She didn't like him. Not that he cared. She scowled dirty looks in his direction every time he passed. He just smiled (knowing it would annoy her) and said "Good day to be fucking around in the yard, isn't Mrs K?" Sands grinned at her livid expression.
Man, I love being a shit sometimes.
Mrs K, as they called her, never told anyone her surname. So it was Mrs K for Mrs Kim. They didn't even know if it was a Mrs. But frankly, no one cared. So long as you got outta her sight fast enough not to be given a lecture on how profanity considerably depletes respect, or how music these days was just a bunch of rude boys talking into the microphone, and why haven't you done anything about it (As if you're the one driving the bus to hell). Today however, nothing was going to annoy Sands.
That's right. Just be your smart-ass self Sands. Just remember that you are one fucking smart shit head. You could sell ice to the Eskimos with your brain Sands, remember that.
He was going to go to the pub at the end of the street and get a tequila, when he saw Sam walking on the other side of the road. He wasn't alone though. He was walking with the strangest sight Sands had ever seen. It was a man, or so he looked, but somewhere on his body, long sharp instruments seemed to be protruding. They were making their way along; when Sam looked around and saw Sands there looking bewildered. "Oh, Mr Sands," Sam shouted out, trying to cross the road with his odd companion, "I need to ask you a favour…"
Gilbert had been working particularly late that evening. It was about 3 a.m when he finally got home. He dropped onto the couch and immediately fell asleep. Although, about half an hour later, he was re-awoken by slurred singing coming from the street. Deeply annoyed, Gilbert got up to look out the window.
Oh God, not now!
There they were the four rum-drinking men.
Fuck, no! Don't come here! NO! Go away!
They stumbled up the front yard and stopped at the entrance. They began to sing louder, all of them making an effort to yell as loud as they could. Gilbert heard Mrs. K next door yelling something inaudible.
Good grief! He sighed. The drunks began to bang on the front door. They banged and sang stupidly.
All of a sudden however, it stopped.
Gilbert waited, breathing rigidly for a moment in the silence.
Peering with all his might out the window, he saw the men backing away. They were leaving!
"Wait, hang on!" He exclaimed into the cold night air. "Where'd the fourth one go?!"
Gilbert recounted them quickly. Three. Only three were leaving. So where was the last one?
He heard a single line of their stupid song being sung out loudly once more. Then a bang on the door and silence.
What the hell was that?
Gilbert cautiously opened his apartment door, peering out carefully. Slowly but surely, he made his way to the front door. On the ground he saw a dark, unmoving shape. Carefully opening the front entrance, something slumped down at his feet.
And there he was, the bearded drunk had passed out on their doorstep.
"Great. I'm stuck with a raggedy looking, rum drinking bum on my doorstep. Now what do I do?" Gilbert spoke to empty air. The bandana-bearing bum let out a snore, much to the 'glee' of Mister Gilbert Grape.
A/N: So???? How was that?? I hope it wasn't too boring or anything! I have so many great ideas I want to include, but I'm not going to bother if nobody reviews! So please, I don't want to waste my time. Please tell me I'm not wasting my time. Flames are perfectly fine with me, I just want some feedback!!!
Oh, and if anyone has any requests for characters, do tell! I'd be happy to include them for ya!
COMING UP:
Gilbert wakes the bum at last
Edward moves in, much to the fear of Ichabod Crane
The apartment is spied upon by a strange lurking figure. What exactly are their intentions? Are they hostile? Ichabod certainly hopes not, he's too busy pissing his pants already.
And much more!
You'll just have to wait and see!
I promise I will update if I get some reviews in the next week of two. It's my birthday this Saturday, the 15th, so I will not be working on anything for a couple of days. But I promise I will not take months to update if I get some reviews and stuff. Ok, I'll back off now…
{Pulls out shotgun} REVIEW MUTHAF---A!
{Throws away shotgun} {pulls out guitar}
I'm sorry! Wanna hear a song instead?
{People run away…fast}
Oh wait! I didn't mean it! Really, I didn't!
Are you sure you don't wanna hear a song????
{smiles and blinks}
{cricket cricket}
Ok, I get it……--;;;;;;;;;
:::CheesyPizza:::