The family.
It was about three in the morning when Gaz kicked in the door dragging Dib in behind her. It had taken her an extra hour dragging Dib's drunken ass all the way home and she was not...happy. She was going to have to kill Val for slipping him drinks behind her back, she cursed herself as well for not paying attention to the signs that Dib was fucking wasted. Within two steps in the house she dropped him harshly on the floor with a loud thud. Dib made some moaning noise but didn't even bother to get up. Their father looked up from his notes by the candlelight and shook his head sadly.
Membrane didn't bother to ask Gaz to help him get Dib to bed; she had to deal with him enough already tonight. Funny, he thought, he used to send Dib to Vlad's to look after Gaz and make sure she was all right and now look at them. Gaz had to drag her brother home from the bar at least once a month during the good times, sometimes three times a week during the bad times. She didn't have to, Vlad had made a room just for Dib, but it did cost him, not much, but money was money and money was getting scarce. The only reason Vlad charged was the loss on the room for his tavern girls. Vlad to was starting to suffer the money crises as well. It was costing more and more to run his businesses around town.
The old professor sighed and picked up his son from the floor where Gaz had so lovingly dropped him. In the faint candle light Membrane saw that his son had a fresh sling around his arm. His face saddened, it seemed like Dib had been on the edge lately, being reckless and seeming not to care if he lived or died. He took risks that any sane man would have never been stupid enough to take, but that was Dib. He never was very sane . After a few attempts, Membrane finally got his son in the bed. The doctor opened nightstand by his son's bed and produced three tiny jars and a needle. It was sad that he always had to keep them so handy by his son's bed. After injecting a mild painkiller and a neat medicine he had learned and perfected from his years with the Indians to help the injury heal faster. He just hoped that Dib wasn't going to do anything to stupid for the next few weeks to give the broken arm time to heal. After he was done he blew out his candle and went to bed, there was much work to be node tomorrow and he needed to wake up early.
The sound of banging metal and the smell of burning bacon woke Dib from his sleep. The few rays of sun that peeked behind the black tattered curtains hurt his eyes and his head. Despite the familiar pains of the hang over he looked around and wondered where he was. It took him a few moments, he was still a little dazed, but he was home. Reluctantly he got up from his bed and headed down stairs for breakfast. Gaz was cooking again...this wasn't going to be pleasant but his growling tummy didn't care.
He was greeted with an angry glare from his sister who hung over the hot stove. Stifling a nasty remark that would have probably gotten him killed Dib pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and rubbed his head. His father emerged from the basement covered in soot and smelling of grease and joined him. Dib tried to read his face, but his dirty brown work jacket covered the lower half of his face and his eyes hid behind dark goggles.
People who didn't live in the town would have thought the man was a nutcase by just looking at him. His clothes were always dirty with his work, his face always covered in soot. He usually wore a long brown jacket to his calves and black working boots to cover the rest of his lower half. Over that he had an apron with various pockets to hold his strange tools of his own design. People that knew him respected him for his genius. He had invented lots of strange things to make life just a bit more bearable in this hell-hole.
"What are you working on down there now?" Gaz asked with mild interest. She only asked questions like these when Dib would come home drunk the night before. Talking about a subject other then her brothers nasty habit somehow would make it seem that nothing had happened the pervious night. Not so much for herself but for her father.
"Indoor pluming! We can pump water into our house and the waste out. So much better then using an outhouse or getting water from the tower. That water is disgusting. You know what they do in there? Sometimes someone will buy one of Vlad's girls for the night and go do business in there. Body filth and...oh god I don't want to think about all those nasties swimming in our drinking water." The professor shivered a bit. He was always a bit dramatic. He was talking a bit much as well, probably for the same reason as Gaz. It was true though, he hated the tower's water. He always boiled the water before drinking it and left them in jars down in the basement for the family. Dib used to smile as he watched his father cringe when he drank the unpurified water, that was till one day he pulled out a little nappy black hair from his mouth after drinking some. Ever since then, he always drank the water his father stocked in the basement.
Gaz set two plates of black bacon and dry eggs. She liked her food...well done. Dib looked at her for his plate, but only got a nasty look. He sighed and went to cook his own meal.
"Oh, almost forgot." The professor said suddenly and pulled out something that looked like a gun from his apron pocket. Something about it was strange, there was no cock to pull back and the trigger had a little bar attached to the handle. "It's a water pistol. Shoots out water instead of bullets. Thought it might be useful against another Irken raid. I came up with the idea for it when I was designing the pumps for the indoor plumbing. Make sure you fill it before your going to use it."
Dib walked away from his bacon and eggs and inspected the contraption. Cute. He smiled evilly thinking of Zim squirming on the ground in pain, he wouldn't die but it was fun to watch. Dib nodded thanks to his father and pocketed the water pistol before going back to making his meal.
After breakfast Dib got dressed and headed out back to the graveyard. He went there often to get advice from the dead. If he hadn't been the son of the beloved Membrane they would have thrown him in the crazy house in Green River by now. No one really believed him. That he could talk to the dead. They did note however, that Dib was able to predict Irken raids and bad weather. Usually, he liked working in the night. It was easier to communicate and there was less of a chance of being noticed by any one that happened to be passing by.
His black long coat gathered dust at the bottom as he strolled along, not that it bothered him much. Everything was always covered in dust, always. His matching wide brimmed leather hat helped keep the sun from burning his head and blinding his eyes. It was a long walk, funny, the people didn't believe that one could summon the dead but they kept the graveyard as far away from town as they could carry the bodies for some superstitious reasons. They never believe in the real stuff.
It was hotter then most days, the dead weren't going to like it but he had questions burning in his head since his conversation with Vlad. He needed to know of Zim was coming back. For the first time he really didn't want him to come back right now. He wasn't at his full strength, which usually didn't matter much because he was never that strong to begin with. He never knew how he managed to get on the law force. Well, not really the law force but a sort of little gang that kept the Irkens at bay. They never gave themselves a name but they got paid enough by the town, or actually Vlad, who always was looking for ways to protect his businesses.
When Dib finally got to the graveyard he spotted a young women dressed in a dusty faded dress, a dress you would find one of Vlad's girls wearing on duty. She smoked a long cigarette, the smoke would leak out of her decaying neck and ribs as she smiled. "Hello Dib."
"I didn't even need to summon this time. That only means that something big is coming into town." Dib mused. "Well for one, you'll finally know the truth. Now you know we've never had the privilage of talking to each other before so you know what that means." "We talked at Vlad's. That was quite a long time ago Sara. Hell, before that we used to talk in Ms. Bitters class when we were kids." "I wouldn't call that talking Dib, I called you a loser and sent the other kids to beat you up when ever you accidentally got to close. Don't try to wiggle your way out of this, I have to tell you my story weather you like it or not. Don't worry, unlike the others I find death...pleasant. I'm not going to bitch at you for the next five hours. My life or death wasn't that interesting to begin with so it shouldn't take long." The corpse's face suddenly changed from a smug grin to a sullen stare. She looked down at the ground, avoiding Dib's stare taking more drags from her cig letting the smoke dance around her from various holes in her body and dress. "It...just helps sometimes. It's kind of lonely now, just want someone to hear my story." Dib sat on the gravestone across from the corpse and let out a sigh of inpatients. Even in death there were rules that couldn't be bent unlike everything else in the area. Every time you talked to a new corpse you had to hear their story before they could tell you what you wanted. He didn't know why, neither did the corpses but that was they way it was. I wouldn't bother him so much if their wasn't a steady steam of new dead to talk to. And some of the older ones would eventually go crazy after a while.
He shifted to get as comfortable as he could on a grave and rested his head on his hand with a smile. "So tell me then, how'd you die."
Hmmmm. Some Hellboy inspired stuff there. Oh by the way, Vlad Taltos and all related characters belong the wonderful Steven Brust. Check him out if you ever get the chance. Invader Zim and related characters belong to Nick...I guess.
It was about three in the morning when Gaz kicked in the door dragging Dib in behind her. It had taken her an extra hour dragging Dib's drunken ass all the way home and she was not...happy. She was going to have to kill Val for slipping him drinks behind her back, she cursed herself as well for not paying attention to the signs that Dib was fucking wasted. Within two steps in the house she dropped him harshly on the floor with a loud thud. Dib made some moaning noise but didn't even bother to get up. Their father looked up from his notes by the candlelight and shook his head sadly.
Membrane didn't bother to ask Gaz to help him get Dib to bed; she had to deal with him enough already tonight. Funny, he thought, he used to send Dib to Vlad's to look after Gaz and make sure she was all right and now look at them. Gaz had to drag her brother home from the bar at least once a month during the good times, sometimes three times a week during the bad times. She didn't have to, Vlad had made a room just for Dib, but it did cost him, not much, but money was money and money was getting scarce. The only reason Vlad charged was the loss on the room for his tavern girls. Vlad to was starting to suffer the money crises as well. It was costing more and more to run his businesses around town.
The old professor sighed and picked up his son from the floor where Gaz had so lovingly dropped him. In the faint candle light Membrane saw that his son had a fresh sling around his arm. His face saddened, it seemed like Dib had been on the edge lately, being reckless and seeming not to care if he lived or died. He took risks that any sane man would have never been stupid enough to take, but that was Dib. He never was very sane . After a few attempts, Membrane finally got his son in the bed. The doctor opened nightstand by his son's bed and produced three tiny jars and a needle. It was sad that he always had to keep them so handy by his son's bed. After injecting a mild painkiller and a neat medicine he had learned and perfected from his years with the Indians to help the injury heal faster. He just hoped that Dib wasn't going to do anything to stupid for the next few weeks to give the broken arm time to heal. After he was done he blew out his candle and went to bed, there was much work to be node tomorrow and he needed to wake up early.
The sound of banging metal and the smell of burning bacon woke Dib from his sleep. The few rays of sun that peeked behind the black tattered curtains hurt his eyes and his head. Despite the familiar pains of the hang over he looked around and wondered where he was. It took him a few moments, he was still a little dazed, but he was home. Reluctantly he got up from his bed and headed down stairs for breakfast. Gaz was cooking again...this wasn't going to be pleasant but his growling tummy didn't care.
He was greeted with an angry glare from his sister who hung over the hot stove. Stifling a nasty remark that would have probably gotten him killed Dib pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and rubbed his head. His father emerged from the basement covered in soot and smelling of grease and joined him. Dib tried to read his face, but his dirty brown work jacket covered the lower half of his face and his eyes hid behind dark goggles.
People who didn't live in the town would have thought the man was a nutcase by just looking at him. His clothes were always dirty with his work, his face always covered in soot. He usually wore a long brown jacket to his calves and black working boots to cover the rest of his lower half. Over that he had an apron with various pockets to hold his strange tools of his own design. People that knew him respected him for his genius. He had invented lots of strange things to make life just a bit more bearable in this hell-hole.
"What are you working on down there now?" Gaz asked with mild interest. She only asked questions like these when Dib would come home drunk the night before. Talking about a subject other then her brothers nasty habit somehow would make it seem that nothing had happened the pervious night. Not so much for herself but for her father.
"Indoor pluming! We can pump water into our house and the waste out. So much better then using an outhouse or getting water from the tower. That water is disgusting. You know what they do in there? Sometimes someone will buy one of Vlad's girls for the night and go do business in there. Body filth and...oh god I don't want to think about all those nasties swimming in our drinking water." The professor shivered a bit. He was always a bit dramatic. He was talking a bit much as well, probably for the same reason as Gaz. It was true though, he hated the tower's water. He always boiled the water before drinking it and left them in jars down in the basement for the family. Dib used to smile as he watched his father cringe when he drank the unpurified water, that was till one day he pulled out a little nappy black hair from his mouth after drinking some. Ever since then, he always drank the water his father stocked in the basement.
Gaz set two plates of black bacon and dry eggs. She liked her food...well done. Dib looked at her for his plate, but only got a nasty look. He sighed and went to cook his own meal.
"Oh, almost forgot." The professor said suddenly and pulled out something that looked like a gun from his apron pocket. Something about it was strange, there was no cock to pull back and the trigger had a little bar attached to the handle. "It's a water pistol. Shoots out water instead of bullets. Thought it might be useful against another Irken raid. I came up with the idea for it when I was designing the pumps for the indoor plumbing. Make sure you fill it before your going to use it."
Dib walked away from his bacon and eggs and inspected the contraption. Cute. He smiled evilly thinking of Zim squirming on the ground in pain, he wouldn't die but it was fun to watch. Dib nodded thanks to his father and pocketed the water pistol before going back to making his meal.
After breakfast Dib got dressed and headed out back to the graveyard. He went there often to get advice from the dead. If he hadn't been the son of the beloved Membrane they would have thrown him in the crazy house in Green River by now. No one really believed him. That he could talk to the dead. They did note however, that Dib was able to predict Irken raids and bad weather. Usually, he liked working in the night. It was easier to communicate and there was less of a chance of being noticed by any one that happened to be passing by.
His black long coat gathered dust at the bottom as he strolled along, not that it bothered him much. Everything was always covered in dust, always. His matching wide brimmed leather hat helped keep the sun from burning his head and blinding his eyes. It was a long walk, funny, the people didn't believe that one could summon the dead but they kept the graveyard as far away from town as they could carry the bodies for some superstitious reasons. They never believe in the real stuff.
It was hotter then most days, the dead weren't going to like it but he had questions burning in his head since his conversation with Vlad. He needed to know of Zim was coming back. For the first time he really didn't want him to come back right now. He wasn't at his full strength, which usually didn't matter much because he was never that strong to begin with. He never knew how he managed to get on the law force. Well, not really the law force but a sort of little gang that kept the Irkens at bay. They never gave themselves a name but they got paid enough by the town, or actually Vlad, who always was looking for ways to protect his businesses.
When Dib finally got to the graveyard he spotted a young women dressed in a dusty faded dress, a dress you would find one of Vlad's girls wearing on duty. She smoked a long cigarette, the smoke would leak out of her decaying neck and ribs as she smiled. "Hello Dib."
"I didn't even need to summon this time. That only means that something big is coming into town." Dib mused. "Well for one, you'll finally know the truth. Now you know we've never had the privilage of talking to each other before so you know what that means." "We talked at Vlad's. That was quite a long time ago Sara. Hell, before that we used to talk in Ms. Bitters class when we were kids." "I wouldn't call that talking Dib, I called you a loser and sent the other kids to beat you up when ever you accidentally got to close. Don't try to wiggle your way out of this, I have to tell you my story weather you like it or not. Don't worry, unlike the others I find death...pleasant. I'm not going to bitch at you for the next five hours. My life or death wasn't that interesting to begin with so it shouldn't take long." The corpse's face suddenly changed from a smug grin to a sullen stare. She looked down at the ground, avoiding Dib's stare taking more drags from her cig letting the smoke dance around her from various holes in her body and dress. "It...just helps sometimes. It's kind of lonely now, just want someone to hear my story." Dib sat on the gravestone across from the corpse and let out a sigh of inpatients. Even in death there were rules that couldn't be bent unlike everything else in the area. Every time you talked to a new corpse you had to hear their story before they could tell you what you wanted. He didn't know why, neither did the corpses but that was they way it was. I wouldn't bother him so much if their wasn't a steady steam of new dead to talk to. And some of the older ones would eventually go crazy after a while.
He shifted to get as comfortable as he could on a grave and rested his head on his hand with a smile. "So tell me then, how'd you die."
Hmmmm. Some Hellboy inspired stuff there. Oh by the way, Vlad Taltos and all related characters belong the wonderful Steven Brust. Check him out if you ever get the chance. Invader Zim and related characters belong to Nick...I guess.