a misfits femmeslash fanfic by d.l. schizoauthoress
---
She don't care
She ain't the type to play it fair
Welcome to the Jungle
There is danger in her eyes
As she moves in on her prey
There is danger in her eyes
The smart keep out of her way
---
The day after the press conference, Eric hustled us out of bed early (again! He will pay!), waited impatiently for the four of us to get dressed, and herded us into his car. He explained, after much whining from Jetta and me, that he had to show us something in his office.
I threatened him, "It better be spectacular, Eric, or I'll..." a yawn cut me off, sort of ruining the effect, and I settled for kicking his seat really hard. Jetta snickered. Roxy, who was sitting in the front seat because of the cupholders, clutched a travel mug of black coffee like it was the Holy Grail. And Stormer was passed out behind Roxy, her face pressed against the window and her own bedraggled curls.
Upon our arrival to Misfits Music, Jetta unceremoniously woke Stormer with a hard pinch to her upper arm. Stormer shrieked, jumped from the surprise of it, and knocked her head against the car ceiling. I dragged Jetta from the car as Roxy helped Stormer out, surprised by my own strength and my anger at Jetta's actions. But before I could upbraid Jetta for hurting Stormer, Roxy stalked up, death in her eyes, and swung her aluminum travel mug at our newest member. She was obviously aiming for Jetta's head, but her tiredness, combined with anger, made the swing a bit wild. Instead, the mug thudded hollowly against Jetta's shoulder.
Roxy, shouting over Jetta's cry of pain and Eric's yells at her behavior, said furiously, "You jerk! Don't you ever try to hurt Stormer again! Or Pizzazz! I'll kick your ass!"
"Owww..." Jetta whined, playing up her injury for the pity factor. "You blockhead! That really huuuurt!"
Roxy sneered. Stormer, rubbing the bump on her scalp, frowned. Eric threw his hands into the air and stalked toward the parking garage's elevators. I grabbed Jetta's upper arm (making sure it was the one that Roxy'd hit) and yanked her -- like an unruly child -- along with me. "Stop bullying my friends," I hissed.
Jetta, wincing from my grip, replied softly, "I didn't pinch her that hard, Pizzazz!"
I heard someone scoff behind us, but this time, I wasn't sure if it was Roxy or Stormer. I followed Eric into his office at Misfits Music, with Jetta muttering about 'the Royals' all the way. Once I turned my attention from further daydreams of buddying up to the Queen Mum, I got a good look at the office and froze with shock. My other two bandmates crashed into me, and I let Jetta go.
"Oh. My. God." Stormer stated flatly. Roxy hid a snort of laughter. There was, as usual, the awards and Misfits posters on the wall. A huge black pool table (of faux marble) with red felt dominated the space, as it had been for weeks; it was now coupled with an equally huge faux marble desk, the top covered in clear glass. An entertainment center was built into the far wall. And a bunch of weirdly angular chairs were scattered around, most of them black with either green spots or yellow stripes, with one great big pale yellow one near the pool table. The place definitely didn't look like this when the girls and I were last here.
"Isn't it stunning?" Eric asked proudly. "The chairs are all Fitzgerald Beck originals! Gifts, you know, for helping Fitz with that new show he did. And I finally found a desk to match the Mark S. Ledger pool table."
Oh, god. Fitzgerald Beck was cozying up to Eric -- probably had been searching for a promoter since Maria Costello was nabbed by the police for those stolen jewels. And Eric was lapping it all up, because he loved everything that Beck the 'genius' churned out. Dumb yuppie. He'd probably pay three thousand for a Kleenex box stuffed with Beck's used tissues.
"They look right uncomfortable, Yank," Jetta pointed out.
"Oh, no, they really aren't." Eric led Jetta over one of them. "Here, feel it. It's a hollow foam-rubber shape filled with a soft gel and covered in painted velour."
As Jetta prodded the weird chair, Eric continued, "I just love the way that Fitz has built irony into the juxtaposition of our assumptions about his furniture designs and the reality of them."
Stormer, ignoring them both, wandered over to the pool table. She and Eric play all the time. Roxy circled my waist with her arms and whispered into my ear, "I wonder what kind of justapositions Fitz and Eric get up to." I didn't bother to correct her; I just laughed appreciatively and kissed her neck.
"Hey, Eric," I called, interrupting his flirting, "you gonna feed us today, or what? This is the second day in a row you've woken us up too early! And this time, it was just to look at your goofy office furniture."
Eric sighed, managing to sound both long-suffering and downright irritating at the same time. "Of course, Pizzazz. I'll just call up Prisma and have her pick up breakfast for the thr...the four of you. She ought still be at her apartment," he explained, heading over to the phone on his desk.
"Prisma?" Stormer repeated, pausing in her setup of the pool balls. A look of distaste crossed her face as she complained, "That redheaded chick? You've still got her hanging around, Eric? Ugh!"
"What's the matter with Prisma?" Jetta asked, settling herself into one of the Beck monstrosities. Looking surprised, she commented, "Wow, this really is comfy!"
"Prisma?" Eric asked into the phone. "It's Eric."
"Prisma," Stormer cut in loudly, ignoring Eric's warning scowl, "is absolutely clueless about clerical work. She can't file papers worth a damn, never remembers to take down phone messages --"
"Listen, be a doll and pick up some breakfast on your way in," Eric instructed his secretary.
"And she's always painting her fingernails and getting the polish all over!" Stormer finished bitterly. "She ruined the original dress I wore to the Music Awards, and remember how she tossed out all the fanmail we got while we were in China?"
"Oh, yeah," Roxy answered. She gave me a little squeeze, then released me from her arms. "And that fanmail included a letter from Cherri Bomb about doing a collaboration. Not to mention that time she forgot to tell us that Paige Bendix called five times..."
"To get back the lucky guitar pick she left in the dressing room at the Astrodome," Stormer finished.
"Yes, Prisma, for the Misfits. And me, too." Eric sighed again, "Yes, yes. I'll reimburse you. And you won't get in trouble if you're late..."
I laughed, perching myself on the edge of Eric's desk. "That's right! I picked it up by accident." For Jetta's benefit, I clarified, "All the female entertainers were sharing that big dressing room during the World Hunger Shindig."
Picking up a pool cue, Roxy muttered, "Thank god we figured it out. No thanks to Eric's little lay."
"Thanks again; goodbye." Eric said hurriedly into the receiver. Slamming the phone back into the cradle, he rounded on Roxy and Stormer and hissed, "I think she could hear you!"
Stormer lined up her shot. "So what?"
"She knows that we hate her!" Roxy laughed.
---
After a meal of hotcakes and sausage biscuits from McDonald's, I was in a much better mood, and so was everybody else. Eric and Stormer were playing pool now, with Roxy lounging in the yellow chair by the pool table. I was sitting at the desk, reading the POP scene magazine that Prisma had brought in with Eric's mail. Jetta hovered over my shoulder, her hairspray-stiffened locks brushing against my arm.
"So, where is it?" Jetta asked excitedly.
"Page eighteen: 'Misfits Add New Member'." I said with a pout, "Right next to an ad for underwear." At least it was Antonia's Secret underwear, and not some dorky stuff like white cotton Jockeys.
As I held up the magazine to show the others, I grumbled, "The Jem semi-finalists got the whole cover."
"Those are the semi-finalists?" Stormer asked in surprise. "I...I have to go!" She cried over her shoulder as she ran from the room.
As Eric and Roxy approached, Roxy asked in confusion, "What's with her?"
"Who knows?" Eric replied with a shrug. Roxy and I wear identical frowns at his flippant attitude for a moment. But Eric steps forward, the intensity back in his voice. "All right, so we failed to steal Jem's spotlight. But there's another way to get to Jem.
"And I'll start with her." He looks positively devillish as he taps the picture of Carmen Alonso on the magazine cover.