AUTHOR: D.L. SchizoAuthoress
RATING: PG, to be on the safe side.
WARNINGS: warm fuzzies and general Hologram-bashing
SUMMARY: Preparing for the second Battle of the Bands is tiring work, and we all know that Misfits like to take it easy. So what ARE they doing, making a Thanksgiving dinner on their own?
November 23rd - December 19th, 2005
"Don't Expect No Gratitude"
a 'jem!' thanksgiving fanfic by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Pizzazz smiled to herself as Eric Raymond locked the main doors of Starlight Music one Wednesday in November. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving Day, and that meant an extra-long weekend of rest and relaxation. (The fact that the Battle of the Bands would soon follow afterward is something that Pizzazz stubbornly banished from her mind.) Impulsively, she turned and kissed him on the cheek, enjoying his slightly startled expression.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Eric," she trilled sweetly. Slinging her massive faux-crocodile purse over one shoulder, she smiled wickedly and continued in the same sweet tone, "See you later, you old slave-driver!"
Roxy and Stormer laughed appreciatively, and even Eric cracked a smile. After nearly six solid months of recording sessions, publicity, interviews, Jem-chasing, and incident cover-ups, the four of them were all ready for a well-earned break in the action. Well, for Eric, it wasn't so much a break in the action as a change -- he was flying across a few timezones to visit his parents in Illinois. Stormer had once called it "the Great Raymond Migration", since all of Eric's siblings and attatched family were also going to be there.
The Misfits were going to be spending the weekend at the Phillips house (naturally, this was Stormer's idea). They piled into the van, waved at Eric one last time, and argued briefly over the radio station. Pizzazz wanted to listen to 91.7 (K-"TOAD" on your FM dial) because they were sure to be playing a Misfits song (at least once every half hour, thanks to a little cash under the table). Roxy was all for KBST, and Stormer wanted to tune into KSFT, a soft-rock and oldies station that played endless Chistmas carols from November 15th to December 26th.
"Why do you want to listen to that snooze-fest?" Pizzazz demanded of her keyboardist. "It's not like you haven't heard this stuff all your life."
Stormer shrugged, "If you don't want it, don't worry about it. I was just thinking that maybe we could do a Christmas album ourselves. You know, spice up some old classics, maybe do covers of stuff like 'Blue Christmas' or 'Jingle Bell Rock'. I wanted some ideas."
"Here's one for ya!" Roxy exclaimed, giggling. She grinned at her bandmates and belted out, to the tune of 'Frosty the Snowman':
"Jem is a whiner
With a screechy, ugly voice
The Holograms, they gotta go along
'Cause they don't have a choice.
"'Jerrica the Bi-itch,
she loves Jem,' they say
'And so we sing songs of peace and love
and go crazier each day!'"
With Stormer momentarily speechless with laughter, Pizzazz twirled the dial to 91.7 and peeled out of the parking lot.
Their first stop was the supermarket. Stormer looked through her wallet, counting bills, but Pizzazz stopped her by grabbing the billfold and snapping it shut. "I'm footing the bill this time."
"But..." Stormer protested.
Pizzazz produced a checkbook from her handbag with a flourish, tossing Stormer back her money. "I've got it covered, you worrywart. This is the holiday of food, and in case you've forgotten, Roxy and I hate to scrimp where food is concerned."
"Got that right!" Roxy chimed in. "We'll do it up good this year -- turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie..." Her voice trailed off as she took off down one of the aisles with a shopping cart, getting a running start. Stormer started to chase her when she lifted both feet to the crossbar and rode the cart.
"Slow down! I've already bought a turkey, and we've got potatoes at the house!"
Pizzazz clattered after them, silently cursing her stylish strappy high heels, and shouted, "I'll kill you if you forget the candied yams, Roxy!"
From somewhere in the baking section, Roxy's voice was heard. "Bite me, Pizzazz!"
Stormer stared in disbelief at the amount of food being heaped on the checkout stand conveyor belt. "Oh, my Lord, Pizzazz," she hissed, her light blue eyes wide, "How are you going to afford this?"
"I told you, it's fine. Maybe I've got a rich, crazy cat lady for an aunt who just died," Pizzazz teased, tossing a produce-bag of yams in the general direction of the conveyor. Roxy, barely sparing the oddly sized projectile a glance, snagged the yams out of the air and dropped them atop the cans of solid-pack pumpkin.
"Maybe?" Stormer repeated skeptically, neatly grouping the cans of whipped cream together.
"Or maybe not." Pizzazz replied.
She squeezed past the blue-haired woman and leaned on the check-writing stand. The courtesy clerk who was bagging their groceries stared at the rock star, completely gobsmacked. He knew exactly who the Misfits were, but the sight of them mere inches from him had apparently short-circuited his brain. Pizzazz, recognizing the effect that she was having on the teenage boy, winked coyly. Then, quite deliberately, she licked her thumb and flipped through her checkbook, keeping her bright green eyes locked on his.
Roxy smothered a laugh as the clerk made some kind of incoherent squeaking noise in response to Pizzazz's actions. She murmured in Pizzazz's ear, "Oh, be nice to the kid, 'Zazz!"
"I'm nice," Pizzazz answered, not bothering to speak lower than normal. "I'm very nice."
Roxy leaned over and snagged an empty brown paper bag, laying it flat on the little stand. Pizzazz grinned and scribbled, 'Thanks for the great service, baby! Love, the Misfits' finishing with her autograph below.
Roxy signed with her usual forcefulness, nearly slashing through the paper as she wrote the X and Y of her name. Stormer quietly inquired what the boy's name was, and added it above Pizzazz's scrawl, then signed her own name. When she handed it to the clerk, he looked like he was about to melt with happiness.
At Stormer's house the next day, the festivities were in full swing. A huge turkey, no less than fifteen pounds, had been taken from the guest bathroom's tub -- where it had been thawing for a day -- early in the morning and was now roasting, filling the house with a delicious aroma. Pizzazz divvied the recipes up between Stormer and herself, since Roxy had volunteered for the grunt work like opening cans and peeling potatoes.
"Problem," Pizzazz stated, shuffling through the recipe cards she'd found in the Rolodex in the kitchen. "We've got an uneven number of dishes to make."
"I can do the green bean casserole, too." Roxy said, "It's easy!" And it was one that she knew by heart, so Stormer wouldn't have to read it to her.
Stormer fanned the cards that Pizzazz had given her like they were a poker hand. "Pumpkin and chocolate cream pie, gravy, cranberry sauce from scratch, and stuffing? And what have you got?"
"Don't think that I gave you all the hard stuff!" Pizzazz cried, bristling a little at Stormer's tone. "Yams, mashed potatoes, peas with cheese sauce, and iced tea. And I'm mixing all of our after-dinner drinks."
"Plus, she's gotta be in charge," Roxy teased, "That's really tough."
"Shut up and peel those potatoes."
Stormer grinned at her bandmates, who were currently blowing raspberries at each other. "I vote that Pizzazz makes us her special banana cream pie!"
"I second!" Roxy laughed.
Pizzazz glared for a moment, then subsided with a sheepish grin. "Oh, what the hell. I third. But you're the one going back to the store, Stormer."
Later that evening, surveying the sumptuous spread of food on the table, Stormer commented, "We should say grace."
"What for?" Roxy and Pizzazz demanded in unison.
"Thanksgiving. Giving thanks." Stormer retorted, "Would it kill you to do it just once?"
Pizzazz banged her tumbler on the table, "Okay! Give thanks to the Misfits, who prepared this whole meal by themselves!"
"Thank you, Misfits!" The three of them chorused together.
Then Roxy pretended to drop dead out of her chair.