This may just be the weirdest story I'll ever write – and it's not technically the first of its kind I've ever written… This will be the first one I've done since middle school, and unlike the ones I wrote then, it does not star The Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, Eminem, Metallica or Duran Duran (fortunate for you!). It's about whom other than…
Nicholai! Yeah, I know – I write about him a lot, but I don't know why… I used to hate his guts – in fact, I cheered when he died in the second movie (man, I'm a sick person), but now I'm just kind of… Whatever.
Please note, that despite this being a sort of "chick fic", I think guys could possibly find it amusing… If they know (or fantasize about) what it's like to have girls very… interested… in you.
Fangirls
By Burning Bridges
"Maybe I could be the one they adore,
That could be my reputation."
Wallflowers, "Sleepwalker"
Okay, Carlos has fangirls. Mikhail has fangirls. But Nicholai? Some people find that nearly impossible to believe. How could someone that makes you think of bad Cold War jokes be that… appealing? Well, let's take a look.
Nicholai walked slowly through the alley, his rifle drawn and ready to go in the event something happened. There was a sound nearby, and he cautiously moved towards it, hoping not to find some undead creature feeding off of… some dead creature…
Instead, when he rounded the corner, he didn't see anything. He scratched his head, and looked around. Kneeling next to a crashed squad car, the only thing out of the ordinary was a pair of primary green Converses on the other side of the vehicle.
"I've been looking for you!" a voice suddenly said, and Nicholai nearly slammed his head into the side mirror of the car jumping up. It was that crazy interview-girl again.
"Oh, no," he muttered in dread. "It couldn't be a zombie, it had to be you…"
"It's interview time," she said merrily, and fell into step beside him as he started to walk away hastily.
"No, not again. You can't leave me alone, can you?" he said, turning a corner sharply.
"Never," she said, "Not as long as I've got a story to write."
"What do you want from me this time?" he asked gruffly, stopping momentarily to dispatch a zombie that was hiding in the nearby shadows.
"The account about your fan-following," she said, and he gave her a funny look. "You know, people who are fanatical about you. Stalkers."
"Like you?" he questioned with a slightly amused tone, and she stopped.
"No, not like me. So tell me about it – what's it like to be that loved?"
"Ominous," he replied, sitting down in an alley to take a break, his assault rifle propped up against the brick wall.
"Really why?"
"Because people follow me around – similar to you – ask me annoying questions – also similar to you."
"Well, what kind of people are they?"
"I don't want to go into that."
"Come on, we're friends."
"Since when did you become my friend?"
"The only people that I know you know are Carlos and Mikhail. Other than that I never see – err – HEAR about you having anything to do with anyone else."
"There you go again – you never 'see' me! You have cameras!"
"I told you at the café, I don't have cameras – it was a slip."
"That or you follow me around. So, which is it?"
"What is this? Twenty questions?"
"Well?" he asked with increasing authority.
"How am I supposed to help it if you're an ill-tempered hunk?" she giggled jokingly, and he just looked away in frustration.
"Bitch."
"So, what are your friends like?" she asked, pulling a bottle of coke out of her pocket and drinking.
"They're good people. Except for when they tell jokes about me, saying I'm a communist."
She laughed, and then started coughing hard, some of the coke she'd had in her mouth ended up on the concrete.
"Are you okay?" he asked, and she continued coughing.
"I think I have coke in my lungs…" she coughed again, and brought more up onto the pavement. "It's coming out of my tear ducts, too… I'm crying coke!"
She laughed again, which made her cough harder.
"Let's go back to your stalkers…" she coughed, and he sighed.
"Fine, I'll tell you about a few of them."
"Great!" she said, wiping her eyes a few times and taking out a red-papered note pad.
"Right. Well… One I have the misfortune to run into quite frequently is a 12-year-old nightmare. She wears barely ever wears anything but black all the time, rarely talks – and when she does, it's usually an insult or a death-threat, draws cartoons about a morbidly obese man dating the sun, and listens to Johnny Cash and Duran Duran constantly."
"Really? Well, you attract the right kind of attention, then."
"Oh, ha ha…" he said acerbically, and she just smiled as usual.
"Anyone less troubled?"
"Yeah, sure. The other one's – perky."
"Perky? Like happy-perky, or secret-caffeine-addiction-perky?"
"The second one," he said, looking up at the dark sky. "She says she doesn't see me enough, and when she does all she wants to do is stand around and talk a mile a minute… About Japan."
"Ooh, Japan!" she said, and he just gave her a funny look.
"Anyone else? You did say 'a few'."
"Yeah, she seems to pop up everywhere I go, wanting to write stories about me, wears green sneakers, and calls me a 'moving target'. Sound familiar?"
"Not especially…"
"Come on, don't lie. You like me, too. It's obvious."
"That obvious?"
"Just that apparent."
"Well, I guess I do. Although, at one point in time I wanted you to die…"
"A lot of people have, so that's not news to me." He said simply, getting up, and walking on.
"Wait, we're not quite finished yet!" she said, jumping to her feet and following him.
"What now? You were number three, what else do you want?"
"Any guys into you?" she asked slyly, and he just shook his head.
"Let's not go there," he said seriously, turning away and walking.
"Hey… I just realized… You didn't end up in the hospital this time!" she said, and he stopped in his tracks.
"Correct… Now leave me alone, I have a job to do."
"Um… You might want to watch where you're going…"
"Why do you say tha - ?" He fell through an uncovered manhole, and into the infested sewers.
"Damn it!"
Well, just like the first one, something bad happened to him in the end. Hey, I like Nicholai, but I also like to see him get involved in dangerous things – just less so in this one.
I actually used that coke-incident in this right after it happened to me the other night. I'm still not feeling too great after inhaling that coca cola, and coughing it up for hours… Eww… And it was coming out of my tear ducts too!
Oh, and that 12-year-old… That's the 6th grade version of me. At that time, I was very moody, and still a Goth. And I did in fact do a comic about a "morbidly obese man dating the sun". I have to put the original version on DeviantArt someday.