Disclaimer: I own very little within. "Teenagers scare the living shit out of me..."
Because someone pointed out an error to me before, you may notice a not-so-subtle switch in my fic soon, of me calling him 'Andy' instead of 'Andrew'. So, if after this chapter you still see a few 'Andrews' floating around, know that it's still the same person and that within the next few chapters I'll try to make the permanent change to Andy. It's easier for me to write anyway.
Also, not quite this chapter, but also within the next few, POVs may change a bit too (though I write in third person, I try to keep it to one person's mindset unless the scene just comes out in third-person omniscient). Anyways, though I usually make Pete or Patrick the main point of view, I'm eventually going to try on Andy and Joe POVs for size. It's about time they started getting more attention from me.
"But where do I run?!" Claire screeched.
"ANYWHERE! Follow us!"
"I'm so safe right now!" Obviously as Braids gets more nervous, her lies push it even more.
"I WANT TO GO HOME!" Noodle added, panic in her voice.
Pete bit his lip. THANKS A LOT. Make me feel guilty, why don't you. "To the van!"
"Are we still being chased?" Patrick slowed his pace a bit and turned his head around. He came to a full stop when he realized they weren't. "Wait, wait, wait, guys. They've stopped badgering us."
"Then who are they badgering?!" Joe shouted.
"Each other!"
It was true. The crowd had not moved in an inch towards the visitors they were acting so volatile and bloodthirsty towards a minute ago and were too busy attacking each other. It was a huge, swarming mass of movement and screams. Two vampires pounced on a shrieking teenage girl of whom one of them had bravely yanked off her garlic necklace. The shocking red-haired vampire girl from before fell out of the crowd, only to become ashes when hitting the ground, leaving her bandana and a bloodied stake behind.
Leaving the horror movie that was Stable behind, the seven-some ran off, and this time didn't slow their pace until they reached the van and clambered inside.
"Okay!" Patrick sat, panting, on Pete's vintage couch-bed. "THAT was terrifying. Let's leave and never come back. Now."
"Where do we go?" Joe sat down at the driver's seat. He usually disliked being the driver, but seemed to just want to get out.
"Just… keep going in any direction until we reach a town," Patrick looked over at Claire and her friends. "We can… get ice cream while it's still early morning."
"Ice cream!" Claire clapped her hands.
"Happy fun time!" was Noodle's broken English.
Sorel was enjoying the wind he was so familiar with as he biked along with Gerard and Mikey in tow. No helmet was necessary, as he had grown used to any debris that would clonk against his head.
He was NOT, however, used to human-shaped speed bumps.
"WHOA!" He quickly hit the brakes on his precious chopper before he could go skidding into some poor dude in his early thirties (he's poor because someone wished to send him sliding across a dirt road in front of a speeding motorcycle). "What the hell are you doing?! You could've ruined my chopper! Get out of my way!"
He didn't respond to Sorel. "Man… I can't believe we just got beat by some chick in a frilly dress…"
"What's wrong with my dress?!" Amy growled as she stepped over to him, flipping her long, thick onyx hair away from her face. "When I was young, this is how we dressed! This was for outdoors!" She pointed to her black-and-red corset style dress with crimson lace all over the poofy skirt. "Besides, this is my favorite. Many fond memories in this dress. Why, I recall the day my first boyfriend spilled tea all over it…" As she said this, she stepped towards the man, ignoring what was probably his two dead buddies behind her. "I was so mad at him that day… I think the stain is still on it…" She looked down at her dress as some sort of soft, thick, liquid-y type of shadow substance leaked out of her fingers and towards her victim, crawling over him and on his face. "It is! It is there! That makes me mad…" The shadows slithered inside his mouth as he gagged and panicked. "So… very… MAD!" She suddenly stuffed a stream of them inside the poor man, until he was beginning to swell like a busted lip, and seconds later his gut exploded.
Yes.
He exploded.
Sorel ignored the explosion and the entrails now raining on Mikey, however. He looked very surprised at something else (someone else, actually). "A…AMY? Is that YOU?"
She finally acknowledged Sorel's presence (She still hadn't, though, for Gerard or Mikey). "And… Sorel?"
"Yes! Why, I haven't seen you since Billy Baron locked you up in that fucking coffin!" He took a pause to laugh. "And it took you this much time to get out?"
"Silence, you fool," she snapped. Sorel did quiet down, but he didn't look scared, only angry, probably only shutting up out of shock that someone would order him to shut up in the first place. "Just because some little punk-rat killed my brother does NOT mean I am not still above you."
Sorel rolled his eyes. "Emphasis on little. And you're not ABOVE me. No one is above me now! I LIVE BY MY OWN RULES NOW!"
"If anything, he is a leader now. And a better one than The Baron to boot." Gerard added helpfully. Sorel nodded to him.
"Brown-noser," Mikey coughed. Sorel glared at Mikey. "Sorry, I got small intestines in my larynx."
"Oh, and he leads what? Two yes-men?" Amy sneered. "Just because there is no more order that is set by who you are scared of does not mean I am not above you."
"Yes-men?! Hardly!" Mikey snorted disrespectfully. "Sir, do you want us to just take care of her, or-"
"This is my personal business," Sorel snapped, not turning to look at Mikey.
"Fine," Gerard didn't mind giving a helpful word before, but still looked satisfied to not be physically dragged into it.
"By 'take care of me', I assume your yes-men meant that they would be sandbags for me to kick around," She held her posture high. But then she smiled and turned to Gerard's general direction, shielding one side of her mouth with the back of her hand, her palm facing Sorel, as if she were whispering a secret to him (high school girl style exchange). "And by personal business, means he used to be one of my boy toys!"
"WHAT?!" Sorel screamed at her, ignoring Gerard's look, which was a combination of his shock, embarrassment for Sorel, and him desperately trying to keep the corners of his mouth from poking their way up.
"Yes, you were, how do the kids say it nowadays… my 'bitch'."
"I WAS NOT…!"
"Are they yours?" Amy was referring to Gerard and Mikey.
"NO!" Mikey stomped his foot on the ground. "We are NOT!"
Now Gerard was insulted, too. "The only time he's ever made advances on us was when he was inebriated! Way more than usual!"
Sorel turned his growling attention to Gerard. "YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"
Entry Number 231
I should be more punctual about making these entries. It is difficult having to write more and more each time.
I should summarize what has happened since my last entry.
Pete is acting very different. As the cure for vampirism comes closer and closer to our grasp, he becomes less volatile and cold. But this may have been happening before the priest gave us this option and I did not even notice. It's a welcome change.
And the cure would be, too. I know he wishes I don't, but I see the way he looks at us when we have to dress an open wound.
Andrew is as optimistic as ever and that may be part of what is shaping Pete's new attitude. Joe is acting no different, but is almost as impatient as Pete is to get the cure.
I am trying to work on a new weapon, but it is difficult to get anything done with so many new enemies.
Claire (I have previously mentioned her) and her two friends, who go by 'Braids' and 'Noodle' (again, all vampires), are following us. For just a little while, I will let them; I feel bad for them, in a way. They seem to be having fun but don't have any direction as to where to go next. Maybe they just need something to work towards…
As far as I can see, the only misfortune of this cure is what a change of lifestyle it will be for Pete. If he can not quickly revert to a regular sleeping and eating pattern, he will become weak, which will be magnified by the loss of vampiric powers and ability to use himself as a weapon without worrying about physical repercussions.
And if this cure does not work, they may be the last thing to break him or push him away.
I worry if he leaves us, he will leave himself open to
"PATRICK!" Joe shouted at Patrick, who was seated on a sticky plastic table, writing in his extensive journal. "What kind of ice cream do you want?"
"Oh, uh, I don't know. Vanilla sundae? Anything. Make it cheap."
"Vanilla sundae for the indecisive one!" Joe called out to Pete and Andy, who were making orders.
"Right. Coming on up," the large-nosed clerk said, scooping Patrick's vanilla sundae and the ice cream for Joe's chocolate milkshake.
"Nothing for me, thanks, I'm vegan," Andy said. The clerk seemed to find this mildly amusing and chuckled.
Pete noticed a sign that read 'Try Our Raspberry-Garlic Ice Cream!' "I'll have some of that," he said, pointing to the poster. "With nuts."
"Masochist," Andy whispered to him.
"Vegan," Pete replied. "Besides, I'm building up a resistance."
"You're ruining your ice cream is what you're doing. Besides, I don't think it'll get any higher."
"Whatever." Pete grabbed the ice cream the clerk presented him with, and stalked off to the table. "You're paying."
"Patrick," Andrew whined. "Get over here and pay! You have all the money."
"Huh? Oh, yeah." Patrick walked over to the register and paid, and the group sat down and enjoyed their ice cream for a few minutes. Andrew grabbed a soda from the shop's cooler, supporting his vegan-ocity.
Suddenly, Pete looked up from the grimace he wore as he shoveled ice cream into his mouth. "Some people are coming."
"Relax," Joe said placatingly, "I'm sure it's not Sorel or any of the other usual psychos." Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and a bullet burst through the closed glass door, slamming into the cash register. As everybody stared at the sparking register, another bullet crashed through the door pane and sunk into the young ice cream man's small bicep, causing him to scream and drop to his knees. "Get down!" Joe yelled.
Everybody ducked under the table. "Who drive-by's a Baskin Jerry's, SERIOUSLY?!" Patrick yelled. "Can't a guy write in peace?!"
"-An't believe I missed!" A raucous voice carried through the door. "It's still stuck on my arm!" The damaged door swung open, and Pete and the others watched as four pairs of shined black shoes under four pairs of black long pants walked up to the counter. Blood dripped in front of one pair. "It's bleeding and everything! How awesome is this!"
"It sure is… awesome, Agent JK," a younger man's voice replied.
"Call me sir, boy!"
"Stop shooting the damned thing and find a better way to remove it!" A deeper voice yelled at them. The voice then calmed down. "Two egg creams, a brown cow, and a cola float to go, and you had better have U-Bet."
"YOU SHOT ME! IN THE ARM!"
"Hmm?" This was a female voice, followed by a pause. "Why yes we did. Sorry, he's a bit of a rogue agent. Now are you going to get us ice cream, or do you want to treat your wound and let us get our own?"
"Dude," Andrew whispered, "these are those FBI vamps who got hit by the cupcake. We've gotta get out of here!"
"Maybe they've forgiven us," Joe whispered hopefully.
"Don't kill me! I have a job and a home and a girlfriend named Delilah!" the clerk shrieked.
"Okay, whatever," Agent SJ said. "Get outta here. We'll get our own ice cream and leave some money in what's left of the cash register. And we'll do a health inspection while we're here… the employee and a customer are bleeding all over the floor and counter. I give this place an F."
"You guys are nuts!" The dark-haired, bleeding clerk ran out the front door. Pete peeked out from under the table. The VFBI members were all distracted with each other. SJ and AL had begun to scoop ice cream into large cups, and TR watched as JK aimed the gun held in his right hand at what appeared to be a food processor caught on his left hand, causing him to bleed profusely. Apparently, wildly shooting at the kitchen appliance caught on his own arm had been what had caused bullets to ricochet into the ice cream parlor.
"How am I supposed to get it off without shooting it?!" Agent JK complained.
"A sledgehammer, a chainsaw maybe, cut your hand off for all I care!" SJ said. "The fingers will grow back! Just stop wasting ammo!"
"Maybe I like wasting ammo…" JK muttered.
"Whatever. So anyway," SJ settled back into a story he had apparently been telling, "Then I lost my light saber! I loved that light saber! It was purple! There are no other purple light sabers!"
"Whaaatever," AL responded.
"Are there any aliens left at Area 51?" TR asked, fixated on the story.
"No, they all died out. The new ones are at DAMMIT THIS ISN'T U-BET!"
Claire ducked under the table. "Why are we hiding under the table?"
"CLAIRE!" Joe hissed. "Where are your mates?"
"Eating outside," She licked her vanilla cone with sprinkles. "They said they wanted to stay outside while it was still nighttime. I do not know why. It's cold outside!"
"It's still winter," Patrick agreed.
"Claire, I have a mission for you!" Joe said.
She gasped and looked happier than an exiled middle schooler who had just made their first friend since elementary school. "A mission?!"
"Yes. See those people in suits? Converse with them. Distract them. We have to get away from them!"
She didn't even answer, but she sprung up from under the table and looked at Agent JK "Mister! Why do you have a kitchen appliance on your arm?!" She looked genuinely concerned.
"It's a long story, really," He said. But then he proceeded to tell a particularly detailed story about a dare, four beers, a flashback, and a melon baller.
Patrick stifled a laugh. "What is a melon baller?" he whispered to the others. "I've never seen one and I keep hearing about them,"
As the others tried their best to control their laughter, Pete watched the VFBI members, not caring for the idea of laughter at his particular day and age. He watched as Agent SJ handled ice cream matters, Agent AL was keeping herself interested in what JK was saying, and with a cringe Pete realized that what Agent TR was doing was looking around the ice cream shop for general things that interfere with society's well-being. And Claire was supposed to be distracting them, but was too busy flirting with 'ah-door-ah-bull' JK to notice!
DAMN!
Joe was quietly sipping his milkshake right until now. The quiet liquid was replaced with loud foam and chunks of ice cream. "SLLLLRRRLRP!"
Andy giggled insanely yet silently as Joe finally realized what was wrong with this action and stopped with his mouth full of milkshake. He was too late in stopping for Pete, though. Pete hit him, a little too hard, and Joe coughed and chocolate milkshake came out his nose and mouth, dribbling on his Styrofoam cup, the floor, and Patrick's leg.
Pete and Andy cracked up just as TR noticed them. "HEY!"
"Uhhh…" Joe wiped his chocolate-dripping nose. "Heyyy."
"I know you guys…" TR said accusingly, and the vigilantes winced. He pointed to Patrick and flinched. "YOU'RE the kid who stole my milk money in fifth grade!"
Patrick froze. "…Uhhh, what?"
Pete sniggered. "You got your milk money stolen from Patrick?"
Patrick shot Pete a 'thanks-a-lot!' look; Pete shot him a 'you-know-it's-true' look right back.
Agent AL was also staring right at them. "Uh, those aren't the guys who made you as pathetic as you are. Those are the guys who… THREW A CUPCAKE AT OUR VAN!"
Suddenly, all attention was on the vigilantes.
Claire put her hand on her beatless heart and gasped. "Guys? Is that you?" She shook her head in a 'ew-mah-GAWD-what-a-strange-coincidence-I-had-no-idea-you-were-there' sort of way. "What are you DOING? I mean, ahhb-vee-us-lee, you have no reee-zuhn to hide or anything, so did you DROP something?" Every syllable was filled with more enthusiasm than the last. Her acting was so poor, that you would almost think she was doing it on purpose to get the VFBI to call them out. But the vigilantes knew she wasn't purposely screwing them over; she was just Claire.
Pete nodded and smiled weakly, picking up a nickel that was fortunately sitting on the ground. "Mmmm-yup. Dropped my lucky nickel."
"And you're all down there looking for it?" Agent SJ had his arms crossed.
"It's quite the nickel," Joe said defensively.
For some reason, Agent JK found this very funny and started to crack up.
But, more fortune came for the vigilantes with SJ's next words. "Well, you better not run away before we have our ice cream!"
"Huh?" I believe Joe spoke for all four of them when he said that.
AL nodded. "The handbook says we have to use up all sixty minutes of our lunch hour. We're only up to forty-eight."
Pete nodded back and forced a smile. "Okay then. We'll just wait under here until you're done. We wouldn't want to, uh, disrespect your authority!" While he was saying this, he pinched Joe's bicep, sending him a silent signal to keep quiet and follow his lead. Joe did the same to Patrick, and Patrick did the same to Andy, who hit him upside the head (a little too hard, knocking his hat off by mistake) for pinching him.
"Is there a problem?" Agent TR tilted his head down to get a closer look.
"No, not here," Pete smiled more, his fangs getting some full exposure they could only get from a smile that they weren't getting lately.
And then they sat for about two minutes, waiting for the VFBI to settle in and turn their collective attention to something else. When they did, Pete slowly scooted back out from under the table and, crouching down as to attract as little attention to himself as possible, began to make his way towards the door. He reached the clean glass door and waited for his friends to catch up.
"Okay, go!" Joe urged/whispered.
"Wait, don't. There's a little bell on the door. It's gonna make noise." Patrick said.
Pete rolled his eyes grabbed the little silver bell tightly in his fist, as to avoid it making a sound by contact, and then pulled it off, still holding it tightly. He opened the door as quietly as he could and held it open for Joe, Patrick, and Andy. With their luck today, he figured that if they all opened the door to make their way out, one of them would probably get bashed in the nose and shout "OW!"
Once they were all out and the door was safely closed, Pete (still gripping the bell) whipped around and pushed forward with full force, eager to get back to the comfort that he strangely found in the vehicle of his dead allies.
And as luck would have it, he went full steam ahead… into Noodle.
"AIIIEEE!" She shouted as both she and Pete went crashing to the ground, her ice cream cone smeared up on her left arm and his right shoulder.
"Um, sorry, but we're in a hurry-" He stopped speaking when she ran over and gave him a hard kick in the side. "UUUHN!"
"YOU BAD AMERICAN!" She kicked him in the head now, making him cover his face and roll to the side. "BUY ME NEW ONE! NOW!"
"There's no time for that!" Patrick informed her as he grabbed Pete's arm to help him up; Pete shook away and lifted himself up. "Listen, go get Claire! We have to go now!"
"I'm sure she won't mind not saying goodbye. Just give us money for Noodle's new ice cream cone." Braids held out her hand. "We don't have any money, because we didn't take any from your back pocket while you were looking away."
Patrick ignored the way she lied in her usual manner and handed her a couple dollar bills as he continued speaking. "Wait, what? Hurry up!"
"Hurry up what?"
"HUSTLE! We have to go!"
"Bye!" She smiled and waved.
He raised one eyebrow. "Wait. Aren't you coming along?"
She shook her head. "No, thanks. You guys are nice, and half of you are really cute, but you're boring after a while, and you need to shower more regularly." For once, she spoke what was truly on her mind. "Also, word has been going around that you kick puppies."
Patrick gaped. "…WE DON'T…!"
"Right. We know that. Just looks bad, you know?" She waved again. "Bye!"
Patrick nodded and led the others away. As they walked, Pete rubbed his side and thought about how that girl learned to kick so hard, Patrick wondered what the hell just happened, Andy wondered where they were going to go next, and Joe wondered which half of the vigilantes were the cute ones.
"You hear that?" TR said angrily from the doorway, drinking an egg cream. "Those guys are suspected puppy-kickers!"
"Meh," JK said, waving off the idea with a mangled hand that he had removed the food processor from, "I doubt it. Even if they do, I bet they don't even know how to put spin on the kick!"
"Yeah, they… what? What do you mean, sir?"
"You know my name, boy! Call me by it!" JK yelled.
"Agent JK wrote the book on puppy-kicking," SJ said. JK grinned and showed off a thick binder full of paper titled 'If I Kick Puppies, Here's How to Kick Puppies'.
"He hasn't gotten it published yet," AL said, "But he wrote it."