Author's notes: Sometimes it feels like I'm competing with myself to write more words than I did on 'X day', or make a more interesting twist than that one time I made an interesting twist in 'Y chapter'. Then I think I should probably stop plugging variables into examples that don't involve math. Maybe I need help.
Red pumps stained with blood. Shredded nylons. Scraps of a cotton dress...and Star, huddled in the corner, clutching what used to be called a girl named 'Sarah' close to her breast, growling and tearing at flesh like a rabid dog. There wasn't really enough blood left to make any more of a mess.
Not far off in the pit, the remains of the other girls waited to be disposed of. And far above, the Lost Boys sat together on the ground in a circle, playing a round of bullshit while they listened to their feral pet munch away. The greatest challenge to any card game for the group wasn't really the lying part, but the temptation to read each other's minds. Even if Star couldn't really communicate with them in anything but outraged shrieks and howls, they all agreed she'd enjoy the company..if there was any 'Star' left in the thing in the pit, that is...
"Three sevens," Dwayne made his move, and shuffled through his hand to examine the remaining cards. There was almost a sense of amusement for the group, as pleasant (if somewhat foul-mouthed) as this little round of cards was, compared to their much bloodier game they'd been playing less than an hour ago.
"Bullshit!" Paul shouted, flicking the cards over with one finger and sending them flying at David's face. He pulled back and uncrossed his legs to kick at Paul's knee.
"Pick em up," Dwayne smirked, sweeping the cards into a pile and pushing them towards Paul. He scooped them up into one hand, without even bothering to flip most of them around the right way.
"You've got half the deck, Paulie," Marko rolled his eyes, letting out a breathy laugh.
"It's a strategy. If I get most of them, I know what all you assholes got without having to cheat," Paul insisted, grinning.
"Let me know how that works out for you," David remarked dryly as he laid down a couple of his own cards. "Two eights."
"Bullshit!" Paul hissed out slowly, popping a piece of gum in his mouth and smacking it loudly. David angrily leaned forward to snatch the cards back up.
"See? Strategy," Paul grinned and leaned back on his elbows a she fanned his face with his cards. Marko just shook his head, snickering as he bit onto the thumb of his glove and glanced down at his own cards.
Michael glared at his own hand, and tried to decide whether he could get away with slipping an extra three cards on his turn without anybody noticing. He chanced a quick look over at David, who gave him a reassuring (though still somewhat disturbing) smile. The bastard was thinking something, but they'd all made an agreement not to read each other's minds. Even if Michael really didn't know how to do it yet, he was dying to know what David was thinking. Was he in for another shitty night, when they were done playing cards? Was David going to give Dwayne free reign to go to town on his little brother?
"It's your turn. Play your damn cards, Mikey," Marko poked him in the ribs and Michael shoved him away with a growl. Marko, of course, blew him a kiss in response.
"Gimme a second..." Michael squinted back at his hand. Maybe he could stretch the game out a bit, put off the inevitable...
Dwayne leaned close to glance over his shoulder. "Bullshit," Dwayne sighed, pressing a hand to his mouth and yawning.
"Son of a bitch..." Michael grumbled. They hadn't agreed not to look at each other's hands the normal way. But it was implied! Momentarily he wondered if any of those stupid comics Sam had read about vampires mentioned the fact that they were asshole cheaters at card games.
By the time the game was over, even Paul was shocked that he'd won. No thanks to Marko lying every round just for the hell of it, even when he had the right cards. Of course, David secretly suspected they were both in league just to piss him off. And he wasn't too far off the mark. Dwayne had helped too.
"Told ya!" Paul bragged, snatching the cards from David's hand and tearing into them with his fangs.
"Paul!" David scolded, trying to yank the remains of the queen of hearts from his mouth, with little success. Paul only growled and backed away, crouching on all fours and shaking his head like a feral dog.
"What the hell are you doing?" Michael asked, his jaw dropping slightly at Paul's odd behavior. Not that anything the psycho did wasn't odd.
"Looks like he's trying to get his ass kicked," Dwayne remarked, smirking. Marko snickered and leaned into Dwayne's shoulder, shaking his head as they witnessed David tackle Paul to the ground and try to wrestle the remaining scrap of the poor queen of hearts from his jaws.
"Or something else," Michael shook his head in disgust, standing up to walk towards the pit and get a look at Star down below. By now she looked almost peaceful, now that she seemed to have gorged herself properly. Of course, the grimace still remained. The haunted eyes and twisted fangs looked like they were pretty much permanent. At the moment, she was only sluggishly gnawing on one of the bodies, tearing out bite-sized pieces of flesh every now and then with only slightly less voracity than usual. It still was nowhere near lady-like.
"Are you in there? Do you even know what you're doing, Star?" He thought, urging her to somehow reach out and grasp at the words. To understand. To hear him. But she didn't even look up from her meal. She just...ate...and growled.
Suddenly, he was jerked to attention when a loud shriek pierced the air. Michael spun about to get an eyeful of David digging his teeth deep into Paul's neck. For some reason...it really pissed him off. And he really didn't want to know why. But it was just as well, because as he watched them on the ground, Paul helplessly pinned...Thorne padded into the chamber, growling at something unseen. Afterwards, a peculiar numbness washed through his mind, and Michael looked back towards Star, dazed.
"No, Samuel Emerson, I am not letting you sleep in my bed tonight! You have guests!" Lucy scolded her son, standing in her doorway with her arms crossed as he gave her his most pathetic and pleading expression. Though he usually won out in the end when he pouted, she was putting her foot down this time.
"But mom...I'm afraid I'm gonna have bad dreams tonight..." Sam leaned down and pressed his head to Lucy's shoulder, plucking at her nightgown and sighing pathetically. It was far too dramatic to be believed.
"Well, sweety, you have your friends to protect you if anything bad happens," Lucy sighed, stepping back and closing the door.
Sam turned around and pressed his back to the door, groaning as he lowered his head. How the heck was he gonna get out of this without spilling his guts? He just knew they were going to ask him a million questions. The silent exchanges of looks they'd been slinging around since they'd gotten back from the boardwalk had been more than enough to convince him of that.
So he had to come up with a plan. Maybe he could sleep in the living room? No...they'd probably come looking for him. Sam sighed, putting his head into his hands. What was he going to do?
"Damn it, Mike," he cursed. He was happy his brother was alive, but couldn't he have waited until the Frogs were gone to show up?
"Somethin' wrong?" A gravelly voice interrupted him from his thoughts, as his grandfather lumbered towards him wrapped in a plaid robe.
"Gramps, I thought you were with the widow tonight?"
The old man shrugged and shook his head. "Called it off tonight. Didn't finish my little project. Listen, you want some root beer?" He raised his eyebrows, nearly throwing Sam for a loop. Gramps never let Sam close to his stash. The one in the fridge, or otherwise.
"Uh...yeah, I guess," he shrugged. He supposed whatever bonding ritual the old man seemed to have in mind was better than dealing with Ed and Alan right now.
"Well. C'mon then," Grandpa Emerson turned around and started heading towards the stairs. Sam watched him warily, and then glanced over at his bedroom door...then back towards the stairs. He took a deep breath, and began to walk. Maybe this was going to be another lecture about the car...
Edgar paced Sam's room, frustrated. He didn't even know what to say. Something had happened when he went to go get lemonade, and it damned sure wasn't the fact that there was no lemonade to be had!
Alan bounced on Sam's mattress, frowning. "This bed sucks," he remarked.
"Alan, we've got bigger problems than shitty beds right now!" Edgar rounded on him, frowning.
"Yeah? Like what? Lucy said it was cool if we stayed. She knows what's going on at home. I don't see-"
"SAM, Alan. SAM is our problem. He's holding out on us!" He paused, and in a quieter voice, added "...and call her Ms. Emerson, Alan. She deserves a bit of respect..."
"Oh. Well, yeah, that's bad too." Alan agreed, nodding quickly. Though he didn't say anything about Edgar correcting him. Clearly Ed had some kinda weird hang-up on Sam's mom, and it was a little too creepy to think about.
"It's gotta have something to do with the boardwalk," Edgar brilliantly deduced, crossing his arms and leaning up against the door-frame.
"So we just wait until he comes in here, and we ask him." Alan shrugged.
"I don't think he's gonna want to tell us...I got this feeling..." Edgar shook his head. "We're gonna have to weasel it out of him some other way..."
"...So...we're not even going to start with just talking it out, then?" Alan slung himself across the side of the bed and let his arms hang above him. "Sounds like a plan," he agreed.
Edgar cast an analytical eye about the room. "Now what are we gonna use to restrain him with?"
Alan sat up and frowned at his brother. "Ed, you really scare me sometimes." He paused. "What about window blind chords? Those should work, right?"