A/N: Holy cow! This is a first for me. Everything for this story is pre-written, it just needs some editing. The upload schedule will be every Saturday and Wednesday until the story is finished. That puts the finish date in the first week of March. I promise I'm not abandoning my other fanfics, I just got inspired to write a bunch for the event.
Prepare for a long one, friends: This one is ~160,000 words.
Full Summary:
Enmity, a supernatural plague, an irresistible connection.
It's Sophomore year, and Danny Fenton was still on the bottom of the food chain in Casper High. His friends kept his counsel and his family kept lecturing. They remained at arms' length, and all others a football field's distance. The one exception was Valerie Gray. Her words drew him closer, yet the Huntress' guns kept them apart. He needed to find a way to bridge the divide, and quickly, because an electronic plague burned through Amity Park, and they'd made a hasty alliance to put it out.
Valerie's double life continued to vex her, her work as Huntress made more difficult by Phantom's interference. Then, stability came in the form of a mind-melding upgrade to her suit. It responds to her every whim, its power strengthening with every passing day. Serendipitous, because a ghost curse was spreading through town like ink through water, transforming every piece of technology into a potential adversary. Pulled between her hatred of ghosts and her growing affection for Phantom, she might just destroy her new partner, if her suit doesn't do it first.
Warnings for this specific chapter:
Bullying, coarse language, the horrors of capitalism as a service worker.
Chapter Summary:
Doldrums: a state of apathy or lack of interest; a situation where one feels boredom, ennui, or tedium; a state of listlessness or malaise.
Reprieve: Relief from pain etc., especially temporary. ... To take back to prison
Valerie finds herself gritting her teeth through her day, until a ghostly distraction arrives.
Doldrums and Reprieve
6:43am; October 17th, 2005; Amity Park, Michigan
The air basked in light and bird song, the world made anew in the heavy lidded eyes of the fading night. Rime dusted the ground and hoarfrost clung to the underside of freshly fallen leaves, making the whole world glitter and shine in the rosy dawn light. As the influence of Nox gave way to Aurora, she tucked her arms tighter against her body and slanted away from the touch of the wind's chill. The sharp scuffle of her footfalls against the glistening concrete, newly citizen salted, cut through the press of silence that cocooned her on her solitary march to school.
Finally, ahead of her, the light of the school's warm interior glinted off the frost on the front lawn, its glimmer called forth from the dying strands of grass still fighting the oncoming sleep of winter like a toddler rolling about to avoid a nap. She pulled loosened hair away from her face as a big gust snatched at her curls, clawing away the neat style she'd spent the morning designing. I should have worn a beanie. Sure, she'd have to take it off right after entering school—the No-Hats policy remained even in the cold—but at least her hair would be intact.
She stood off to the right of the entrance, just inside the double doors, and reached into her backpack to pull out a compact and her emergency brush. The other students brushed past her without comment, briefly sliding in and out of view on the edges of the mirror, as she carefully redid the style. Maybe more hairspray would have saved it? She'd consider it next time. The good stuff was expensive, and with her meager savings—
"Wow, did you fight a bear on the way here?"
"Is that what happened to you?" Valerie continued brushing her hair, eyes never leaving the mirror.
"Excuse me?"
"You know, on account of you wearing half an outfit in forty degree weather, Paulina." She snapped the compact closed and slid it back into her bag. Even with the brief flash in the compact, she'd been able to see how much frostbite the other girl was risking. A bold, stupid choice, fitting for Casper's Queen Bee.
"It's called fashion, Valerie, I thought you remembered what that was from when you had some yourself."
"Does your mama know you switched to a miniskirt when you got to school? I could text her to bring you some leggings. You know she'd hate for her baby to be cold."
"I'll pretend you didn't threaten me if you crawl away now."
"You're the one who's gonna be crawling when frostbite takes your legs," she replied, picking up her backpack and heading towards her locker. Another day, another sniping match with Casper's cattiest queenlet. At one point, she thought, Ms. Sanchez would find something better to do, but apparently nothing satisfied quite like dunking on former friends. And what the petty queen of Casper models her cronies happily imitate. She thought, ignoring a call of 'loser' from a group of girls.
She reached into her locker and grabbed the textbooks she'd need before lunch: chemistry and trigonometry, French and European history. Truly, Sophomore year was going so much better than the last. She only had to ignore the cold stares of her classmates and grit her teeth through sleeping in that cramped, drafty apartment she and her dad now called home. They existed somewhere near the bottom of Lake Erie, so things could only go up. I mean, it's not like my family could sell our childhood home and move into a dump across town if we don't own it.
She winced as she thought it, settling into first period. That isn't fair to Daddy. He didn't get himself fired. He wasn't why he had to pay back the terms of that exploitative contract with Axiom. He wasn't the reason his perfect security system failed. It was Amity Park's 'hero', the designer of her cosmic comedy. Not comedy in the stand-up sense, but in the literary sense. The 'as long as the universe finds it amusing, it's not a tragedy' sense. She wasn't laughing.
She reached into her bag for a notebook, and passed a note along the chain to another student. After the incident with Pariah, everyone loved the little asshole. She'd thought she had an ally in Mr. Masters but, after the incident with Ellie... What is Amity Park if not a place where the people love assholes? She absently passed another note. They loved their ghost superhero, and their secretly half-ghost mayor. Another note. They loved the shallow, popular A-Listers and the all stars of the football and basketball teams. A note again. It was like every other person in this haunted town, ok seriously, another—
"Val, it's for you." Benjamin whispered, eyes flicking briefly towards their distracted teacher.
Oh. Well, that explained why it kept coming back. She looked at the front, something about the Homecoming dance scribbled there. Oh God, was that coming up soon? The one last year had been fun, crashed by a ghost dragon or not, but she had no money for a new dress and not a damn person in school she wanted to go with. Who had—a girl's name? Well, maybe it wasn't being asked out. She tucked it under her notebook when Mrs. Maru walked closer. The teacher lingered nearby for the next few minutes, affording her the time to think.
No matter what the note said, she probably wouldn't like it. An offer to be her date? Unlikely, but still unwanted. An offer to join a group to go as "friends"? That was either a pity offer or some malicious trick cooked up by the more popular girls. Wondering what dress she was thinking of getting? The note was from Hilary; she loved fashion. That was still a no-go. She hadn't gotten the money to buy a new one in the last five minutes, and she had enough self-respect not to trudge out the ill-fitting last season disaster. Ghost hunting did many positive things for her life, but the extra bulk to her biceps did make all her old dresses non-options. Maybe she should go sleeveless?
"Are you gonna, you know, read it?" Ben again. You'd think it was his note with how he was hovering. Ugh, maybe Hilary had done that thing where she asked on someone else's behalf to get gossip again. She opened the note and scrunched her face at the contents. Just asking what she was wearing, of course. When Ben caught her eye, she pointedly crumpled up the note and tossed it into her bag. Tell Hilary that, you noisy nosy nuisance. She thought, then cringed at her silent alliteration. Ok. Maybe being tutored by Mr. Lancer to keep on top of her grades was having some… side effects.
The bell rang, and now that she was paying attention, buzz about the upcoming dance was everywhere. She mentally checked the date. Great, two more weeks of this nonsense. Who was wearing what, and who was going with whom, could we maybe rent a limo, and are we heading over to your place before, everything she'd tuned out before as just white noise came into clear relief. Just last year, she'd be eagerly chattering away with the rest of the school, but now? Even if she had the money, she didn't have the time, and she didn't have the money. She had to keep reminding herself that. She wanted the newest pear-bottom jeans, but she couldn't have those. She wanted the new Dumpty-Humpty album, but nope. She wanted a lot of things, but such was the life of the newly poverty-stricken. Maybe I can squeeze more money out of Mr. Masters?
That was an interesting thought. She grabbed a lunch tray and tapped her foot while she waited in line, thoughts spinning about running some errand. The wait passed quickly with her mind so preoccupied. Soon, she was navigating her way to her favorite table. She glanced down at the full tray, eyes roaming over the unfamiliar slop that passed for food, still chewing on her newest puzzle.
He made her skin crawl. The lying, the manipulation, the ghost powers, all of it felt like bad news, but he was bad news with a bottomless bank account. He sometimes had to be reminded, but he always paid in full.
The last payment, regrettably, had been gobbled up by getting them current on rent. Her dad's supervisor, the miserable mini-weasel, had gotten vindictive about his "attitude" and dropped his hours to minimums in retaliation. Stuff like this was why her dad had gotten an advanced degree in the first place, so little men with tiny egos and tinier kingdoms couldn't destroy your whole life on a whim. It had worked too! He was in demand as a security expert. There were those trips out of state to set up prestigious companies' security programs. He was the keynote speaker at three separate conferences. Axiom asked for him specifically. God, if only Phantom—
She gripped the tray and slammed it down on the table that guarded her hard-won peace and quiet. She took a few deep breaths and ignored Dash's call of 'freak' over the din of Homecoming chatter. In, out. She'd get another job out of Masters, buy a nice new pair of pear-bottom jeans, and forget all about Homecoming. She tapped a nail against the tabletop and shifted to angle her back towards the wall. The table had a nasty draft —the sole reason for its lack of occupants and relatively pristine condition—but she could always count on it for solitude. Putting the chill out of her mind for the moment, she returned to thoughts of shopping and retail therapy.
Maybe she'd use a bit of that for some good hairspray too. It was the windy season, and she was tired of looking like she flew to school with her hood down. She poked at her food and shoved a bite in her mouth, thinking of her plan of attack against the mayor. She already patrolled for free, and scared off any ghost that caused trouble, but there was a parade coming up. Maybe she could provide security? She chewed on the bit of...something that tasted of sorrow and bitter death. Maybe she'd get some more groceries for bagged lunch, too. Even the most boring and basic of sandwiches would be better than this.
"This stuff probably isn't fit for human consumption." She'd recognize Manson's voice anywhere, especially when it came to food complaints.
"You say that about half of the things I bring from home, too, Sam."
"That's because your all-meat sandwiches 'crafted' from every animal legally able to be sold in the United States shouldn't be consumed by human beings."
"You know the omni-meatwich is a work of genius!"
"Yeah, like the mad scientist that fused a dolphin with a laser gun."
"You said you liked Killer Dolphins 2: Out for Blood!"
"I liked watching his hubris and selfishness lead to his inevitable demise at the flippers of the mistreated creatures he'd abused to form his evil army." Valerie looked over at Sam, watching her point her salad-bearing fork at Foley. He shoved another bite of meatloaf, homemade and covered in something like BBQ sauce, into his mouth, his frown at her complaints briefly breaking for a moan of happiness. "You keep abusing your digestive tract with a lack of fiber, and those sandwiches will start fighting back too."
"Lies! There's not a Foley who has ever lived that requires weak, limp veggies to survive."
"I think Sam is right, Tucker." The look of betrayal on Foley's face had her suppressing giggles. "I really don't think the stroganoff is edible."
"Babies, the both of you! Where is your iron-stomach? I've eaten that plenty of times, and I'm just fine."
"The last time you had the stroganoff, you spent the rest of the day in the nurse's office."
"That's called playing chess and not checkers. Everyone else got sick from eating it, and I had a history test to dodge." That did get a snicker out of her, loud enough to get Fenton's attention. He waved, a quick, small thing with an even smaller smile on his lips. Go over. The thought stuck in her mind, repeating like the drumming that Mikey was doing on his group's table a few spaces over. She waved back, and went back to poking at her lunch. She ground her teeth when a glance up caught his expression, eyes big and then downcast, before brightening up and joining back in with his friend's argument.
How he still managed to look disappointed even after all this time amazed her. How many times had she shot him down now? At least a dozen since school started. She tapped a few times on the lunch tray, frenetic energy building up in her hands at the thought. It was worse than the A-Lister's bullying. She could just brush them off without feeling bad. Can't he have the decency to either stop trying or stop looking like a kicked puppy whenever I turn him down? She shoved another bit of food from the tray into her mouth, trying to smother the feelings that thought brought up with disgust brought on by cafeteria culinary delights.
A wet splat drew her attention back to the real world, and she jumped back when it shlorped off the tray and onto her.
"You were looking so gray and dull, I thought a little color would cheer you up." Dash. Who else would it be? She looked down at what was left of her top, a splatter of gooey spaghetti sauce and floppy noodles trailing from the middle of her chest and onto her lunch tray. Brought from home, but she'd eaten Mrs. Baxter's cooking before. It was just as poisonous as anything served at school.
"Just because you can't eat your mom's cooking doesn't mean you should use it as a deadly weapon, Dustin."
"My name's Dash Value-less."
"Oooo, you had to work for that one. Did you feel your brain overheating while you came up with that?" Valerie asked with the same vigor as paint drying.
"You should worry less about my head, and more about what a freak you're gonna look like covered in stains."
"Why? You walk around like that," she stopped to motion to his stained t-shirt and muddy jeans, "it hasn't hurt you any. Oh, did you feel lonely? Did you want someone else to resemble a Sloppy Joe?"
The other boy turned redder, a vein on his neck protruding enough that she could see it from her seat near the doors outside. She watched him rocket up from his seat, his face a mix of rage and mischief, when the bell rang.
"Next time," he huffed, then he shoved his fists into his jacket and stalked away from the table, trailed by the rest of his puerile little clique.
She looked down at the glob on her shirt, and carefully began to pull the chunks off of her with a napkin and drop them onto the tray. The worst part of trading insults with the A-Listers wasn't the confrontation. It was that their insults were so generic. She got them riled up, because she could remember things about their lives to actually threaten or comment on. Them though? She doubted they could even remember her favorite color, and they'd been "friends" since sixth grade.
She tossed the remains of lunch into the trash and quirked her lips at the unsightly stain. She had time to dab at it in the bathroom so it wouldn't set. She even kept a laundry pen in her backpack for emergencies. So decided, she worked at the stain during passing time, watching it lighten and mostly disappear. Despite Dash's efforts, it hadn't stuck, just like everything else about their relationship. Yeah, ok, maybe she had been hanging around Mr. Lancer too much if she was thinking of the spaghetti stains on her blouse as a metaphor for her relationships. She tossed the now empty pen away and hustled towards her locker. If she hurried, she wouldn't even be late to fifth period…
She had been late to fifth period, sweeping in just seconds after the bell rang. She had a few tardies to spare this early in the semester, and rehabbing her blouse was worth it. Dash might not care if he looked like he just came back from football practice, but she didn't want to look like a pig pen. She also no longer had the social cache for people to ignore it. She didn't want to look unkempt, but it would be nice if the back-biters and social climbers stopped commenting on every wrinkle or frayed edge on her clothing.
She tapped her pen against the desk, thinking of her eventual payday from Mr. Masters. She'd get a new top to match those pear-bottom jeans. Maybe she'd even get enough to go out to dinner with Daddy at that deep dish place that just opened on main street. The thought kept her warm, an easy buffer against the gathering chill of the late afternoon. It would be a few days before they could meet in person, but she could always contact him after work.
Work, as she'd come to find as the last of summer's heat fled from the Northern Hemisphere, was hell. There was a certain relief to be found in the autumn chill, especially when she had to man the costume, but the patrons were much worse. Summer made Amity Parker's relaxed, the warmth unclenching whatever hardened ball of anxiety and entitlement animated the adults that ran this town, but with the return of cooler temperatures did not come cooler heads. She'd spent the first few minutes of this shift being sneered at by a grumpy woman with two kids who couldn't decide which Joyful Meal toy they wanted. After that, the couple behind that family had loafed around at the counter with an entire line of hangry human beings waiting on them to pick a single combo meal to split. Even worse, the next three people in line—already frustrated by the wait—had to be reminded they no longer had any of the summer specials for sale. And wouldn't you know? They took it out on her. The entire time they were venting their spleen in her general direction, the only thing she could do was smile and politely redirect them to the fall specials.
The rest of the first two hours of her shift were a blur. An impatient teen here, a suburban mom with an attitude there, an irate dad who was convinced they'd changed the fry recipe somehow way the hell over yonder, and now her jaw ached from how hard she'd kept that forceful smile on her face. If she didn't need this piece of a job to help pay bills, she'd give her manager a two-minute notice, just so she had long enough to flip the entire lobby the bird and shake ass on the counter in excitement for quitting. Unfortunately, she did need this job. So, here she was, calmly explaining once again 'no we don't have Piña Pork burgers in October. Why don't you try the Splendid Spookshake?' to some desperate jerk who acted like she'd just shot his pet because the special they stopped running in August no longer existed. The costume really isn't that bad, she reasoned, including the prior coworker stank, because no one expects the mascot to talk.
By some miracle, the first break of her shift came up, and she shuffled her way into the back as soon as Rebekah tapped her shoulder. On the other side of the door, her coworkers texted on their phones or talked to one another. If she had to make small talk with another human being before the end of the next twelve minutes, she'd pull out a gun from her suit. She saw one wave, and booked it for the backdoor, desperate to avoid Jimmy's chattiness. Her reward was the hanging stink of the dumpsters and a breath of chilly breeze that scrapped at the inside of her lungs and stung against the exposed skin around her uniform.
Back in the bright interior of the shop, she could hear her coworkers asking if she wanted one of their jackets. She brushed them off and moved farther away from the door, deeper into the alley, but away from the open dumpsters. Well, at least the trash will stink way less in winter. She looked forward to it, though not the way the air would cut at her when the temperatures fell later that year. She'd have to remember to bring a jacket to sling over her uniform next time.
Valerie closed her eyes and tilted her head upwards, taking in the buzz of the transformer nearby and the mummer of the voices drifting from the doorway of the break room. In, Out. This was the longest shift this week, but it was more than halfway done. In, Out. She could do this, she was not going to let the annoyances of customer service cost her this job. In, Out... God, I hope there's a ghost fight tonight. The guilt brought on by the thought made her guts churn, but she shoved it away on reflex. Not a big ghost fight, nothing serious, maybe just the Box Ghost or an animal. Harmless, mostly scary to the tourists they kept getting lately, and distracting. She couldn't shoot the customers, legally speaking, but she could take it out on a specter causing trouble. She pressed her back into the cold brick of the wall behind her, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes. Just two more hours. As long as she didn't strangle anyone, she would get a hefty check for the last two weeks of suffering.
She heard Jimmy moan about Mr. Callas being in the store, and snorted. Boy was she glad to be on break for another six glorious minutes. That meant it was still Rebekah's problem. The amusement soured in her chest once she heard her manager calling for her. Great, looks like it's another of his huge catering orders. There went her regulation fifteen minutes. She thought about loafing around farther into the gloom of the alley, when her manager's call went from calm to waspish. Never mind. She needed him to keep giving her extra shifts. With a huff that curled away into the night in a white cloud, she pushed away from the wall and headed back inside. Two more hours, right?
The worst two hours of her life—no, there were still those few hours right after her childhood home became a ghost dog play park—but definitely the worst two hours this month. After Mr. Callas' ridiculous order, the dinner rush had shown up in earnest. You'd think, with all the nicer restaurants and the teens heading back for real dinner at home, that the Nasty Burger wouldn't have a dinner rush. You'd be wrong, and trampled, like that poor customer of theirs that'd been run over when the crowd caught wind of the daily special. It was slightly different every day, and sometimes it was a real steal. Her manager's manager must have thought their numbers needed a boost, so now everything in the place was buy one, get one all evening.
The old man was out of touch, used to the days before cell phones and PDAs, where getting wind of a special like that took hours and effort. But nope, all it took was one forum post on the Nasty Burger Observer for everyone in town to know about it. Accordingly, her evening went from steady but predictable suffering, to a typhoon of desperate Americans wanting to upsize and double order the whole menu. Their crew had persisted, fighting back the hungry hordes like the mindless zombies in Immortal Coil, but their efforts were futile. No matter how quickly they cooked, or how diligently they took orders, five people couldn't feed Amity's entire burger enthusiast crowd.
She'd reached into the till to hand some dude back his change, when someone pushing into him from behind caused a fight, which resulted in a stampede as people pressed to escape the flying fists. Now she was pulling apart the instigators, since she was the only one with enough bravery or lack of sense to jump into the fray. She dodged an elbow to the head and "accidentally" stomped the foot of the offending patron. The two groups of fighters converged, arms flailing about, when her manager finally waded into the sea of bodies to do something. George did have size going for him, so without much further fuss he pulled the offending parties apart and tossed them all outside with a week-long ban.
The screams died down when he'd glared back into the lobby and stomped his way to the other side of the counter, a picture of impatience and frustration. "Alright folks, if you wanna eat food and not the exit sign, line up like you've got sense so we can take your orders."
The mass of angry, greedy people mostly complied, outside of a few complaints of suing the store for endangering their lives with their promotional stunt. "You're more than welcome to call up Larry and complain, or wait until he comes in tomorrow." Larry was the owner, and the boomer spent his time golfing, at the bar, or rumor had it, philandering around town on his very nice wife. No one liked talking to the miserable creep if they didn't have some scam to sell him.
She took her place behind the counter again, thinking of the last time he'd blown in on her shift, chattering about byteminers and stable coins, all sleazy and the oozy charm of a snake oil salesman. "Nice job Val." Her manager smiled over at her, interrupting her line of thought, before punching in the newest order at the register.
"No problem, Mr. Faulkner."
"I told you to call me Isiah! After you ate that punch for me earlier, aren't we family?" Her family lived thirty minutes away and was waiting to reheat dinner for her, so no. Also, her dad warned her that family talk was just a way to squeeze more hours out of your workers. All the family and closeness in the world, and she had six minutes off her entire shift.
"Oh, it would be rude to call you by your first name, Mr. Faulkner; I'm just a kid." She handed over a drink and a tray filled with french fries. "Besides, I'm sure any of the other guys here would have helped too. They just got trapped behind the counter when everyone ran."
"Sure, sure, and I'm sure everyone else here is a ninth degree black belt." Jimmy called from the back, arms full of something he'd been trudging from the freezer.
"Well, maybe it wouldn't have been a good idea, but that didn't stop you last week, Jim."
"Val's right, you did eat that high-kick last time, Jimmy." Mr. F was now suitably distracted, a smile pulling at his lips as he remembered the small scuffle from her last big shift. "But you really did great, Val; I'd love to have you on full-time."
"You know I've got school."
"Just another reason to hate the fall, am I right?" He handed over three separate orders at once, two bags in each hand, reaching into the grasping maw of hungry customers for some sweaty money and a card to swipe.
She decided not to comment, pretending to get swept up in work, to check the clock again. Only—The power flickered for a good twenty seconds before coming back. The customers' cheers drowned out her coworkers' groans. Power outage meant the store would have to close, and there were still hours of daily special to deal with. The thrum of the electricity cycling through the circuits and lights, struggling once again to maintain power, reverberated through the store. The crowd held their breath again as the lights flickered, and fought to stay on. "One of you go check the fuse-box and see what's up."
"Maybe Mr. Larry forgot to pay the bill?" Her coworkers giggled at the comment from the crowd as Jessie, their resident electrical engineer, went to fiddle with the power. A descending whum carried through the air as the power cut out for good, and she sighed into the black interior. Maybe she'd still get paid for a whole shift even if they had to close early?
"I've got a flashlight. Don't worry! This should only take—" Jessie's commentary from the back cut off in a scream, and Valerie felt her way back towards her through the break room. "I'm ok! Just a little shock."
"Oh my God, Jess, if you got electrocuted on the job—"
"—No, really, it was just a little pop." She felt Jessie's hand whip into her chest as she waved her concerns away. "Oh, hey Val. Hold the flashlight, won't you?" She tossed it in her direction, already poking at exposed wires in what passed for a fuse-box in the store. This was some kind of OSHA code violation, or something, but Larry was cheap.
"Shouldn't you be wearing gloves?"
"The power's off; I switched off the line. And there's nothing coming from outside on account of the brownout."
"Then how'd you get popped?"
"See? I'm wondering the same thing. Maybe this is wired wrong, and it's drawing power out of the batteries of something inside." Jessie wiggled a few more wires about, checking where they connected and following one back into the wall. "I think he's got this grounded in an odd way." She stepped back to reach into the toolbox they kept there to jerryrig the power, when the entire backroom's temperature dropped a few dozen degrees in seconds. It was cold outside, but not this cold.
Yes, finally! Val knew ghost activity when it started, and so did every other Amity native at this point. "I think maybe we should—" She was cut off by a bright green glow streaking through the air overhead.
"Ah damn, ghost shenanigans. I can't fix supernatural shit." Jessie threw up her hands and then wiped them on the front of her uniform. "You should tell Isiah it's ghost shit, Val." She was already working her way back to the counter, feeling along the wall to get there, to do just that.
"Mr. Faulkner, Jessie and I just saw a ghost." She whispered to avoid spooking the crowd. The man's cursing streak touched on everything from having to redo their work schedules to reordering new food. He, at least, didn't concern himself with discretion.
"Can't ya' just, scare it off?"
"Isiah, none of us are ghost hunters. We don't even know how to do that."
"This is the third time this month. I don't wanna redo the goddamn schedules." He ducked when the ghost flew overhead to wiggle about near the ceiling, a couple screams coming from the crowd. Now that she got a chance to see it up close, it looked like some kind of eel. That couldn't be more perfect, animal types were easy to scare off and rarely fought back hard. Now, all she had to do was sneak away from work.
"We can't work in these conditions, Isiah! It's against the Anti-Ecto laws, and OSHA, and maybe even someone's religion?" Rebekah called from the back.
"I don't think anyone's religion—"
"Mine says I'm not allowed to work around the dead."
"It's a fucking eel, Jimmy! Stop being such a pussy, and go grab the broom."
"The last time I did that, I got bit!"
"I don't think eels have teeth?" Jessie spoke, leaning against the door frame leading to the break room.
"Moray eels do. They have two sets of jaws, too." Val commented, leaning away from the counter to eye the ghost. It was just wiggling around near the ceiling, swimming in lazy circles across the light panels. It didn't look aggressive. It didn't look like it was doing anything, really. She could probably scare it away with a broom.
"See! I'm not getting bit again. That's how the zombie apocalypse starts, and I'm not gonna be patient zero!"
"If you lazy, cowardly little brats don't get over here and shoo this ghost away—"
"Do it yourself!"
"I will! Valerie," he turned in her direction, face gaunt under the unearthly glow coming off the eel, "keep an eye on that thing while I go grab the broom. If it lunges at someone or something, uh, do some karate on it?" He sounded unsure about that last part, but rushed into the back of the store instead of thinking over the command again. She resolved to just observe the little ghost instead.
It made a few more lazy circles near the ceiling before wriggling slowly towards the door. Everyone watched it warily, breath fogging in the chilled interior. It passed through the front of the store a few seconds later, without any fanfare or aggression. This hunt will be too easy.
"Where'd it go?"
"It floated right through the front door."
"Oh, well, that's good." Mr. Faulkner huffed a few times, releasing his pent-up energy and lowering the mop he'd been grasping in his right hand.
"No broom?"
"Couldn't find it. I think Jimmy hid it, honestly," he grumbled, setting the mop down to peer into the calming crowd in the still dark room. He sighed before squaring his shoulders and addressing the throng of onlookers, "go home folks! Until we get power back, we can't serve anyone. Maybe try some place a few blocks over? Don't forget to report the ghost activity to the government's page. Maybe they'll send the Fentons."
"They never go after the small fry anymore." Someone near the back of the crowd of customers complained, already heading towards the door. The lobby emptied out, and the crew took a collective sigh of relief.
"Well, let's do as much cleanup as we can in the dark."
"I would, Mr. Faulkner, but my shift's over."
"Oh, come on, Valerie. You can't leave us like this."
"Kyle and Pepper just walked in." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the disgruntled-looking faces of her coworkers hovering around in the backroom.
"How come this is the only place on this block with no power?"
"Ghost shit."
"Gee, lucky us. Can't you do something about the power, Jessie?" Kyle threw his jacket over a chair and was about to punch in before remembering the power was off.
"I ain't a wizard, guys. I can't make the electricity behave normal-like if supernatural shit's causing it to be off."
"I think Larry just forgot to pay the bill."
"No, Pepper, we really did see a ghost!"
"I think you've got it handled." She walked back into the employee only part of the store to grab her backpack. "I really can't stay, Mr. Faulkner. I've got homework to do, school in the morning, and this is already the longest shift for me this week. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon." She ignored his grumbling about not having team spirit and walked off the back step of the store, gearing up to huddle against the cold. If she hurried, she could chase down that eel before Phantom caught wind of it and be home in time to watch something with her dad. She rounded the corner, away from the prying eyes of the crowd still milling about the Nasty Burger in false hope of it reopening, and called up her suit.
The tech molded over her clothes, wrapping around her hair and head, thrumming on with a familiar warmth. She at least wouldn't need a jacket with the warming function of her suit. Now, to find that eel, take out some frustration, and get back in time for Jiving with the Celebs.
A/N: And Scene! This work belongs to a brand new AU I've created. I know, I know, I can't stop myself. There's only three stories planned this time. That's so much better than uh, looks at Bittersweet Future Series current planned story count, you know...it's best not the think so much about that.
Many thanks to the mods of Ectoimplosion for creating and organizing this entire event. Without them, none of this would have been possible. Additional thanks to my beta Kuzann, who ya'll can find here: kuzann . tumblr . com for listening to me scream about this in DMs and encouraging me throughout. She has also made a wonderful fic for the event, and you can find it on her blog. Go read it!
The inspiration for this fanfic can be found here: emotigonecreative . tumblr . com
The art by the wonderful Emotigonecreative is amazing! All of it is incredible, you should follow her, no question.