Badfic Challenge by Mousewrites
Title: Hello mudder, hello fater
Wordcount: 852
Prompt:Camp's only been in session for a week and it's already turned into the long summer ever, for the newest senior counselor at Camp Windy Lake, Ray Kowalski. His girlfriend, Stella, who dragged him into this gig in the first place, has told him that she thinks they ought to see other people. The only people who seem to like him at all are the weird Canadian kid, Ben Fraser, and the even weirder Ren Turnbull and Frannie Vecchio. He's gotten into an inter-cabin war with Frannie's older brother over which of them should have the right to the name Ray. And scary senior counselor Victiria Metcalfe and head counselor Meg Thatcher both seem to be gunning for him. And that's not even counting arts-and-crafts and nature hikes and group sing-a-longs. What's a boy who's never been more than an hour fron Chicago before in his life to do? for kinetikatrue
Notes: Well, i'm late... but they didn't close it, yet, right? And... well, I had more plot, but I decided that this would be enough. I hope.
The ball caught him square in the head, slamming his open mouth into his Styrofoam coffee cup, which, of course, collapsed and sent lukewarm coffee all over his last clean pair of jeans. He sat there, coffee dripping off his nose, a piece of Styrofoam between his teeth, and waited. Ten seconds, fifteen…
“Heads!” someone called, and he twitched.
Best. Summer. Ever.
That’s what Stella had said. That, and “Do it for me?” and “We’ll be out there, in the woods… you’ll have to protect me. You want to protect me, right?” and what’s a guy to do? He chewed the Styrofoam, breaking it down into little squidgy bits.
She had broken up with him before they had even gotten off the bus.
“Senior Councilor Kowalski, may I be of assistance?”
He shut his eyes for a moment. Great. Just perfect.
“Senior Councilor Kowalski, are you injured?”
“Naw, if he’s hurt he’d be crying. Wouldn’t you, SC Cow-ass-key?”
He cracked an eye, glaring at the second voice. Raymond Vecchio, smart ass of cabin 23, slouching against a picnic table in his thirty dollar jeans and flannel shirt so new it still had hanger marks on it. Beside him sat his oversexed and underaged little sister, Frannie, primly reapplying her Bonnie Bell lip-gloss. He wondered where the rest of her cabin was. Wasn’t anybody watching these kids?
Oh wait, that was his job.
A hand appeared under his nose, holding a pristine white handkerchief.
And that completed their trio. Ben Fraser, too serious, too kind… too strange to be real.
Who the hell had perfect white hankies seven days into summer camp? If Ray didn’t know better, he’d have said that Ben must’ve brought a whole suitcase of the things with him… but he knew damn well that all Ben brought with him was one duffle bag and a small backpack. He didn’t even have a sleeping bag, just a blanket. Unlike Vecchio, who brought three suitcases and a special cot for ‘his debilitating back problems.’
He sighed and took the hanky, wiping his face.
“Thanks,” he tried to say, but he still had Styrofoam in his teeth, and he had to turn to spit it out.
“OH MY GOD!” Frannie yelled, “Did you just spit out teeth! He did! That’s SO gross!”
“SC Kowalski, you are injured! Please, let me see,” and Ben suddenly vaulted up onto the table, trying to look into Ray’s mouth with a penlight he produced from nowhere. In the background he could hear Vecchio crowing about ‘the not-cool-enough-to-be-a-Ray’ Ray being a toothless crybaby.
He batted Ben’s hands away. “I’m fine, I’m fine, leave off, will ya?” he snapped, and then felt terrible when Ben’s twelve year old face crumpled. “Hey, I’m sorry, don’t-”
And that was as far as he got, because just then there was a horrific yell, and all four of them looked up to see Ren Turnbull, also of cabin 23, swing though the picnic area on a climbing rope, yelling at the top of his lungs about bees and owl pellets. Mud spattered them from the large lump Ren was clutching. The noise faded as he swung out of the clearing, but they could hear the splash as he landed in the lake.
They all were silent for a long moment.
“Ew, he got mud on my dress,” Frannie whined, and Vecchio rolled his eyes.
“Yes, because camp is about looking your best.”
“Shut up, you got hit too, you big weenie.” She punched him in the arm.
“I did? That little shi-”
“Ahem!”
Ray let his head hit the table. This was all he needed.
“Camper Vecchio, language please! SC Kowalski, may I see you for a moment?”
Ray pulled himself up, brushing the last of the cold coffee off his pants. Head Councilor Meg Thatcher stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Behind her, he could see that vindictive little bitch Victoria Metcalfe smirking.
“See you later, kids. I’ll be back later…” he looked at Thatcher, who seemed to be glaring harder at him now that she could see the state of his bright yellow ‘Windy Lake Summer Camp; where the wind of learning always BLOWS’ shirt. “…maybe.”
He started up the path after Thatcher, but looked back as he got to the top of the hill.
Ben was helping brush mud off of a soaking wet Ren Turnbull, who seemed to be excitedly talking about the dietary habits of night birds. Even from here, Ray could see the bee-stings all over his face and hands. Frannie was picking out more lip-gloss, and had the rest of her Bonnie bell makeup spread out on the table, where a few other girls were perusing the selection. She had a nice side business going.
And Vecchio was standing on the table, unbuttoning his flannel. Ray paused.
Vecchio pulled his flannel open, showing his defaced bright yellow camp shirt, which now proudly proclaimed “Windy Lake Summer Camp BLOWS.”
He grinned and shot a thumbs up to the kids, and turned to deal with Thatcher.
Yeah, the summer was gonna be great.
Wordcount: 852
Prompt:Camp's only been in session for a week and it's already turned into the long summer ever, for the newest senior counselor at Camp Windy Lake, Ray Kowalski. His girlfriend, Stella, who dragged him into this gig in the first place, has told him that she thinks they ought to see other people. The only people who seem to like him at all are the weird Canadian kid, Ben Fraser, and the even weirder Ren Turnbull and Frannie Vecchio. He's gotten into an inter-cabin war with Frannie's older brother over which of them should have the right to the name Ray. And scary senior counselor Victiria Metcalfe and head counselor Meg Thatcher both seem to be gunning for him. And that's not even counting arts-and-crafts and nature hikes and group sing-a-longs. What's a boy who's never been more than an hour fron Chicago before in his life to do? for kinetikatrue
Notes: Well, i'm late... but they didn't close it, yet, right? And... well, I had more plot, but I decided that this would be enough. I hope.
The ball caught him square in the head, slamming his open mouth into his Styrofoam coffee cup, which, of course, collapsed and sent lukewarm coffee all over his last clean pair of jeans. He sat there, coffee dripping off his nose, a piece of Styrofoam between his teeth, and waited. Ten seconds, fifteen…
“Heads!” someone called, and he twitched.
Best. Summer. Ever.
That’s what Stella had said. That, and “Do it for me?” and “We’ll be out there, in the woods… you’ll have to protect me. You want to protect me, right?” and what’s a guy to do? He chewed the Styrofoam, breaking it down into little squidgy bits.
She had broken up with him before they had even gotten off the bus.
“Senior Councilor Kowalski, may I be of assistance?”
He shut his eyes for a moment. Great. Just perfect.
“Senior Councilor Kowalski, are you injured?”
“Naw, if he’s hurt he’d be crying. Wouldn’t you, SC Cow-ass-key?”
He cracked an eye, glaring at the second voice. Raymond Vecchio, smart ass of cabin 23, slouching against a picnic table in his thirty dollar jeans and flannel shirt so new it still had hanger marks on it. Beside him sat his oversexed and underaged little sister, Frannie, primly reapplying her Bonnie Bell lip-gloss. He wondered where the rest of her cabin was. Wasn’t anybody watching these kids?
Oh wait, that was his job.
A hand appeared under his nose, holding a pristine white handkerchief.
And that completed their trio. Ben Fraser, too serious, too kind… too strange to be real.
Who the hell had perfect white hankies seven days into summer camp? If Ray didn’t know better, he’d have said that Ben must’ve brought a whole suitcase of the things with him… but he knew damn well that all Ben brought with him was one duffle bag and a small backpack. He didn’t even have a sleeping bag, just a blanket. Unlike Vecchio, who brought three suitcases and a special cot for ‘his debilitating back problems.’
He sighed and took the hanky, wiping his face.
“Thanks,” he tried to say, but he still had Styrofoam in his teeth, and he had to turn to spit it out.
“OH MY GOD!” Frannie yelled, “Did you just spit out teeth! He did! That’s SO gross!”
“SC Kowalski, you are injured! Please, let me see,” and Ben suddenly vaulted up onto the table, trying to look into Ray’s mouth with a penlight he produced from nowhere. In the background he could hear Vecchio crowing about ‘the not-cool-enough-to-be-a-Ray’ Ray being a toothless crybaby.
He batted Ben’s hands away. “I’m fine, I’m fine, leave off, will ya?” he snapped, and then felt terrible when Ben’s twelve year old face crumpled. “Hey, I’m sorry, don’t-”
And that was as far as he got, because just then there was a horrific yell, and all four of them looked up to see Ren Turnbull, also of cabin 23, swing though the picnic area on a climbing rope, yelling at the top of his lungs about bees and owl pellets. Mud spattered them from the large lump Ren was clutching. The noise faded as he swung out of the clearing, but they could hear the splash as he landed in the lake.
They all were silent for a long moment.
“Ew, he got mud on my dress,” Frannie whined, and Vecchio rolled his eyes.
“Yes, because camp is about looking your best.”
“Shut up, you got hit too, you big weenie.” She punched him in the arm.
“I did? That little shi-”
“Ahem!”
Ray let his head hit the table. This was all he needed.
“Camper Vecchio, language please! SC Kowalski, may I see you for a moment?”
Ray pulled himself up, brushing the last of the cold coffee off his pants. Head Councilor Meg Thatcher stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Behind her, he could see that vindictive little bitch Victoria Metcalfe smirking.
“See you later, kids. I’ll be back later…” he looked at Thatcher, who seemed to be glaring harder at him now that she could see the state of his bright yellow ‘Windy Lake Summer Camp; where the wind of learning always BLOWS’ shirt. “…maybe.”
He started up the path after Thatcher, but looked back as he got to the top of the hill.
Ben was helping brush mud off of a soaking wet Ren Turnbull, who seemed to be excitedly talking about the dietary habits of night birds. Even from here, Ray could see the bee-stings all over his face and hands. Frannie was picking out more lip-gloss, and had the rest of her Bonnie bell makeup spread out on the table, where a few other girls were perusing the selection. She had a nice side business going.
And Vecchio was standing on the table, unbuttoning his flannel. Ray paused.
Vecchio pulled his flannel open, showing his defaced bright yellow camp shirt, which now proudly proclaimed “Windy Lake Summer Camp BLOWS.”
He grinned and shot a thumbs up to the kids, and turned to deal with Thatcher.
Yeah, the summer was gonna be great.