Before we go any further, who the hell orders pizza under the name of “Torchwood”?
Saw Borat this weekend. T'was very niiiice. High five!
Nano is going to get me taken to Guantanamo under the Patriot Act, I swear to God. I spent half the afternoon researching bioterror and the history of biochemical warfare (not on like, crazy people websites, more like the PBS NOVA website and Wikipedia). Then I called the members of my family who work in law enforcement and inquired about what their department's responses would be if there were a biological threat. So, if I go missing, that's probably why.
I think Zombie Nation would be a really funny title for my Nano story (mostly because Queer as Thinly Veiled Political and Social Statements sounded way too wordy), but then I realized that it's not just a play on the idea of Lesbian Nation plus zombies, it's also a band. Lame. And they made that song they play at basketball games: na-na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na-na, na-na...shut up. I know I'm crazy . Don't make me upload the song. =P
Word count: 2009
Total to date: 6002
Oh, and before any of you even read: I know. I KNOW. Don't hurt me. I swear on the ugly naked guy painting that it'll be okay.
One man losing the majority of his penis and another man spitting out the aforementioned penis on the floor of the VIP lounge were not quite enough to interrupt the rhythm of the Friday night crowd at Babylon. It was Friday, after all, so the thumpa-thumpa most certainly went on. The club appeared to have actually filled up a bit more since the attack, but that was probably more due to the fact that the backroom had been cleared out and shut down to create a makeshift first aid center for the victim until the paramedics arrived. Blue-balled and mostly intoxicated, the frustrated former denizens of the backroom took their act to the dance floor because honestly, what else were they supposed to do?
As the de facto head managerial-type person in charge of Babylon, Ted was the first one (aside from witnesses and security, that is) to see the damage done. Wondering what exactly he’d done to gain Brian’s trust-or intense hatred-to the point where this was listed among his responsibilities, he followed Ryan into the backroom. Ted hoped against hope that his grisly expectations would let him down. They didn’t.
Two bouncers sat on the floor with the victim, who seemed to have collapsed in roughly the same location where he’d been attacked. They were speaking softly to him, trying to keep him from passing out (which, from the looks of his by then unnaturally pale and clammy skin, was a distinct possibility). There was a striking lack of blood, which was more than a little surprising; however, the twisted look on the man’s face-the kind that accompanies severe pain-made it abundantly clear to Ted that fast clotting does not equal lesser amounts of agony.
“Hey Todd,” said Ted, trying to sound conversational. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How’s it going?”
Todd moaned in reply.
Ted winced and directed his attention to Ryan. “How long did the paramedics say they’d be, again?”
“They said they’d be here as soon as they could, but something’s got to be going on somewhere else in town because they put me on hold three times when I called the first time and now...” he pulled out his phone from his back pocket and dialed 911 with the speakerphone on. “Yeah, now it’s completely busy.”
Ted sighed. “Okay. Well, what about the guy upstairs? Are the police here yet?”
Ryan shook his head. “Same situation. We don’t have an ETA.”
“Great. Um, let’s do this, then: you keep an eye on the backroom and the VIP lounge, and I’ll stay on the floor and wait for emergency personnel. First responders. Whatever. And if the paramedics aren’t here in five minutes, get someone to take Todd to the hospital. I’d rather wait for the professionals, but we really don’t have much choice here.” Ted felt very official giving orders, but he still felt that his delivery of the lines wasn’t quite commanding enough. He’d have to work on that if Brian remained MIA, though he really didn’t want to.
Ryan nodded and began to head upstairs. Ted wandered back over to the bar, attempting to call Brian for the fifth time. When he heard the beginning of Brian’s voicemail message for the fifth time, he snapped his phone shut with as much drama as he could muster. “Why do these things happen while I’m in charge?” he groaned, setting the phone down on the bar. “It’s enough to drive a man to drink.”
“Don’t do that,” Michael said. Michael was pretty drunk, and Ben put a protective arm around him to make sure he didn’t fall off his barstool.
“Is it really surprising that he’s not picking up, sweetie?” Emmett said, sipping on something that Ted guessed would probably glow under black light. “After all, if he’s in New York…”
“Well, all I have to say is the sex had better be worth it,” Ted mumbled, “because I don’t want to deal with this anymore. I’m an accountant, not the head of FEMA.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you’re probably at least as qualified, if not more qualified than the last head of FEMA,” Ben said with a sympathetic smile.
Ted rolled his eyes.
***
Brian knew that this talk was coming, he fucking knew before he left the loft earlier that afternoon. Hell, he’d known months ago that it was coming, and why hadn’t he planned this fucking trip for earlier? At the time the excuses had included meetings and deadlines and finding new and important reasons to threaten Ted’s sense of job security…all more than legitimate, Brian decided. So maybe he hadn’t put it off so much as…no, no, he’d definitely put it off for as long as possible, and this was the breaking point.
Resorting to what had developed into something of a habit only recently in his life, Brian opened his mouth and words came out, words that were completely unfiltered and free of jaded cynicism. Realism, yes; cynicism, no. He wasn’t sure where it all came from, but once he started he usually couldn’t stop it, and this would be no exception.
“Look, you’re scared. The status quo is not working. I get it.” Brian shrugged. “I’m fucking terrified, but that’s no reason to give up before it’s over. I don’t think it’s over.” He paused, but didn’t break eye contact. “Do you?”
Brian saw some emotion that looked suspiciously like hope flicker across Justin’s face. “No. It’s never over,” he said, a slow smile pulling at his lips. The anxiety was still there-Brian wasn’t naïve by any means and he knew at least that much-but it was somewhat diminished, and it was a start.
“And you know I love you, even when you’re being a shit.”
Justin’s smile got wider. “Yeah.” He paused, momentarily breaking eye contact to glance over Brian’s left shoulder. “I hate to bring up practicalities, but how exactly are we planning to change the status quo?”
Brian smirked. He had come prepared with some semblance of a plan, thank you very fucking much. It was time for the sell. “Contingent on your approval, I would think that my being here more often might help. There’d be more to talk about and you’d definitely be getting laid more often, which would leave you less tense than have been as of late. And, frankly,” he motioned at their surroundings, “I want to be here. Also, if you were to receive a round-trip ticket to Pittsburgh once a month, it might help if you didn’t bitch about it too much.” Noticing Justin’s obvious amusement and happiness, Brian allowed himself to look the tiniest bit smug. “The second one is merely a hypothetical, of course.”
Justin laughed. “Of course. Completely hypothetical.”
The waitress arrived once more, setting the bottle of sparkling water on the table between them. Brian stood and went over to Justin’s side of the table, leaning down into the crook of his neck and whispering, “Now if you were to hypothetically…” He lowered his voice so that only Justin could hear the rest.
Justin feigned coughing in order to suppress a fit of the horny giggles (and oh yes, they were the horny giggles, very masculine, very horny giggles). “Can we get the check, please?”
***
It was twenty minutes before Ted realized he’d asked that someone take Todd to the hospital after five. He excused himself from the group and headed over to the backroom to see if anyone had actually taken him. What he saw there horrified him.
The two bouncers he’d left with Todd-Nate and Dave, the poor guys-were all over the place, literally, in pieces. They’d been savagely ripped apart, their bodies mutilated, and there were still-wet chunks of flesh ground into the walls. Ted had no idea what could have possibly caused that kind of damage except for…
…Todd, who was then standing by the far wall of the backroom. He took sight of Ted, and they stared at each other for several long seconds. There was actually a moment when all the sounds of the club dropped away, the only reminder of the music being the throbbing pulse of the bass line at his feet. Later, Ted would describe the moment as having happened in slow motion. Slowly, Todd cocked his head to the side, opened his mouth way past the point where a normal man’s jaw would have broken, and let out a roar that could only be classified as not human.
Ted turned and swiftly ran out of the backroom, grabbing at the seldom-used door and slamming it shut. As he desperately fumbled with the lock he heard several people bemoan the fact that “The Man had shut down the backroom again”, and he didn’t bother to correct them. If they wanted in that badly, then okay, they could break the lock and go play in there with Todd. Ted just wasn’t about to be held responsible for it.
“Ted!” a drunken voice called to him. Ted didn’t know it was possible for his first name to have seven syllables.
The drunken voice belonged to Michael, who’d apparently wandered away from his infinitely more sober partner. He slung an arm around Ted’s shoulder, not noticing that Ted was practically hyperventilating.
“Hi, Teddy! Hey, isn’t that the guy?” he said, although it sounded more like “Hiiiiiiiii Teddy, heeeeyissssssssssnthaaathe guy?”
Ted tried to catch his breath. “C’mon, Michael, let’s go find Ben…”
Michael’s eyes got wide. “Noooo, that’s the guy! In the red shirt!”
He pointed up to the second floor catwalk, where Ryan (who was, indeed, wearing a red t-shirt) was lumbering around with several notably large chunks missing from his torso. They both watched as Ryan grabbed some spiky-haired 20-something and attempted to take a large bite out of his shoulder. The kid dodged him and, by then duly freaked out, shoved Ryan away, making him lose his balance. Ryan staggered backwards and flipped over the side of catwalk, plunging down to the dance floor with a sickening crack that Ted could hear from halfway across the room. The DJ turned off the music and for the first time that entire night, you could hear a pin drop in Babylon.
“Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker,” said Michael, breaking the silence.
“We’re getting out of here,” said Ted.
***
Brian and Justin were way too busy making out to notice how sickly their cabbie looked, much less the fact that he had puss oozing from a hastily bandaged wound on his right wrist. Of course, it’s not as if he were paying to much attention to them, either: he was busy having quite the lively conversation in rapid Arabic on his Bluetooth. When they started-for all intents and purposes, at least-fucking each other with words and imagery, the cabbie just turned up the radio.
“…there are indications that a Class A biological agent has been released into…”
“…you are such a fucking slut…”
“…fire and police departments nationwide are working together…”
“…oh, fuck, yes…”
“…will not confirm or deny the role of bioterrorism in this…”
No, they didn’t notice any of it until the cabbie almost swerved off the road.
“What the fuck?” Brian shouted, looking to the front of the cab for the first time since they’d gotten in it.
“I am very sorry…” the cabbie’s voice trailed off and he spaced out, swerving the cab again. Several other cars honked in their direction. The cabbie, dazed, regained control of the cab and murmured something in what had to be a mix of Arabic, English and a few random words that made absolutely no sense.
Brian smacked the back of the driver’s seat. “Pull the fuck over. Pull the fuck over right now.”
“Brian?” Justin said.
“Pull over!” They were speeding up.
“Brian.”
He turned to Justin. “What?”
“Seatbelt.”
Half a second later they veered through and across traffic, spinning out and crashing into the Washington Square Arch.