Chapter 1
Chapter 1 is up!
“ZiCon, the only thing making New York not so stale.”
Die looked at Red, or Overlord as he was affectionately called, like he had three heads. He was only dragged to this thing so Red could get a few comics, a couple of cutouts, and to get some Take Out.
Well, if you consider live walking bodies Take Out, then bring on the fortune cookies. Die rubbed his forehead lightly, the other hand swinging a barely 5’1” pixie between himself and Red. They probably looked like a poster board gay adoptee couple. Of course, Overlord wasn’t really gay, and Styx, as she was named by him, wasn’t really a pixie, but she sure caused enough mischief to be considered one.
“Oooh! In-for-may-shuns!” Styx wiggled out from their grasps and ran to the booth that looked more like a cardboard cut out of something the Starfleet would drive. Styx picked up all the pamphlets she could hold and across the way to meet back with Die and Overlord. After a brief sampling of Orc Bread from a booth, they continued their walk. It was close to 10, and they had about an hour to round up some (ahem) grub to get back to the Firehouse. The Firehouse, were Styx, Die, and Overlord lived with a couple of their other roommates.
Roommates, that’s an odd thought, mused Die silently. Though he was suddenly pulled from his thought when Styx spoke.
"What's furries? Is that like a Fury?" Styx looked up from the program booklet while the trio walked along the artificially lit level of the con.
"Much worse, Styx. Instead of angry dead, they are angry alive people who dress up like animals." Die tried not to grit his teeth as he spoke, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Hey, you got admit, that yiff-shit is a great fuck.", beamed Overlord.
"I'll start calling you Gaylord again." Die glared, his tone threatening even with the ridiculous statement. Overlord couldn’t be bothered, since some scantily clad Klingon women passed by them, making him bite the edge of his fist in glee. Die rolled his eyes and took Styx’s hand.
“Let’s go find the parties, Styx. We’ll actually be responsible adults and get the chillins’ some food, while Overlord humps something.”
Styx had her mouth in an ‘o’ shape while she watched Overlord over her shoulder. “That’s naughty, right?”
“Yes. Very. Naughty vampires don’t get video games.” Die mentally wished that cookies placated her, but since the invention of Xbox and Playstation, that dream was squashed. Styx was anything virginal, since they found her locked in a basement with no recollection of her past, so the gang just assumed Styx must have done it at some point before Die and Overlord’s father, Red Senior, found her. However, Die didn’t encourage her to seek sex out. It was like giving his own flesh and blood a Hustler at the age of 12 and saying “Have at it.”
Die shook his mind from his thoughts, his headache was terrible. That’s probably why I’m thinking so damn much, Die mentally grumbled. They passed an overweight Spiderman handing out fliers, which Styx quickly snatched and inspected closely.
“Hey!” Styx forced Die to a halt, and held the pink paper to him. “Party! They got nomnoms there, right?” Styx was smiling so big, her fangs were showing. Die quickly pat her on top of her lumberjack hat covered head and nodded.
“Plenty of uh, nomnoms, Styx. Let’s go. Overlord can pick up some here while he shops.” Die looked the flyer over; the party was hosted at the Hilton that housed some of the wealthier geeks attending the Con.
Styx let out a squeal and pulled her hat down by the earflaps so they covered her eyes and made a dash towards the spinning doors.
This is the most fun she probably has had since they moved, thought Die somewhat sadly. Sure, he was a little distant, but that shouldn’t stop Styx from going out. Wait, he thought, the police are probably why she doesn’t get out that often.
Die sighed, and quickly caught up with Styx. She always needed a chaperone, or she probably would have gotten locked up. Or put in the Looney Bin, Die mused with a smirk.
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The Hilton smelled like expensive candles and oranges which were the fruit bowl on display. Styx was teething on one of the oranges, puncture holes perfect as she made exaggerated noises. The woman at the desk looked at Styx like she had three heads, but Die quickly shoved the flier to her line of sight.
“Oh, you’re from the convention,” breathed the woman, Lisa, since that was her nametag, “I thought she had real fangs. Really nice caps, did her orthodontist do them?”
While Die commended Lisa for making small talk, he wasn’t a people enough person to continue. He slid the flier across the desk, “Which way is room 207?”
Lisa blinked for a moment before picking up that mindless chatter wasn’t going to work. She breezily pointed to the elevator and explained it was down the left, closest to the end.
“You don’t look like a Con person, you know.” Lisa eyed Die up and down. It probably was because unlike Overlord and Styx, he didn’t look like he came out of a dumpster filled with Salvation Army and Hot Topic clothes. A pair of grey jeans with a rip along one knee, and a black button up with some nice fauxleather boots was what he typically wore out on the town. Die looked himself over and motioned to Styx who was bouncing on the balls of her feet in front of the elevator.
“I do it for my sister.” Die gave a polite, close lipped smile and met Styx at the elevator and pushed the down button.
“Aww, no fun. I was trying to wish it down.” Styx looked up at Die, who dwarfed her at six foot even.
“Wish it down?” Die raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah! Like ‘dis.” Styx shut her eyes tightly, and gave a slight squat. It looked more like she was a toddler who was constipated, but the elevator dinged and the doors opened.
“See! It works!” Styx regained her rather loose composure and stepped in, followed by Die.
“Yeah, it sure does, doll.” Die shook his head and hit the second floor button.
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Angela sighed as she thought; this was outright boring. It wasn’t like her to actually be in a crowded two connected suite in a strange hotel that not even a year’s salary could she spend a night in. A person dressed in a full fledged Tony the Tiger suit walked past her, saying a muffled excuse me as he brushed against her knees. Angela gave a light grunt and tried to bury herself deeper into the corner of the loveseat, this was disgusting. She could vaguely see above the cigarette smoke, and hopefully that was the only kind of smoke. There was a group playing D&D in the corner, a group huddled around a Hobbit and Lestat battling it on Guitar Hero, and another furry couple dryhumping near the minibar.
This was not how Angela expected to spend her once in a lifetime vacation in New York with her best friend Leon. Leon begged her to come, so he wouldn’t be lonely, and insisted they dressed up. Leon appropriately dressed up like Squall from Final Fantasy, though there was an even better dressed up Squall in the same building across the hall at another party.
“I’m sorry I don’t exactly have the budget to rip my paycheck on a sword.”, drawled Leon, when he spotted the “Other Squall” earlier.
Where the hell was Leon, anyway? Angela opted for a red and black renaissance dress, her dark brown hair pulled high into what she could best replicate on short supply. She was supposed to be a countess, but she hardly felt royal amongst the current subjects.
Above the mind numbing music, she heard the door open and turned her head. Tony the Tiger greeted a new pair of guests, though she could only see the tiny girl. Tony was blocking the view of the other stranger, and the girl seemed to jump right past him to the TV set to watch the Guitar Hero showdown. When the tall stranger moved past Tony while casting him a disgusted face, Angela could finally get a look.
Immediately, her neck stiffened and she sat a little straighter. The first thing she noticed was his hair; it was short, but long along the sides in front of his ears but they definitely weren’t sideburns. It was slicked with some sort of product, haphazard and in devilish disarray. He had a slight scar at the corner of one his eyebrows, which were equally dark like his hair. The planes of his face were smooth, and while they were cut they weren’t aquiline in anyway. Angela took a moment to breath. When in the hell did she start thinking about words like aquiline, she thought to herself? Probably when a girl in a feathered getup tried to slink her arm around the stranger’s, who was too busy watching the girl he came with to be bothered.
He was hot, she thought. Not in a Calvin Klein way, either, he was just casual looking to be honest. However, he stuck out like a diamond in the rough compared to the current company she was in. He wasn’t dressed up, and it looked like he could care less really. After the stranger moved away from the feather-girl, whom he obviously offended with some biting remark by the looks on their faces, he was moving towards the loveseat.
Oh my God, she thought, he's coming here!