Mar 08, 2010 02:37
“So, what now?” Cook asks. They’re all standing around the abandoned warehouse and looking at some guy who’s dressed as the ghost of Clay Aiken, unable to move because he’s tied up in Christmas lights and Mardi Gras beads. The warehouse is cold, too, because of the draft and also there’s a fan still running, one that the ghost used to propel himself forward as he hung in the air from ropes.
“Maybe, um,” Archie says. “Maybe um, take off his mask?”
“Maybe shut the fucking fan off,” Neal says. “It’s cold as shit in here.” He’s wearing a denim jacket but it’s not doing anything, not really.
“Hey,” Andy says, and he smacks Neal in the arm. “Watch your fucking language, there’s fucking kids around.” He jerks his head over at Archie.
“Oh, it’s okay,” Archie says. “I mean, it’s not okay, because you really just shouldn’t curse, but it’s not like I haven’t heard those words before.”
Mr. Sixx barks and Kyle pets his head.
“Yeah!” Cook says. “I agree with Sixx-you guys should probably wash your mouths out with soap or something when we get home. Do some crossword puzzles; get a bigger vocabulary and then you won’t have to cuss.”
“If you don’t cease and desist your blathering,” Andy says, “we’ll almost certainly be forced to take drastic measures.”
“Including, but not limited to, propelling our fists into your face at a high velocity,” Neal finishes. “How’s that for a vocabulary, motherfucker?”
Cook looks affronted. “I’ll show you motherfucker, you motherfucker!” and then Cook lunges forward and tackles Neal. They’re scrambling around on the floor and everyone else is just watching.
“Oh my heck,” Archie says. “I hate how everything always, um, ends like this? You know? Love not hate, haha.”
“Yeah,” Andy says.
“Yeah,” Kyle says. Andy’s face jerks up from the wrestling match on the floor as he looks over to Kyle.
“Oh, Kyle,” he says. “I didn’t realize you were even here. How nice of you to join us.”
Kyle says, “Shut it, I’ve been here the entire time.”
“Well, I didn’t know,” Andy says. He knew; he’s just being an asshole. “Next time maybe announce your presence or something.”
“I didn’t realize I had to,” Kyle says. “Quit being an asshole.”
“Who’s being an asshole?”
“You’re being an asshole, asshole.”
“Um, guys?” Archie says. “Maybe we can stop arguing and deal with this fake, um, ghost guy?”
No one answers him, so Archie just reaches over and removes of the mask himself.
“Turns out,” he says to himself, “the ghost is really-Simon Cowell, the gardener!?”
“I’d have gotten away with it, too,” Simon says, “if it weren’t for your group of dysfunctional sleuths and your mangy dog!”
Sixx barks.
“Hey!” Archie says. “Mr. Sixx isn’t mangy! And we’re not dysfunctional, either!” Archie looks over at his friends, all of whom are fighting. “Oh,” he says. “Maybe we, um, are? I don’t know.” But then none of them are even paying any attention to him, so he feels it’s okay to just say to Simon, “Listen, so, I don’t really think you’re all that, um, bad? And maybe you just did this for the attention? So if you promise to not do it again, I’ll let you go.”
Simon just rolls his eyes, and Archie considers that an agreement.
fic,
fandom: anthemic,
genre: crack,
genre: gen,
fandom: ai7