(no subject)
“Now, if you are finally ready, it is time to start thinking about the job at hand.” Blue stated. “We only have a few days to save the world, and procrastination is not an option.”
“I have never procrastinated a day in my life.” Kathy pronounced over her coffee.
“ENOUGH with the sarcasm! I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. End Of World.”
“So when do we meet your friend, the diabolical mastermind?” Becca asked, getting curious.
Blue turned towards Becca. “Tonight. Like all evil villains, he likes to boast about his scheming. He’ll probably be at the local goth bar, buying all interested drinks to toast his up and coming victory.”
“Sounds like a real loser, if you ask me.” Kathy muttered.
“No one asked you.” Blue shot out, barely turning his head to acknowledge her existence.
Becca, ever protective of her friends, gave a warning growl. Then her mind turned to more pragmatic matters. “We stink. Our clothes look like we just crawled through a swamp…because we have. Nobody is going to let us in anywhere. We need our stuff.”
“Your car is in the possession of some pretty powerful enemies at the moment. Use my shower, and we’ll go to Wal-Mart.”
“No. Take us to Hot Topic.”
“I’m not made of money, you know.”
Becca gave another warning growl.
“Fine, but hurry up.” Blue conceded.
Three hours later, clean and outfitted in Dock Martens, black jeans, lacy blouses, and trench coats (no, you may NOT buy plastic fangs!), the slayers were ready to get down to business. Blue, who surprisingly drove a 10-year-old, blue Chevy truck, dropped them off a few blocks from the bar with the promise of picking them up at the same spot at 2 in the morning. They were on their own.
The front of the bar had a purple, neon sign with the words “The Night Life” sporadically blinking over the plain black door. There were no bouncers. There were no people. Admittedly, it was only 9 o’clock at night, but this place looked closed. Becca tried the door, and it creaked open. Exchanging glances of foreboding, they stepped inside.
Rob Zombie was playing much too softly over the speakers. There was one single bar and a couple of seedy looking, black-leather couch out coves. The ten by ten wooden dance floor in the far corner was dark and looked like it had been thrown there as an afterthought and never used.
A man with a long face sporting a scrappy 5 o’clock shadow stood miserably behind the bar. They approached him. After all, he was the only one there.
Five minutes later, they were sitting in one of the couch circles near the front of the room; Becca with a soda, and Kathy with a beer.
Thirty minutes later, Kathy went to get another beer.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, Becca went to get some more ice to play with. Kathy had to pee.
Two hours and twenty minutes total had passed, and nothing had happened. Becca had thoroughly chewed all her nails to stubs and Kathy was working on her second geometric design on the black leather with a black sharpie. Then the door opened.
A posse of black clad, giggling females in their mid-twenties bustled through the door, followed by their bored-looking, make-up wearing, male escorts. The bar started to spring to life. The bartender, upon request, cranked up some Rammstein, and people started to filter in, slowly but surely.
One large man stepped inside and swished his lame cape dramatically off his muscular shoulder. He was dressed as Dracula might have if he seceded to his Hollywood image. He sat down at the bar. This could be the one. Hell, it could have been anyone, but the incredibly bored slayers decided to approach this one, just for kicks.
Becca took the seat next to him and Kathy stood slightly behind her. They kept their position in silence, only fidgeting slightly. The man next to them consumed his whiskey in self-important silence. This had gone on long enough.
“Planning on taking over the world any time soon?” Kathy asked, bluntly.
The man ignored them.
Becca decided on a more tactical approach. “Excuse me, but do you have a minute?”
The man turned slowly towards her. “Vat do you vant?” He asked in long, drawn out syllables.
Kathy rolled her eyes, and turned to ask the bartender for another drink. She turned too sharply and bumped into a guy beside her, sloshing his drink over his (shockingly) normal jeans.
“I’m terribly sorry.” He apologized.
“My fault,” she muttered, shyly. He had really pretty green eyes. “I’ll get you some napkins.”
“I’m not made of salt. I’ll dry.” There was a slight pause as the hot guy looked at Kathy, and Kathy looked at her shoes.
“What are you having?” he asked.
“Nothing. I mean beer. I mean…I don’t know.”
He laughed and ordered two gin and tonics. He handed her one.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m having a rather fascinating week and, well, I just want to share. Do you know what I mean?”
Kathy said something along the lines that she had no idea what he was talking about.
Hot guy laughed some more. “Tell you what. Why don’t you and your friend stop talking to Bob, the neighborhood schitzo (he was Santa Clause last week, by the way), and join me and my friends. I feel like I have the power to change the world, you know. Time’s a-wasting. Let’s talk about how we can make this dull world of ours a better place.” He winked and then moved to join a small group of gorgeous philosophers who were sitting in the back.
Kathy watched him walk away. She noticed Becca after the third punch on her shoulder.
“Did that evangelist just say what I thought he said?” Becca asked, all ears alert.
“He winked at me.” Kathy stated the obvious.
“I think we found our villain!” Becca said excitedly.
“As I vas saying….”
“Yeah, yeah. Good luck with that parole thing.” Becca said. She grabbed hold of Kathy’s arm and began to drag the smitten slayer towards the well-dressed, smooth-talking fiend of the night.
“I have never procrastinated a day in my life.” Kathy pronounced over her coffee.
“ENOUGH with the sarcasm! I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. End Of World.”
“So when do we meet your friend, the diabolical mastermind?” Becca asked, getting curious.
Blue turned towards Becca. “Tonight. Like all evil villains, he likes to boast about his scheming. He’ll probably be at the local goth bar, buying all interested drinks to toast his up and coming victory.”
“Sounds like a real loser, if you ask me.” Kathy muttered.
“No one asked you.” Blue shot out, barely turning his head to acknowledge her existence.
Becca, ever protective of her friends, gave a warning growl. Then her mind turned to more pragmatic matters. “We stink. Our clothes look like we just crawled through a swamp…because we have. Nobody is going to let us in anywhere. We need our stuff.”
“Your car is in the possession of some pretty powerful enemies at the moment. Use my shower, and we’ll go to Wal-Mart.”
“No. Take us to Hot Topic.”
“I’m not made of money, you know.”
Becca gave another warning growl.
“Fine, but hurry up.” Blue conceded.
Three hours later, clean and outfitted in Dock Martens, black jeans, lacy blouses, and trench coats (no, you may NOT buy plastic fangs!), the slayers were ready to get down to business. Blue, who surprisingly drove a 10-year-old, blue Chevy truck, dropped them off a few blocks from the bar with the promise of picking them up at the same spot at 2 in the morning. They were on their own.
The front of the bar had a purple, neon sign with the words “The Night Life” sporadically blinking over the plain black door. There were no bouncers. There were no people. Admittedly, it was only 9 o’clock at night, but this place looked closed. Becca tried the door, and it creaked open. Exchanging glances of foreboding, they stepped inside.
Rob Zombie was playing much too softly over the speakers. There was one single bar and a couple of seedy looking, black-leather couch out coves. The ten by ten wooden dance floor in the far corner was dark and looked like it had been thrown there as an afterthought and never used.
A man with a long face sporting a scrappy 5 o’clock shadow stood miserably behind the bar. They approached him. After all, he was the only one there.
Five minutes later, they were sitting in one of the couch circles near the front of the room; Becca with a soda, and Kathy with a beer.
Thirty minutes later, Kathy went to get another beer.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, Becca went to get some more ice to play with. Kathy had to pee.
Two hours and twenty minutes total had passed, and nothing had happened. Becca had thoroughly chewed all her nails to stubs and Kathy was working on her second geometric design on the black leather with a black sharpie. Then the door opened.
A posse of black clad, giggling females in their mid-twenties bustled through the door, followed by their bored-looking, make-up wearing, male escorts. The bar started to spring to life. The bartender, upon request, cranked up some Rammstein, and people started to filter in, slowly but surely.
One large man stepped inside and swished his lame cape dramatically off his muscular shoulder. He was dressed as Dracula might have if he seceded to his Hollywood image. He sat down at the bar. This could be the one. Hell, it could have been anyone, but the incredibly bored slayers decided to approach this one, just for kicks.
Becca took the seat next to him and Kathy stood slightly behind her. They kept their position in silence, only fidgeting slightly. The man next to them consumed his whiskey in self-important silence. This had gone on long enough.
“Planning on taking over the world any time soon?” Kathy asked, bluntly.
The man ignored them.
Becca decided on a more tactical approach. “Excuse me, but do you have a minute?”
The man turned slowly towards her. “Vat do you vant?” He asked in long, drawn out syllables.
Kathy rolled her eyes, and turned to ask the bartender for another drink. She turned too sharply and bumped into a guy beside her, sloshing his drink over his (shockingly) normal jeans.
“I’m terribly sorry.” He apologized.
“My fault,” she muttered, shyly. He had really pretty green eyes. “I’ll get you some napkins.”
“I’m not made of salt. I’ll dry.” There was a slight pause as the hot guy looked at Kathy, and Kathy looked at her shoes.
“What are you having?” he asked.
“Nothing. I mean beer. I mean…I don’t know.”
He laughed and ordered two gin and tonics. He handed her one.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m having a rather fascinating week and, well, I just want to share. Do you know what I mean?”
Kathy said something along the lines that she had no idea what he was talking about.
Hot guy laughed some more. “Tell you what. Why don’t you and your friend stop talking to Bob, the neighborhood schitzo (he was Santa Clause last week, by the way), and join me and my friends. I feel like I have the power to change the world, you know. Time’s a-wasting. Let’s talk about how we can make this dull world of ours a better place.” He winked and then moved to join a small group of gorgeous philosophers who were sitting in the back.
Kathy watched him walk away. She noticed Becca after the third punch on her shoulder.
“Did that evangelist just say what I thought he said?” Becca asked, all ears alert.
“He winked at me.” Kathy stated the obvious.
“I think we found our villain!” Becca said excitedly.
“As I vas saying….”
“Yeah, yeah. Good luck with that parole thing.” Becca said. She grabbed hold of Kathy’s arm and began to drag the smitten slayer towards the well-dressed, smooth-talking fiend of the night.