Even Dead Guys Stand in Line
Title: Even Dead Guys Stand In Line
Author: Professor Butters
Rating: PG-13. Mild hints, mild profanity.
Universes: Squeaky Clean Legacy, Vetinari Dualegacy, Devereaux Legacy, Fitzhugh Legacy and a Villainous Apocalyse
Summary: One shot. Warning: guys acting like nerds.
Notes: This is cross-posted to maxsj . This story is clean as a whistle, but some of the stories there aren't, which is why I thought some people might enjoy it here.
The late afternoon sun shone on Spider Jerusalem’s garden, bursting with summer flowers. Spider Jerusalem had prepared for a very small party; he had also placed a dressing table with an attached mirror. Everything was ready for a fun time. Except Max.
“No,” said Max. “Absolutely not. I will not waste valuable time, spending hours and hours waiting in line like a . . .”
“Dork?” finished Spider Jerusalem, dropping an armful of black cloth on an ornamental bench. “Max, you spend half of your time downstairs in the basement playing with a chemistry set. Embrace it, man. Let your nerd flag fly.” He dove into the black cloth, revealing it to be a pile of black robes. He held one up, grinning. “Wear a robe or grow your own, huh? Come on, Maximum. When have I ever steered you wrong about having fun?”
A skeptical look told Spider Jerusalem that Max had not forgotten about the pink kitty hat with the pom-poms. “I draw the line at allowing you to select my wardrobe. It is undignified.”
Spider Jerusalem snapped his fingers. “Wands. I forgot about wands.” He concentrated briefly, eyes fading to obsidian black, then back to sapphire blue. Four wands appeared in his hand. “Wow, they’re just like the ones in the movies,” he said in some surprise. “I don’t know my own strength.”
“Three,” said Max. “You will only need three. I may accompany you, but I will not wear those-things you have provided. It is childish.” He paused, and then burst out, “and besides, most people cannot dress as Severus Snape convincingly. Many look extremely foolish.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be one of them,” Spider pointed out. “Hell, you could probably do without a costume and people would STILL think you’re Snape. You’re tall, you’re thin, you’ve got the weird nose-“
“No.”
“And you have the freaking voice. ‘Nnnnnn. . . no.’ On anyone else, it would sound like camp, but it’s just the way you naturally talk, Max. Have I mentioned that the voice alone makes me want to rip your pants off?”
“Hmmm,” said Max thoughtfully, “perhaps I could be persuaded to-“
“Later, Maxaroon. Incoming.”
Max heard a “thud” in the flowerbed behind him, then a groan.
“Hate you,” a voice muttered. “Hate you so very much.”
“Shut up, Rhys,” said Spider, all business. “We needed a redhead. You might want to wash your face first, or you could leave a bit of smudge on-more in character.” He held out one of the robes.
Rhys Fitzhugh stood in the flowerbed where he had landed and glowered, crossing his arms and looking mutinous. Spider did not budge, but continued to hold out the robe.
“You’ve got a choice,” Spider said. “You can put it on and do it with a smile. Or I can call your father, Spencer. HE’D put on the Snape clothes in a minute. He’d probably even dance the Hippogriff dance with a lot of fangirls standing in line. It’s up to you.”
Rhys still glowered, but he took the robes from Spider and began to pull them on.
“Am I late am I late am I late?” panted Zane Devereaux, as he raced into the garden with something clutched in his hand.
“Nope. We’re just about to head out. Pick out one of the robes. Any of them should fit.”
Zane rummaged around in the pile of robes. “I guess I could have worn my own, but . . .” He sounded wistful for a moment. “But this is more fun!” he added more cheerfully, pulling on long black robes with maroon facings and a long hood. He bent down and held up the item he’d brought with him, and then flung his head back, revealing it to be a long curly brown wig.
The corners of Max’s mouth twitched, but he thought for a moment that he had broken something internally. He strolled over to a nearby tree and gazed hard at the trunk, as though trying to remember its botanical name, while he struggled to keep his face straight. Spider, however, tactfully repressed his urge to laugh. Rhys shook his head. “Your wife gave you that? Words fail.”
Zane looked puzzled. “But-Tina said it would be fun.”
“And it is,” said Spider truthfully.
“Oh, good,” said Zane, sounding relieved. “This is fun, Spider! It’s a party! With friends! I get to be at a party with friends!”
“Wrong character, Zane,” Spider muttered under his breath.
“What are you and Max wearing?” asked Zane, trying to deflect attention from his wig.
“Maxerel over there is in full sulk,” explained Spider. “He might go along with it if we don’t bug him. Damn,” he said, suddenly thinking of something, “I forgot about the buttons. All those buttons. It’s going to take me hours later on,” he said sadly.
Rhys looked amused for the first time, while Zane turned pink and tried to change the subject again. “And what about you, Spider?”
“Mine’s easy,” said Spider Jerusalem. Glancing in the mirror, he made four deft flicks with a red makeup pencil, and reached for a pair of rounded glasses. He put them on, then turned around.
“See? I’m the Boy Who Didn’t Live.”
Happy Pötterdämmerung, everybody!