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twispitefic
stormswiftPart 1
The Literary Society vs. Twilight (Part 2)
They all stood in front of a nondescript school building. All of them wore sensible hiking boots and carried backpacks. The steady stream of students making their way inside didn't seem to notice the seven strangers who appeared out of nowhere.
“Oh great, high school,” said Sci-Fi Boy, surveying the building warily, as though it might attack. “Just the place I wanted to see again.”
“Why are we all wearing flannel?” Fantasy Man wanted to know.“And why is the school populated by ghosts?” asked Artist, drawing everyone’s attention to the curiously wraith-like student body by passing her hand through a nearby boy’s head. “I thought the book involved vampires, not ghosts. Or is it both? No one told me we were working with spirits. Help a hero out, y’all.”
“No, they’re not ghosts,” Sci-Fi Boy said. “They’re just...insubstantial. Not fully fleshed-out. Background noise to the rest of the story. They don’t matter.”
“That’s so sad,” said Artist quietly as the ghostly students moved around—and sometimes through—them. Upon further examination, the society realized that every single boy and every single girl looked alike. The entire school seemed to be populated by ghostly clones. With no defining features, the universe defaulted to the lowest common denominator.
“Ev’ry character deserves life,
even with sadness, pain, and strife,” agreed Verse. Sci-Fi Boy leaned up against a bank of lockers, which turned into a classroom door without warning.
“Ow!" he cried, rubbing at his temple. "Okay, that's it, I can't live with this. Hey, you!” Sci-Fi Boy waved madly in the face of a vacantly-staring ghost boy, finally succeeding in getting his attention. “What’s your name?” The boy looked even blanker. “How about...Steve?” The boy nodded and shimmered a bit less. Freckles dusted his cheeks that hadn't been there before. “He’s more solid already, look! Okay, Steve, you’re sixteen years old, your mother was at Woodstock and your favourite sport is tennis. Now shoo.” Transformed into a real boy with sandy blonde hair and a Jimi Hendrix sticker on his backpack, Steve strode away confidently. “Jeez, it’s not that hard.”
“No—it’s fun!” exclaimed Distant Past, snagging a passing girl. “You—your name is Ally, you’re a die-hard Mets fan, and you put ice cream in your hot chocolate. Go forth.” Stocky, athletic Ally caught up with Steve and the two began chatting animatedly.
“You, ghostie! Your name is Cougar Marie, you’re Steve’s twin sister and you fix radiators in your bedroom while rocking out to New Kids on the Block and designing the five tattoos you’re going to get the second you turn eighteen—” Verse slapped her hand over the Horticulturist’s mouth and shooed scene queen Cougar away before he could really get going.
“Thank you, Verse,” said Romance Girl as Cougar Marie proceeded to give her brother an affectionate wet willy. “Focus, people. This is how they suck you in, lulling you into a false sense of security and making you think that you’re having harmless fun...” she sighed. “And then it’s too late.”
“So what you’re saying is...”
“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” she barked.
“Thought so.” They wandered the hallways like a strange, plaid-clad version of the Jets (Distant Past and Verse may have started snapping). No one around them seemed too concerned about the prospect of being late for class.
“Sooo...vampires,” said Artist, scratching intricate graffiti on the lockers they passed. “Do we need to whip out the wooden stakes? I haven’t watched Buffy in years; refresh my memory.”
“Not with these,” answered Romance Girl.
“Uhh...silver bullets?”
“Those’re for werewolves,” Fantasy Man said.
“Right, right. Garlic?”
“Negative.”
“Sunlight?” At this, Romance Girl began laughing so hard that she could barely manage to shake her head. Artist slashed through a locker in frustration, leaving a gash that looked like someone had taken a can opener to it.
“Well, are we actually dealing with vampires, then? Sounds to me like a classic case of straight-up immortals. Why can't anything in this stupid universe make up its mind?”
“But they drink blood,” said Distant Past, pounding on a choking Romance Girl’s back.
“So what does kill them?” yelled Artist as the longest passing period in existence continued around them.
“Other...vampires...” Romance Girl managed to giggle.
“Great. Where do we find one of those?” asked Sci-Fi Boy. Distant Past and Romance Girl looked at him askance.
“We’re...working on that.”
“Can we go to class?” the Horticulturist asked suddenly, giddy as a five-year-old in a candy shop. “Can we? Can we please?” The entire company stopped dead in their tracks.
“Who are you and what have you done with the Horticulturist?” asked Artist.
“You spent four years underground training Chia pets rather than go to class,” Fantasy Man said.
“I don’t think you’re feeling well.
Don’t you remember? High school was hell.”
“Wasn’t that bad. But don’t you see? We can do whatever the hell we want! That’s my favourite.”
“What did I just say?” Romance Girl demanded.
“I don’t know. I don’t listen to you. You start talking and I swear all I hear is Weebl and Bob. So, how about it? Class, anyone? Relive the glory days?”
“I’m in,” said Distant Past. “Maybe I’ll get the hang of foreign languages the second time around.”
“I will go and follow through,
for someone must keep an eye on you.”
“Me too!” said Artist enthusiastically, drawing up a pencil to stick in her curly hair. "We need to find the vampires, right? Look at it this way: we're going undercover. It's not goofing off; it's a reconnaisance mission."
“Well?” asked Fantasy Man belligerently, rounding on Sci-Fi Boy. “I suppose you want to follow these clowns to class, too?”
“Uh...yeah.” Fantasy Man stopped up short.
“Oh.” He shuffled his feet for a minute. “I...do, too.” Romance Girl rolled her eyes.
“Fine. Fine! Go gallivanting off to health class or whatever it is. I will go do our job and actually go searching for the damn vampires!” The bell finally rang above their heads.
“Sounds good.”
“Will do.”
“See you then.”
“Write when you get work.” They scattered off in pairs for the nearest classrooms, leaving Romance Girl standing by herself in the middle of a deserted hallway.
“Superheroes,” she muttered, setting off down the hall.
---------The Horticulturist and Distant Past found themselves in a senior government class and eagerly took their seats in the front row, elbowing their shadowy cohorts out of the way.
Verse and Artist ended up in junior English. Artist drew them both copies of The Great Gatsby, which Verse promptly cracked open and held upside down. Artist pulled a piece of gum out of her bag and began to chew it obnoxiously.
Fantasy Man and Sci-Fi Boy sat stunned in the middle of an AP chemistry class. Fantasy Man glared daggers at Sci-Fi Boy through narrowed eyes.
“I blame you.”
“I don’t think that’s really fair—”
“I blame you.”
“Noted.” He stared down at the lab table, trying to follow the fractured technobabble coming from a teacher who blinked in and out of existence at random intervals. And normally, he loved technobabble. “On the bright side? Bunsen burners.” Fantasy Man considered this for a moment, then grinned widely.
“Bunsen burners.”
“Bunsen burners!”
All of them, however, failed to note that the indistinct phantoms around them slowly but surely became more solid and real.
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no subject
Date: 2012-07-05 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-06 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-06 01:12 am (UTC)And nice use of the Harry Potter reference.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-07 11:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-07 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-07 11:29 pm (UTC)My mom loves that line. I'm embarrassed to admit how often it's found its way into my general speech.
And don't worry! There's definitely more.