|Werewolves, Bourbon, And Soda Can Baseball
Author: Fay Diablo PM
not old enough. -- Sometimes you can spend eighty years as a werewolf, hunting demons because some prophet told you were chosen by God to do so, and your life is still a complete mess.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Supernatural - Chapters: 2 - Words: 6,675 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 2 - Published: 01-11-10 - id: 2762819
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N- So I went ahead and put the first chapter up here, just because. I've decided that this is really not my best writing, but I still kind like it, mostly because it's the only thing I've actually finished.
(Sometime in the 2000's.)
You know how some people make up these schedules for their days, and then follow them word for word? See, I could never be like that. I just kind of go with whatever is going on, letting the flow take me. What happens, happens. What I do, I do.
There have always been times when it occurs to me that maybe (just maybe) I should rethink this philosophy. Take, for instance, this instance:
David wanted to kill me.
Which was actually sort of understandable- I had just gotten Sprite all over his metal-studded leather jacket- his vintage metal-studded leather jacket. His pride and joy, the thing he loved the most in his immortal life.
It was sad. About twenty years since he'd been turned- chosen by God to be changed, as Thiess would proclaim- from a nineteen-year-old punk rocker in the '80s into a lycanthrope, and he still insisted on dressing like Billy Idol. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing- he actually sort of looked like Billy Idol, with his short tousled blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and he could still carry off the look. It did help that he looked the same as he had back in the day (one of the benefits of immortality): if he had looked his age, snug black jeans, combat boots, fingerless gloves, and that leather jacket would really not work on him.
Actually, immortality was kind of half the reason David wanted to kill me. After all, I was turned- chosen- when I was seventeen, effectively stopping my body's development in its tracks. So all those hormones and that half-formed brain were just frozen in time, leaving me an immature teenager for eternity.
Thiess always insisted that God chose us to be lycanthropes. All I know is that if God was choosing to keep teenagers like David and me frozen in place for all time, then we're obviously worshiping a head case.
So, anyway, what do immaturity and boredom lead to?
Soda can baseball.
The rules are relatively simple, and pretty much nonexistent. Throw a can of soda up in the air, swing a baseball bat at it, and if it connects, you're covered in sticky sucrose spray.
Unfortunately, if someone happens to walk out into the backyard when you're playing it, so are they.
"Toni! What the hell is wrong with you?! Why-Is this why my root beer is always gone?!"
See, if I had been allowed to live on my own, I wouldn't get in trouble for playing soda can baseball. For that matter, I wouldn't get in trouble for using David's root beer. But Thiess insisted that all of six of us- the five of us lycanthropes plus Thiess the "prophet"- live together in a two-story house on the outskirts of the city. (Each decade had given us somebody new, although our representatives from the '30s, '40s, and '70s had all died in our little holy way. But the '50s had given us Mark, a thirty-two year old gangster; Joani was an ex-prostitute who had been "chosen" in the '60s when she was in her late twenties; then there was David, who was currently glowering at me; the '90s gave us Logan, the twenty-two year old frat boy who might have managed to make it out of college if he hadn't picked heroin as his extracurricular activity; and, the alcoholic from the '20s.)
But, alas, no. I was living in a house with people who, to use the classic teenage complaint, just didn't understand me.
So, you see, there were a number of contributing factors there.
"That was your root beer?" I asked in an innocent voice. Innocent as I could manage, anyway. It's hard to be innocent when you're holding a baseball bat.
He sort of growled at me, rolling his eyes and clenching his fists. If it had been anyone else- Mark or Logan or Joani- I might have been frightened for my well-being. But this was David, who (even if he didn't want to admit it at the time) had a certain soft spot for the crap I put everyone through. So he just settled for yelling at me, using curse words that I'm pretty sure he invented on the spot. He had great lungs, that one.
All the yelling wound up drawing Joani from whatever hole she was hiding in. She really loathed summer, the sun, and the heat; most of her free time was spent huddled in front of an air conditioner and a television. Occasionally she would speak- most to ask Thiess why the demons couldn't pick a nice town in, say, Canada to infest.
"What the hell are you two yelling about?" she demanded, appearing on the back porch, clutching a frosty Coke like it was a lifeline. "I'm trying to watch The Vampire Diaries in there!"
"First of all, I wasn't the one yelling. All him. Second of all, what are you doing watching The Vampire Diaries? Aren't you a little old for that show?" I didn't even bother bringing up that maybe she wouldn't be so damned hot if she didn't insist on dressing herself in layers of silk scarves and gauzy skirts- she thought that just because she was from the '60s, she got to act like a hippie, even though she hadn't been one in the first place.
She gave me a blank look. "Aren't you a little old for soda can baseball?"
"Well, then, we're even," I declared. "You have fun with your stupid vampire show, and I'll enjoy my childish antics."
"She ruined my jacket!" protested David, but weakly.
I'm sure David would have started to wind down, although after a few more curse words, if Joani hadn't oh-so-kindly pointed out the painfully obvious.
"Are you two numbskulls going to sit out here and argue? You do realize there's air conditioning inside, right? And television? Chilled beverages?"
David and I traded a look and bolted for the door, pushing past an immediately irritated Joani. There was never any pleasing that woman.
Admittedly, we did run inside, take over the couch, and commandeer the television she had just been watching; but it was probably for the best. We changed the channel from that lame-ass vampire show to the news. Not on purpose, really- but it kind of landed there when I was flipping through the channels, searching for a South Park rerun.
The newscaster lady with the creepy smile was talking about a homicide-robbery at a jewelry store. A picture of the missing jewels- blue diamonds, sparkling in their multi-faceted way under the camera's flash- appeared briefly on the screen, long enough for me to study them before Joani came charging back into the room, clutching her Coke and looking fit to kill.
So maybe it wasn't the wisest decision to steal the television from someone whose purpose in life was to dismember demons. But I was a monster, too, remember; I knew there were more things to be afraid of than a pissy blonde woman with a phobia about the heat.
"Give me the remote," she whined, holding her hand out, palm up. "I wanted to-"
"And I wanted to watch South Park. Too bad for you." With that, stated matter-of-factly in a self righteous voice, David snatched the remote from my lap, changing the channel. Blue diamonds turned into circular heads of Kyle, Stan, Cartman, and Kenny, and Joani dropped down on the other side of me with a heavy sigh. I stole a glance at her out of the corner of my eye, studying her haggard face. She looked too old for her age- or, at least, the age she was supposed to look. It was strange- out of all of us, she'd had the worst time adjusting. Even Logan, who'd gone through a horrible withdrawal without even consciously knowing it was heroin his body was craving, dealt with the whole lycanthrope thing better than Joani. Forty, almost fifty years after the fact, she was still a manic-depressive.
She could have been David's older sister- or mother, depending on how tired she looked that day. With pale blonde hair that fell in sleek curls past her shoulders and wide blue eyes, she could have been a model or a movie star; but those eyes were surrounded by premature wrinkles, put there ever before she had even become a werewolf, and there was a tiredness etched into her that I couldn't actually understand.
"Are you guys working tonight?" she asked, popping the top on her Coke and draining half of it in a single gulp- a habit she'd picked up from David, Logan, and me.
"Nope," I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the television as Kenny was reduced to a bloody pulp. "Wait...well, I dunno. David?"
As he, too, was totally immersed in the television, it took him a moment to answer. "Actually, I switched our shifts with John and Rex, so, yeah. We are working tonight."
"Well, thanks for letting me know."
"I love you, too."
"Will you two just sleep together already?"
David and I both shot her the appropriately horrified looks- mine a bit faked- and returned our full attention to the television.
I should probably take a moment to point out that David and I, being the youngest, according to how old we were when we were turned, were technically old in terms of how many years we had been around. But our bodies had stopped aging in our late teens- like I said, imagine all of those hormones, plus that half-formed brain frozen in time. We were both prime examples of immaturity; if God really had chosen us to do battle against the demons, then I was terrified for humanity, because David and I took the same pleasure in demon-killing that we did in violent video games and punk rock concerts.
After all, we always thought we were doing good.
So three hours later, we were at Patsy's Pizzeria, the restaurant Thiess owned and we worked at. (Hey, remember- being immortal doesn't excuse you from the electric bill.) It was a small little place, named after a cat I'd had in the '60s, with ten or twelve circular tables scattered in the space in front of a long marble counter, high stools lined up along one side of it. Everything else was made of dark wood, lit by dim yellow ceiling lights. There were posters plastered on the walls, advertising local bands and venues, and a jukebox occupied one corner, normally blasting some rock song when David and I were around.
All of us werewolves worked at the pizza parlor- we had a few part-time waitresses from the local high school looking to either make some money or ogle David, but Mark and Logan did most of the cooking. Occasionally, they let me back into the kitchen to help them with a pizza- but only on days when I hadn't done something destructive or said anything to piss them off.
Those days came few and far between.
I was on a stool behind the counter, arms thrown over the grey marble counter top with a plastic cup of lukewarm lemonade between them, watching David place silverware out on the tables. I could hear Logan and Mark bustling around in the kitchen, talking in that we're-adult-men-so-we'll-have-adult-men-talks-even-though-we're-not-actually-that-mature way. It was a small blessing that David had been turned- oh, excuse me, chosen by God- when he was as young as he was. I don't believe I could have stood another Mark.
The only other people in the restaurant were the two teenage girls sitting at the counter- fortunately for them, at the other end from me- giggling and gushing over David. Honestly. That whole `80s look was so out, anyway- I mean, yeah, okay, maybe he looked awesome in his (freshly cleaned) vintage metal-studded leather jacket. But they looked too normal to be getting all googly-eyed over him. Really- a lycanthrope punk rocker could probably do better than a couple of random human high school chicks. Not like that had ever actually stopped him.
"Hey, remember to take your gloves off," I called suddenly; apparently it was funny, because the two girls erupted into giggles again.
Some people are just so idiotic.
David, of course, threw them a broad grin- I contemplated throwing the cash register at his head. But concussed wait staff were bad for business; we'd already learned that the hard way.
The dinner crowd started streaming in, keeping us impossibly busy, but the two girls refused to remove themselves from the counter. They drank coffee after coffee, staring at David with increasingly bug-eyed wistful gazes. All that caffeine really could not have been good for their systems.
The night flew past, filled with trays of steaming pepperoni pizza and dozens of soft drink orders. David shot me his grin every few minutes- not the grin he shot the giggling humans (who still refused to leave), but the warm, everything-is-gonna-be-all-right-even-if-you-feel-like
-strangling-someone-right-now, I'm-there-for-you-unless-you-start-throwing-around-the-cutlery grin that he saved especially for me.
...Yeah, I know. I was one lovesick lycanthrope. Shut up.
It was almost one-thirty (our little pizza parlor was the local teen hangout, even on the week nights) by time we had cleared everyone out of the restaurant- everyone but the girls of course. Not that I could blame them, I guess. I probably didn't feel any different than they did- except for actually knowing him, being friends with him, having a valid reason to have strong feelings for him, and being able to act like a mature individual about it instead of falling all over myself so that he could laugh about it later with his best friend (who I happened to be).
So maybe I thought there were a few key differences.
"Girls, it's closing time," David said sweetly, approaching them from the opposite side of the counter, wearing his manwhore grin. I choked back a snort of disgust and disappeared into the kitchen, pretending to busy myself with helping Logan load the dishwasher.
The ex-frat boy cast me a half sympathetic, half annoyed look- for a guy who had to spend three days with his face in a toilet getting over heroin, I was pretty sure he had some major OCD issues, the least of which included having to have all the dishes loaded in the dishwasher a specific way. So he sort of edged me to the side, so that I was only handing him the dirty dishes, and gave me another sympathetic smile.
"Shut up, Logan.," I muttered, slamming a plastic cup into his hands.
"I didn't say anything, you know. He out there charming the girls?"
"What part of `shut up, Logan' does your brain not comprehend?" I growled unhappily, brandishing a tomato-sauce-coated fork.
For being frat boy, he had a surprisingly sweet heart, something that he tried to hide by acting like a total jackass player (at the time, he claimed he had about three girlfriends). He was also frighteningly observant- apparently, it's amazing how much you learn to notice when you're busy locked in a bathroom with a needle in your arm.
A couple more moments passed, bringing a silence empty enough for the giggling out front to rise in pitch and drift through the closed swinging doors. I scowled, and Logan again felt the need to say something. "Toni, if you just-"
"Logan, I warn you now. If you keep talking, I will stab you in the face with a spoon."
A second or two passed before he shrugged. "Yeah, okay, that's fair. Do we have any...uhm..."
"Demons to rip limb from limb? Nah. Slow night."
David came barging into the kitchen then, looking remarkably self-satisfied and clutching a napkin with a girlish scribble across it in sparkly purple ink, providing a phone number and a too-cutesy nickname. I held back my gag reflex, ignoring the look Logan shot me. "So which one did you pick to be subject to your philandering ways?"
"The blonde one. I like blondes. I like brunettes better, but the blonde was- What?"
I should take a moment to say that I have black hair. Short black hair, actually; cut to hang more or less at my jaw line, shaggy, and uneven. Maybe not the cutest, or the best for attracting guys- but useful when I was trying to fight hell spawn without having to transform into a hulking wolf-human beast with teeth the size of butcher knives.
"Nice, dude." A deaf man could have picked up the scoff in Logan's voice.
It's a pity David was brain-dead.
"What? What did I do?"
"Nothing. Logan's being stupid. There's another South Park marathon on, if you wanna go home. I'm sure Logan can close up by himself." I smirked meanly at Logan, ignoring the dirty look he shot me in return.
"But, Toni, weren't you just volunteering to hang around and help me, so that David could go spend some time with his latest conquest? I mean, those chicks probably haven't left the parking lot yet, and, Toni, you wouldn't want to get in the way of young love, would you?"
Oh. Oh, he was so dead. He was so dead, they would have to buy two coffins to compensate for just how dead he was.
(Let's pretend for a moment that actually made sense.)
"Awesome! See you later, Toni!" David grinned at me and disappeared out the door, leaving me staring wistfully in his wake and Logan choking back laughter.
Okay, so maybe the asshole thing wasn't entirely an act.
"You're such a jackass," I muttered, hopping up on the counter and swinging my jean-clad legs idly.
"You're such a bitch."
"See? See? That right there. That is why I like David, and not you. Because David doesn't call me a bitch."
"Oh, so if I lie to you, then you'll wanna sleep with me?"
"I take offense to that."
"I'm sure you do."
"Why? Do you want me to sleep with you?"
"Ew. Don't even joke about things like that.. You're...ew." He gestured at me with a wooden spoon, and I glanced down at myself in surprise.
"What? What's that supposed to mean?"
"I dunno. You're just...You're like all tomboy grunge or whatever. You're perfect for David. Not for normal people like me."
I examined my outfit without much scrutiny- faded green corduroy skinny jeans, a snug rose-colored ribbed tank top, and a pair of black high tops. "What? I look normal! I mean, compared to Billy Idol, I look like freaking Miss USA."
"Miss USA has bigger boobs. And she wears make-up."
"Doesn't she star in porn movies?"
"Are you dissing porno movies?"
"You've been a lycanthrope for a decade or more, and you're still a drunken frat boy at heart, aren't you?"
"You've been alive- in the loosest sense of the word- for over eighty years, and you're still a psychotic, alcoholic teenage girl at heart, aren't you?"
I paused. "Fair enough. But what do you know about normal, anyway? Aren't you from the `90s, the decade that killed fashion, and then brought it back to life just so it could immediately strangle and decapitate it again?"
"Always with the violence."
"What can I say?"
By then, all the dishes were in the dishwasher, and he swung the door shut, turning to me with a suddenly serious look. "It'll be okay, you know. It'll work out somehow."
"Yeah, whatever. You're gonna give me a ride home, right?"
"Do I have a choice?"
I chuckled, and we fell into relative silence as we exited the restaurant, pausing outside the front door so that Logan could lock it. We wandered through the parking lot for a few minutes more than was needed- Logan forgot where he parked his car, even though it shouldn't have been that hard to find in an almost empty parking lot- but we finally located the beat-up Dodge Charger and climbed in, arguing briefly over who got to drive. His argument was that he wanted to live to see the next day- my argument was that I couldn't guarantee that unless he handed me the keys.
Honestly, I wasn't that bad of a driver. I just had personality clashes with all the cars I happened to drive.
Faint orange street lights flashed over our heads at even intervals as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the empty street. It was late Tuesday night, which meant little to no traffic. I studied Logan in the darkness, my eyes moving over light brown hair, falling to just past his ears in soft curls; a well-defined jaw that was continually thrust out in defiance or a broad grin, and wide brown eyes framed by long lashes. He, of course, wore the latest fashion- like then, in his pre-faded blue jeans, his snug grey designer T-shirt, and the black skater sneakers that still looked brand-new. It was no wonder he had three girlfriends- but he was way too normal for my tastes.
"Stop staring at me! God! I feel like you're about to eat my eyeballs or something," he shuddered, and I laughed, my gaze straying to the crumbling sidewalks and the dark figure that had appeared on the curb.
Immediately, my hand shot out, grasping Logan's shoulder. "Hey! Isn't that the demon that got away last week?"
He slammed on the brakes, throwing us both forward against our seat belts; I promptly unbuckled mine and was stumbling across the street before Logan could even open his door.
"Toni! Toni, don't- Oh, crap."
The demon had turned to me with a vicious smile across his face- he looked like man in his late twenties, and probably could have passed for one, if he hadn't started transforming as soon as his eyes landed on me. His legs began stretching, morphing with the sickening sound of crunching bones, and I shuddered involuntarily. All of those years, and I still hadn't got used to watching demons go into their natural form. Logan was at my side in a heartbeat, fingers wrapping loosely around my elbow as we watched the monster struggle to his newly formed feet.
(Or, I should say, paws.) The beast in front of us now had the torso of the man planted onto a lion's body- like a feline version of a centaur. The lion's body was much larger than any actual lion's could be- his paws were the size of trash can lids, the tail swishing behind him like a boa constrictor.
"This looks like fun," I muttered.
Logan was shrugging off his T-shirt and kicking off his sneakers beside him, even as the demon was preparing itself to leap. I darted forward, grimacing to myself as the muscles and bones in my left arm began rearranging, fur beginning to sprout in copious amounts from my skin, and slammed my newly-transformed clawed werewolf fist into the demon's stomach. A familiar roar shook the night from behind me, even as the demon staggered backwards, and I slipped to the side just as Logan, in full werewolf form, came charging past me. Now, he and the demon were about the same size- I was the small one now.
Growling to myself, I pulled off my tank top and yanked off my sneakers, struggling to peel off my jeans even as I began to morph the rest of me to fit my monstrous arm. Logan was holding his own against the demon, sure, both beasts biting furiously at any exposed tender places- there was already a bloody rip in the side of Logan's neck and the demon's stomach was bleeding profusely- but I wanted a piece of the action.
Letting out a loud snarl, I loped forward, my furry wolf-arms outstretched. The demon had gotten the advantage over Logan, had gotten him flat on his back on the ground and was kneeling over him, preparing to gouge out my friend's stomach, but I lowered my shoulder as I rushed forward, catching the demon in the throat and sending him flying backwards.
The demon landed in a crumpled heap ten feet away, and while he was struggling back to his feet I spun around and yanked Logan up, touching an enormous paw gingerly to the wound on his neck; but he just shook me off and pushed me back towards the demon. I didn't blame him for wanting me to finish the fight- this demon was old, tough, and wasn't going down without a fight. And I was a better fighter than Logan- not because I was innately good at kicking demon ass, but because I'd been doing it before his mother was born, let alone him.
But the demon took a couple of staggering steps back, hands clasping over his bleeding stomach. He shot me an unreadable look, wrinkled up his face, and turned tail and ran off clumsily into the night, shrinking back into a human form as he went. Normally, I would have gone after him- but Logan was with me, wounded in what was probably a nonfatal way, but I was still worried.
When I turned around, Logan was in human shape again, one hand over his neck and the other fumbling with the button on his now-rumpled jeans. Making a face- one that might have been a little more easy to read had I been human- I let myself shrink back, my insides rearranging themselves as the fur sucked back into my skin and my regular hair grew out again. The whole transformation process was far from pleasant- and, if you think about it, it had to have been even worse for the demons, `cause they had to sprout two whole extra limbs.
"You okay?" I managed to ask as soon as my vocal cords had reformed. (You should know, it is hell trying to talk when you physically lack the proper equipment to do so.) Logan averted his eyes as I pulled my clothes back on, glancing back up as I retied my sneakers. "Logan?"
"Uhm...I'm fine. I've had worse. I know you've had way worse."
Grunting noncommitally, I edged towards him, my fingers wrapping around his and prying his hand off the bite mark. The wound already looked like it was a couple days old, but there was the telltale green tinge around the edge that marked it as having been inflicted by a demon. Demons held nasty poison in hollows in their teeth, like poisonous snakes- and even though their venom was largely ineffective against us after all these years we'd had to develop immunities, any wound we happened to receive with demon poison took longer to heal than a normal hurt.
"It's fine," I told him, smiling tightly as I let go of his hand, letting him clasp it around his neck again. "No big deal. It might stick around for the next day or two, and hurt like a bitch."
"Wonderful," he grumbled, rubbing the tips of his fingers around the now scabbed over area.
"Well, this turned out to be a more eventful night than I had imagined."
Logan nodded in agreement, running his free hand through his hair. Shaking my head, I turned and stumbled back to the car, which was still in the middle of the street, doors hanging open. Smirking to myself, I slid into the driver's seat; he had left the keys in the ignition. Slamming the door shut and starting the car, I rolled down the window and poked my head out. "C'mon now, Logan, you don't wanna be left behind, do you?"
"You're such a bitch," he moaned.
"But I have the keys," I said mockingly.
Life was good. Except for the fact that Logan was a bit blood-spattered, and I hadn't gotten to finish off the demon.
Still, life was overall pretty decent.
It's scary how things can change.
We got home that night and Thiess was stretched out on the couch, eyes closed and some wrestling show on the television. He looked old and grizzled, with deep lines and creases across his face, and grey-peppered brown hair- the same he had looked the night I had been chosen, or Mark or Joani or David or Logan. Time had frozen him with the rest of us- and in the most unflattering way.
I began to snicker as I flopped down onto an ancient, cushy armchair. "Thiess has nosehair. Look at that. You'd think he'd trim it."
"Why, yes, it's wonderful to see you, too, Toni," Thiess muttered without opening his eyes.
Logan hushed any other snarky comments I might have had, and quickly relayed all that happened. After scolding me briefly for not going after the demon, Thiess sighed and removed the remote from my grasp, ignoring my protests that wrestling was stupid and settling back to listen to the rest of his program.
So I disappeared into the backyard, where I still had a six pack of root beer and a dented wooden baseball bat. Logan came out after a while, sitting quietly and watching me from a safe distance- there wasn't really the need to talk, so we didn't. I hadn't known him as long as the others, but from the moment I'd helped him through his traumatic heroin withdrawal, we'd never had any awkward silences when we weren't in the middle of conversation. I dunno- I can't explain it. I don't want to make it sound like we didn't have anything to talk about- because we talked all the time- but we didn't have to talk to hang out.
"David isn't back yet?" I finally asked, once I had satisfactorily demolished my soda stock. I dropped the baseball bat, letting it land on the grass with a muffled thump, and crossed the yard to plop down next to him on the creaky wooden porch stairs. "And spare me the pitiful looks. I don't care."
"You don't care?"
"I don't care."
He made a disbelieving noise, just as the door slammed open and David himself came striding out onto the porch, looking way too content for my tastes. "That girl was-"
"Do you think we really want to hear about your latest escapade?" I interrupted.
"I was just about to go to bed," volunteered Logan, rising to his feet and disappearing back inside- but not without shooting me another look, this one undecipherable. Since when did drunken frat boy get cryptic on top of his spastic-sweetness? I made a mental note to put a stop to it. I couldn't stand...gooey people.
"Thiess told me about what happened tonight- you were totally kicking ass, and you let the bastard get away? Really?" David scoffed.
I gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. But, listen, I'm really tired, so I think I'm just gonna go to bed after all."
"What? But...It's not even late yet. If you and Logan are both going to bed, who the hell am I supposed to hang out with?"
Quirking the corner of my lip upwards in a half-hearted smile, I pushed myself to my feet, running my fingers futilely through my tangled hair. Stepping across the porch, avoiding the wooden plank that always seemed to let out a squeak of protest when stepped on, I inched the door open and slipped inside, reasonably sure that Thiess would be asleep by then- he was a bit nasty if someone woke him up needlessly in the middle of the night.
Mark was in the kitchen, making a sandwich as I passed through, his skinny (yet oddly broad-shouldered) frame hunched over the counter, black hair that had been perfectly gelled and slicked back in the morning now falling into his narrow face. He nodded to me and I gave him a sleepy smile in return, silently declining the slice of ham he offered me. I stumbled my way up the stairs, nearly tripping over a pair of my own combat boots on the stairs, and into my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me and not even bothering to turn the light on or take my clothes off as I collapsed into bed.
The lower level of the house had the kitchen, living room, a bathroom, and two bedrooms- one of which was the master, with another bathroom, and belonged to Thiess. Mark had the other first floor bedroom, simply because it meant a shorter walk to the kitchen. On the upper level, Logan and David shared a bedroom, and Joani and I each had one. There had been a drawn-out argument over who had to share a bedroom with who when Logan had been chosen- a fight that Joani and I had won rather quickly, because we made the valid point that if we had to share living space, we would either kill each other or massacre everyone else.
We got separate rooms.
So, anyway, that was it. An average day for me- and, I guess, an average day for any teenage girl, once you removed the whole immortal part and the demon fight.
But it's funny- you get used to those average days, and it makes it all more the painful when everything you know gets ripped out from under you.