//------------------------------// // Act One: Curtain Call // Story: Delinquency // by Daemon McRae //------------------------------// Act One: Curtain Call The party had closed off with little incident. Of course most everyone who had played the ‘game’ had been more than a little incensed at being pranked the way they had, but there were, the boys were assured, no hard feelings. Of course there had been poorly veiled threats at revenge, of some kind or another, but it was nothing they hadn’t expected. The morning of their new ‘job’ was, for all intents and purposes, just like any other weekend. The boys had been asked to meet at the front gate of the rather lavish Inkwell estate a little before noon, so they filled the hours the same way any other teenage boys in high school would. On the phone. “What do you mean ‘Wee need to take Twilight with us?!’ Are you kidding?” Rubble barked into his cell. A cheap, near-indestructible model favored by construction companies for it’s ability to fall several stories onto hardened steel with just a dent. In the steel. It also had a built-in walkie-talkie, so he’d gone out of his way to get the other boys the same model. Of course, they would have come in handy had the school allowed cell phones at the dance, but that was an argument for a different story. “Why in god’s name do we need to take YET ANOTHER newbie into hostile territory?” Spooks, on the other end of the line, sounded nonplussed, and probably was. “For several reasons. One, you can’t drive, and we need someone to haul all of us to the house. Two, she has scientific instrumentation I’ve never even heard of, mainly because she invented most of it. To study magic. And ghosts. You know, the whole thing we’re doing here? Also, none of us thought to keep this on the down low when we were at the party last night, so almost as soon as we left she practically ambushed me to let her come.” Fingertips massaging the bridge of his nose, Rubble did his best to suppress a headache. “I thought she didn’t have a driver’s license? Let alone a van.” “Yes, well, she knows someone who does,” Spooks explained. “Wha-HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE COMING TO THIS THING?! They better not be expecting to get paid for any of this!” It was a good thing there wasn’t anyone else home right now. He was actually getting close to getting another noise report filed against him. Spooks, to his credit, had learned a long time ago to hold the phone away from his ear when he had bad news to deliver. Or what Rubble might perceive as bad. This time, he’d simply put his friend on speaker phone and left the phone on the bed. On the other end of the room. The acoustics in his attic bedroom were quite spectacular, after all. “I was very specific about that. And it’s just Twilight. The person driving her isn’t sticking around. I’m just giving them twenty bucks for gas and sending them on their way. Besides, Twilight doesn’t want the money. She’s one of those ‘scientific inquiry’ types. She just wants the research. Honestly, it’s a large part of why I’m going, myself. You know that. Well, that and I’d like some inspiration for some new paintings. They’re selling okay now, so I want to keep going. It’d be nice to have a decent client base after I graduate, to pay for college.” There was some ragged static on the line, as Rubble took a few deep breaths. “OK. Ok, I can deal with that. It’s just some heavy metal and a nerdy kid, right? We don’t even know the place is haunted, for sure. I mean, knowing this town, chances are it’s haunted as FUCK, but still.” Spooks nodded, forgetting for a second Rubble couldn’t see him. “Yes. That. Look, Twilight and her friend are coming to pick me up in an hour or so, and I haven’t showered or changed. Starting to smell like Dusty over here. Then we’re gonna go get you, then Treble and Double D. They’re at the hideout. Honestly I think they just wanted an excuse to smoke a pack apiece before they have to spend a whole weekend without them. Raven kind of sort of absolutely hates smoking. She was rather creative with her… incentive to not do so on her property.” Rubble paused for a second, stuffing some clothes into his trusty duffel bag. It was slow going, as he had a tendency to move counter-intuitive to his brace. “What kind of creative?” he asked curiously. “The kind of creative that gives you bad ideas so I’m not going to go into detail. You packing yet?” Rubble shook his bag near the phone. “Yeah, almost done. I don’t want to take anything I might miss later. Last time we went ghost-hunting I lost my favorite pair of cargo pants. And I’m STILL finding the buttons from it in random places.” Spooks raised an eyebrow at that. “You know, some people have jobs with side-effects like back injuries, asbestos toxicity, and malpractice. We get severed tendons, night terrors, and ghost buttons.” Rubble heard a very light bristling sound over the line. “Are you… painting right now?” “Just touching up a piece. There were a few defining lines I figured I had time to work on. Don’t think I’m going to sell this one, though. Might hang it in my room when I’m done. Depends on how it finishes,” Spooks explained, calling over his shoulder at the phone. He lightly touched the canvas with a fine brush, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “I had to rearrange my room to put together a sort of art studio off to the side.” “Aww, man, does that mean the big-ass TV isn’t up their anymore?” Rubble groaned, trying to force some extra clothes into the bag, lest some go missing. “Nah, it’s still up here. Got it mounted to the wall now, across from my bed. But the big cushy couch is gone. Had Dusty take it down to the hideout this morning,” Bones added, figuring that’s what his friend would ask next. “Awesome. Wonder what those two chucklefucks are even DOING right now?” --------------------------------- “No, you asshole, MY right!” Treble growled, doing his best to hold onto the big red cushy couch Bones had donated to their secret lair. Dusty grunted, and shook his end. Ignoring the irritable protests from his friend, he moved to his left, pivoting the couch. Treble followed, grunting with both effort and frustration, until they lined the piece of furniture up against the remains of the living room wall. The big armchair had been moved underneath the window, as had the beanbags. The old couch now served as a kind of divider between the ‘kitchen’ and the main sitting room. And to make sure they didn’t set the damn thing on fire, all of the tables with cooking instruments on them had been put against the far kitchen wall, which was actually an alcove underneath a broken staircase. Dusty wiped the sweat from his brow, giving their handiwork an approving look. “Alright, that’s better. Looks slightly less shitty in here. Hey, wasn’t there a big-ass pile of drywall right there?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space in the wall where a door used to be, that led to the bedroom. “Yeah,” Treble huffed, much more out of breath than the other boy. “I’ve been clearing it out piece by piece and throwing it into the empty lot out back. Already filled up that broken-ass dumpster, so now I just kinda stack it alongside. Not like anyone’s gonna clear that shit out anyway. I wanted to make room for like, a curtain or something. Maybe a folding wall or makeshift door or something.” “Why?” Dusty asked, shrugging. “Not like anyone who uses this place regularly is gonna give a shit.” “Yes, but it’s really hard to get a girl in the mood with screaming parents trampling all over your apartment,” DT explained, dropping himself into the new addition, relishing in the feeling of a couch with more cushion than hardwood for once. “What, you think taking some chick to this broken-ass part of town is a GOOD idea? Do you even WATCH Law and Order?” Dusty rummaged through some storage in the kitchen, pulling out a bag of chips. “Not if I can help it,” Treble said. “But I see your point. Maybe if this didn’t look like, well, the absolute shitty part of town, I might have better luck. Not sure I’d want to hook up with a girl that was OK with coming back here anyway.” The boys paused, then shuddered. “Yeah, nuh-uh,” Double D said after a second. “Course, I can’t think of anyone who would. Look, either way, if you want to pay for a curtain, put it up, girlify the place all you want. But it’s your dime and your time.” “Yeah, I know. What time is Twilight’s… friend or whatever coming to pick us up?” Dusty struggled with the bag for a second before it popped open. “Like an hour or so. Do you know what kind of equipment she’s gonna be hauling? Are we talking Ghostbusters or Rose Red?” “You’re talking about a girl who invented a pendant that accidentally stole magic and turned her into a she-demon. And she insisted on a van. I’m thinking Rose Red,” Treble groaned, not looking forward to the extra heavy lifting. “So hey.” “Hey.” “We need to talk about Rubble,” Treble said, leaning forward in his seat, bearing a stern expression. There was a pregnant pause as Dusty walked over to the couch and dropped in it. “Yeah. I know. I mean, what are we gonna do?” Treble shook his head. “No idea. I offered to fork over some cash to help out, but you imagine how well that went.” There was a wry chuckle from the other end of the couch. “Yeah, I know. I mean, it’s a good thing we even got this job. I was gonna push like half of my check on him whether he likes it or not. Unless, you know, I get something bitten off.” Treble stretched out, taking up a rather obnoxious amount of room on the couch. “That sounds like a plan, actually. I mean, he can’t drive right now. Therapist says he might be able to after a bit. He’s making decent progress, at least. Not astronomical, but they said at least he hasn’t broken anything. Of course, this isn’t even the worst of it.” The only thing keeping the silence at bay was Dusty crunching on potato chips. “What do you mean?” “Well, I chatted up one of the therapists while he was at PT yesterday. Apparently one of the more horrible things that happens with an Achilles Tendon injury like this, besides the obvious pain and missing flesh, is the muscle. See, the entire muscle in your calf is only attached by that tendon. Without it, it shrivels up and dies, and apparently it’s a slow and painful process. The way I see it, this is going to go one of three ways: One, he’s going to stop being a stubborn cuck and check back into the hospital, where they might be able to help, if he doesn’t wait too long; Two, the pain becomes so bad that he has to take painkillers, maybe gets addicted; Three, he’s in so much pain he doesn’t even leave the house. I mean, this is just my best guess, of course. I’m making guesses based on a therapist’s best guess. But either way it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” Dusty flinched. “Man. Do you think it’s gonna be like Spooks was? I don’t think I could take the screaming.” “Dude, there’s kind of a big difference between night terrors and atrophied muscle. But I see what you mean. I doubt it, though. Dusty’s not likely to crash here on the nights it gets bad. And if he gets laid up permanently, he’s got a few options. His mom might finally take up their uncle’s offer to live with them. But I doubt it. If she thinks they’d be a burden now, imagine adding a single mom with a bedridden kid to that mess,” DT groaned. He flopped onto his stomach. “Man, this is depressing.” “Well, what else are we gonna talk about?” Dusty snipped. “The nightmare monstrosity that party crashed an entire school campus last week? How he was going on about ‘Father’ or whatever? Cause I don’t know abut you, but anything that can tell that ungodly creature what to do can just fuck off.” “No doubt.” -------------------- “Why on Earth do you even NEED this much equipment, anyway?” Indigo barked. “It’s a haunted house, not the CDC.” Twilight considered the other girl seriously, as she lugged a large case to the back of the van. “Do you have any idea how statistically insignificant the amount of data I have is? I need all the help I can get!” “And another thing,” Zap pressed on, in her usual loud tones, “Why do you even need to investigate ghosts anyway? I thought you were all ‘Magical Girl Sparkle’ now?” She picked up a slightly bigger case with much less effort than Twilight, and it dropped into the back of the vehicle with a loud thunk. Twilight glared at her. “Please, PLEASE be careful with this stuff! It’s on loan from the school and it’s very expensive! And they’re only letting me take it in the first place because I made most of it!” Indigo took a step back, not used to sass from her typically doormattish bookworm friend. “OK, OK. Jeez. How expensive we talking here, anyway?” Twilight said a number, and Indigo swooned for a second. “Wha-how-how much?! That’s more than it’s gonna take to get me into college! Without scholarships!” “Yes, well, most of it is experimental,” Twilight explained matter-of-factly, rearranging the equipment in back to make room for all of the passengers. “I’ve got at least seven patents pending in the back of this vehicle alone. Just be glad I couldn’t get permission to take the psycho-spectral chromograph. Last time I transported that anywhere I had to borrow my brother’s longbed pickup. And several straps.” Indigo regarded her less-than-spectacular van, with it’s not-so-great shocks and okay-ish breaks. “Um… is any of it insured?” “What part of ‘experimental’ do I need to explain again?” Twilight groaned, lifting the last case into the back. Indigo whimpered slightly.