Badfic Manor

Hey. I was going through your things and guess what I found.

C4 and wire. Pretty sure this is just the tip of the iceberg too.

Is this what you've been so preoccupied with lately? Bomb-making 101?

What the fuck are you thinking, and why did I have to sneak around like some suspicious wife to find out about it?

Know what the most annoying thing about ghosts is? Besides the fact that they aren't real.

It's when they steal your fuckin' stuff and try to scare you by making it float through the air, and then they don't give it back.

I already lost two packs thanks to being turned into a bloodsucker. What's neck? Nicotine patches super-glued to my ass?

[Maybe he shouldn't give the Author any ideas...]

Fuckin' sun.

[It's not the first time he's cursed it, and it won't be the last. But wherever Matt is now, it's dark. One side of his face is hidden completely in shadows.]

Never really cared much for breakfast. Usually don't wake up until lunch time. So maybe that just means I eat breakfast for lunch.

All I know is that when I woke up this morning, I was starving.

[There's the sound of a match striking, a flame that illuminates his face a little better. He tosses the match aside once the tip of his cigarette glows red and the flame becomes a harmless wisp of smoke.

Matt takes a drag.

And promptly flips the cigarette away too.]

Bleh.

[...Did he really just say 'bleh'? Matt leans his head back against the wall. Even in the faint light, the tips of two very white fangs can be seen as he speaks.]

Would've put my money on Mello being turned into Count Chocula instead of me.

[Matt has the video function turned on, not necessarily because he wants people to see this...more like he wants witnesses in case things go wrong. Mello might be slightly less inclined to murder him.

The redhead has found a large, battered radio -- don't ask how. He can sniff out anything even vaguely electronic within a two mile radius. He holds it up over his head...then winces and sets it down.

It's heavier than it looks.

Matt sits down in a chair instead and leans forward to push the button on the tape deck -- that's right. Tape deck. A song starts to play...at least until that boombox relic eats the tape. turning it into rapid, mangled noise.

Matt sighs and slumps down a bit.]

Huh. Wonder if the guy in that movie had it this hard.

[Matt looks thoughtful as he takes a drag from his cigarette, legs sprawled out in front of him. Maybe he should've watched the rest of the movie before he went to all this trouble...]

Fuck it.

Mello, wanna go to prom?


((OOC: Matt is trying to recreate this scene. The loser. Feel free to make fun of him. ._. And sorry for the Matt spam!))

If anyone's looking to buy answers to tests, essays, any of that crap, I'll be setting up shop in the boy's bathroom. Going rate is two packs per page.

Get 'em while they're hot. Don't wanna be left behind in this place. Those chicken nuggets that they serve? Yeah, pretty sure that ain't chicken.

[The beach, the water, the blue sky...it's paradise. In theory. Because one man's paradise is another man's hell, and that man would be Matt. The only possible, logical reason for him to be sitting on the beach, his towel spread out between him and that cursed sand, is that he's under orders to do so.

He looks miserable.

And pissed.

And his nose is covered in sunscreen.

Matt takes a drag from his cigarette before letting it rest on a small plastic ashtray. He reaches for a neon green gun and points it at his head, closing his eyes before pulling the trigger. Squirt! The stream of cold water hits his cheek, and there's very very temporary relief from the heat.

Matt reaches for his cigarette, but it's not exactly where he left it. The ashtray has mysteriously 'grown' eight legs and is walking away.

Anyone for crab legs?]

Uh.

Anyone have any idea why I woke up on the kitchen floor handcuffed to four other people?

And don't accuse me of any kinky shit. Not into it.

Most of the time.