ANGEL

The basement was comfortable, as comfortable as a poorly insulated, water-damaged basement can be in mid-to-late June anyways. Posters tacked and nailed and stapled to the stained walls, collectibles in mostly good condition placed carefully, almost lovingly on endless rows of shelves like rows of colorful soldiers standing at attention with their stoically molded and painted faces, boxes of neatly sorted comics stacked on the floor and whatever free surface their owner could find. It would be an almost tranquil scene if not for the cacophony occurring at the folding table by the stairs.

“It’s not fair! That wasn’t fair!” cried one of the boys, a ratty looking creature with bent glasses perched upon his nose and crooked, yellowed teeth and sporting an equally ratty orange flannel. “It’s Josh’s fault that I died in the first place! He practically killed me! I should be resurrected!”

“I can’t do that, Bill,” his friend, a blonde with mismatched eyes and a worn, monochromatically striped green sweater, replied, sounding apologetic and annoyed at the same time, like the way a retail worker would sound whilst explaining that something was out of stock. “Yeah, and don’t pin YOUR utter incompetence on me!” Josh, a curly haired boy with much straighter glasses and a brown windowpaned blazer–which is rather odd for a 17 year old boy in this day and age and of his socioeconomic standing to be wearing regularly, but for the sake of the story one would ask you to go along with it–spat in agreeance. “MY utter incompetence?” Bill scoffed, crossing his arms. “I’m not the total retard who managed to fuck up his saving throws THAT badly!” Josh rolled his eyes at this. “Oh please, I would’ve actually been able to concentrate if not for that masterclass in dicking around and complaining that you decided to display to all of motherfucking creation tonight!” he snapped, slamming his hands onto the flimsy folding table as he rose from his seat. “Would both of you cut it the hell out?!” the fourth of them, a greasy, pockmarked thing with eyes from a possession flick and dressed like if every other wannabe mall goth had discovered Agent Orange and Amebix, chastised. “Ain’t no fuckin’ need for none o’ that. Besides, Jerry can resurrect all of us.”

“No, actually, Pete,” Jerry snapped, looking right at him without looking him in the eye. “I”m not resurrecting anybody. The campaign sucked dick anyways.” Clearly this struck a nerve with the rest of the club. “Probably sucked your dad’s dick like everyone else in this shithole does!” Bill seethed as he reached over the table and grabbed Jerry by the sweater, basically yanking him over to him. Jerry shoved Bill, and this set off a chain reaction of hands and limbs and words getting thrown around loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

The fighting was abruptly cut off by the sound of banging against the basement door. “All of you shut the fuck up, I’m trying to go to bed!!” a high pitched voice screeched from the other side. Bill glared over at Josh for a split second before turning his attention to the stairwell, his grip on Jerry’s sweater loosening a bit. “Okay, goodnight, Jane!” he shouted in response before turning to his friends. “Say goodnight to my sister,” he demanded, more fearing for the safety of his peers than caring for any courtesy to be extended to the womb tenant who was evicted post him, despite what his tone may convey. The other 3 piped up with some variation of ‘goodnight, Jane’ and waited until they couldn’t hear her footsteps outside of the basement before continuing their tryst.

“Nice goin’, Josh. Way to piss the kid off,” Bill spat, glaring at him. “Oh please, you started it,” Josh retorted, his arms crossed. “Hey, lay off it, he just saved your damn life back there,” Pete interjected. “Wasn’t for him Jane’d probably fuckin’ castrated you.”

This was followed by silence. Long, awkward silence, which was broken by a sigh from Bill. “Look at us, first actual meeting in, what, 6, 7-” “9 and a half months, give or take,” Jerry corrected somberly. Bill scoffed. “Yeah, 9 and a half fucking months since we’ve actually had the time to have a meeting and all we’ve done is bitch and moan at one another for half the night. This is bullshit.”

“I mean, meeting hasn’t really started yet,” Josh points out. “All we’ve really done is play D&D and bitch at each other.” Bill sighs at this, running a hand through his greasy hair. “Right, uhm- wait, fuck, what time is it?” he asked, suddenly remembering something. “Uhh, if I had to take a guess,” Josh started, trying to wrack his brain and silently damning Bill for not having a clock in his basement. “8:00? 8:30? I dunno.” At this response, Bill darts off upstairs, returning back a few minutes later as though he had just saved Gotham City. “Okay, took my meds, crisis averted,” he mumbled mostly to himself as he grabbed the plastic model of Mjolnir that constituted a gavel for them and walked back over to the folding table, where everyone had already situated themselves at their respective seats. “Alright, I now call this meeting of the Eltingville Comic Book, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror and Role-Playing Club officially to order,” Bill declared with a smack of the plastic hammer against the table. “We’ll start with you, Jer.”

“Bee-dee bee-dee bee-dee, okay Buck!” Jerry responded, pulling a large binder up from the floor and flicking through it. “So, first thing, after a very close call last Wednesday, I have decided to start hiding the binder under the floorboards in my closet.” This was met with nods of understanding. “Second, I’ve finally gathered all 300 letters we wrote under assumed names to Paramount to make a Captain Sulu show. All we need now is the $99 postage and we’ll show them Trek fans mean business!” This was met with a degree of excitement. “Good work, Jer,” Bill praised. “Pete?”

Pete sat up a little in his chair upon the proverbial spotlight being turned on him. “Well, I ain’t done no important shit like Jerry, but I did manage to get this copy of Jackie Chan’s City Hunter from this dude selling tapes down by the deli for, like, $25,” he began to recount. “The picture’s kinda grainy an’ jumpy an’ all, an’ I can’t read the subtitles for shit, but c’mon, it was $25! I’d be insane to pass that kinda deal up!” The other 3 concurred. “Oh, and that bootleg Thing With Two Heads resin kit I ordered in, like, December finally came in the other day. I built it up last night while I was bingin’ said copy of Jackie Chan’s City Hunter, an’ I think I did a real good job on Rosey Grier’s head, but I kinda fucked up Ray Milland’s head and he just looks like a potato or a yam or somethin’.”

“Alright then.. Joshenstein?” Bill prompted, looking to his right. “I told you to quit saying shit like that, Bill,” Josh chided, glaring back at him. “I’ll stop callin’ you that when the fat whore you call a mother stops calling ME at 3 in the morning. What’ve you got?” Josh sighed. “Well, I found out that my cousin’s working at the Blockbuster, so I bet if we ask real nice we can probably get her to let us rent stuff out for free,” he shared. “You talkin’ about the fag?” Pete asks, raising an eyebrow. “No- well, I actually don’t know. We don’t really talk a lot anymore. Still worth a shot.” Just then, Josh’s memory struck and he pulled out a tape from his blazer pocket. “But check this out!” he exclaimed, holding the little box up. “I finally got this tape in the mail last week. It’s a little fan-made number called Sexy Sirens of Sci-Fi and Horror: Revealed!” The boy giggled a little in excitement. “It’s supposed to be Volume 10. We’re talkin’ 2 hours of film clips featuring scream queens, b-movie starlets, and even some REAL actresses in movies where they’re topless. Or worse!” The other three leaned in, trying to get a good look at the tape holding what was probably close to the Holy Grail for them. “No fuckin’ way,” Jerry mumbled in disbelief. “You better believe it, Jerry!” Josh beamed “The back says It’s got Callisto, Tasha Yar, and half the cast of Twin Peaks!” Disbelief turned into boyish wonder amongst the other 3 at these words. “Tasha Yar? Naked?!” Pete exclaimed, staring at the tape in amazement. “Oh man, that's gotta be against the Prime Directive. Let’s watch it!”

“Hold on, I haven’t gone yet!” Bill exclaimed, slamming the plastic hammer against the table and bringing the club’s attention back to him. “I have a few things,” he started, putting his hands behind his back. “First, I changed the locks again, so we should be good in that department for a little while.” This was met with some nodding. “Second, I ended up selling some shit on ebay for a good chunk of money, so I bought cable. Then-” “Bill you can’t watch softcore,” Pete cut him off. “I’m sorry but I’ve seen where this goes firsthand. First you get cable, and next thing you know you’ve got your dick out over a piece of ass you can’t even see. No friend of mine’s gonna be doin’ that shit.” Josh and Jerry nodded in agreement. “Fair, but last thing; My latest attempt to make contact with Gene Roddenberry’s spirit has met with failure.” And with a bang of Mjolnir’s plastic against the plastic of the table, the meeting was concluded. “Now let’s go watch that video!”

ch1 coming soon!!

taglist: @stitchyysmain @heftyj4m @nose-spider3 @b1ockbust3r @spacekrook @icingsugar-arii @rxccoonboo2 @trentreznorsthirdtesticle @cobezzramblezz + lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist!!