The Wrong Sort of Blackout [Finn+Liam]
It hadn’t been a strict plan- they seldom were- but it was a Saturday night, and a full moon at that, and whatever guilty little pangs the admission might incur, Liam just felt better indoors at times like these. Sure, there was a fair enough chance that he would be called for some emergency repair; Koa wasn’t on call for the obvious reasons. And, while they weren’t the only two on the maintenance team, they were the only two Liam could trust to actually fix the problem rather than make it work.
That was all the logical thought, though. And a night in with a stack of old horror flicks, a few bottles (and cartons), and Finn for company sounded a lot more appealing than logical thought. It usually did. He’d busied himself first in the cupboard- retrieving glasses that were, honestly, unnecessary. One or two drinks and they’d both give up the hassle of the pour. The fresh bottle for himself was stowed away in a cupboard beneath the sink, a tin of powdered chocolate beside it, and then the milk itself in the fridge.
“This is the whole stuff, so that’s what, like 80 proof for you?” he gave a warning tone as he plopped the jug on the table. Then he stopped. There was a low sound close to a whistle and, half a second later, the lights went down. This was followed by a distant rise of shrieking, an amplified sound of horror and delight that generally only made it into the condo if his window was open.
“Damn it,” he made a face, waiting for the backup to kick on. And waiting. And waiting. It took a minute, when a low buzzing started to pulse, to realize that it was his phone and not, in fact, the generators. He answered, irritation already rising. One hand was still gripping his bottle and he was morning the now certain loss of a drink.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m on the way. Yeah, I know. Got it,” all that sort of annoyed, but not outright hostile agreement. He struggled with the buttons on the phone- he’d been tricked into getting this fancy number with a touch screen that he still couldn’t properly operate- and let out a labored sigh. He called, at least in the direction where Finn had been (he couldn’t see a damn thing with the backlight of his phone fading off) with the same frustrated tone.
“Damn generator again. I have to go deal with this,” he glanced toward the window. The full moon seemed to be outright taunting him and his stomach tightened with a hint of apprehension, “if I’m not back in thirty, call...” he hesitated, “I dunno, whoever takes care of whatever happens to a human out in a blackout on a full moon here.”
