"take that, fuckers!"
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pippa ventane never wanted to associate herself with any of the people she underwent the traumatic events in november of 1983 ever again, and yet, one year later, she's roped into a torturous lizard hunt with...
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There wasn't a seasoned occupant of Forest Hills Trailer Park who blinked at loud noises early in the morning. Whether it be music pumping during the weekends, guitars riffing, family members arguing, or the creaky trailer doors slamming open and closed at all hours, there was always some sort of noise that new arrival complained about, and everyone else shrugged over.
The worst was exactly 6:47 every morning when Mrs Carter's dogs began to bark at everything and nothing, which woke Charlie McHew, who blared his workout music in retaliation to the sound. Then, an abundance of doors being opened and closed, and finally, forty minutes later, when the horn of a van blared.
Naturally, the most minimal reaction Pippa Ventane received each morning when she reached through the open window of the van parked out the front of lot 42 and pressed her palm against the horn was an eye roll or a finger.
At maximum, as if he wasn't the reason half the trailer park was already awake, Charlie McHew was in his front yard, and he'd have a few choice words for the teenager.
"Munson, let's go!" She shouted hoarsely, retracting her hand from the car and resting both on the roof, tapping a rhythm into the metal.
She eyed the front steps to the trailer as she hummed a tune, committing it to memory so she could put a piece together. Twenty-five seconds passed, then forty, and Pippa groaned loudly, her head dropping onto the cool metal of the roof before she reached back into the car. She slammed her hand down on the horn again.
"Munson!"
"I'm coming, Jesus Christ! Keep your fucking pants on."
The horn died as she heard the faint sound of a door hitting a wall, and she looked back up to see her best friend jumping down the steps, heavy boots thudding against the dirt as he made his way to the car, glaring at the girl as he tied his flannel around his waist.
"Every fucking morning, Lippy." He exclaimed when he stopped on the other side of the van, looking up at the blonde, who was still leaning against the roof, "Wayne's sleeping, y'know."
Pippa scoffed, "Wayne could sleep through the damned apocalypse."
Eddie rolled his eyes, but Pippa caught the smile threatening to break out on his face, and she continued to beam at him until he cracked.
"Ready to go?"
"Are you?" She responded, finally dropping from the step of the van, boots crushing the blades of grass beneath her feet, "Come on, Ed, look alive. We've got a gig tonight, and you've got an epic campaign brewing and–"
"I got it." He laughed when he bounded around the front to get to the driver's side and unlocked it. Pippa threw her bag into the backseat, climbed through the opened door and continued to the passenger seat, "Go around, Lip. Christ."
