Hatchetfield.

Monsters and Men

Max Jägerman is the most fearless monster hunter in all of Hatchetfield. That's why he's following a group of monsters into the abandoned Waylon Manor. He is not scared a single bit, and his hands are definitely not shaking as he grips his flashlight. But what else is he gonna do? His dad expected his first hunt years ago and he still hasn't delivered. The only way to make it up to him is killing multiple monsters in one go.

So he trails behind the shadowy group. He still can't make out their faces, but he knows one of them is a harpy—giant wings enveloping the other three figures. Their whispered conversation and stifled giggles float over to Max, and his grip relaxes minutely.

The door opens with a loud creak and they rush inside. Max ducks behind a bush when one of them pokes their head out. A werewolf, sniffing the air. His heart beats against his ribcage. But the wolf doesn't pick up on his scent and closes the door.

He scrambles up to the door, pulling every weapon possible out of his bag. He isn't scared, but he still wishes he'd drank a beer or two before spotting the monsters. It would help with the nerves that totally aren't on overdrive right now.

After waiting a few minutes, he creeps inside and follows the sound of their voices, louder now that they aren't sneaking around town. Finally he pinpoints the room they're in and takes a long, deep breath.

Max kicks the door open and shouts, "I'M A MONSTER HUNTER BITCHES, GET AWAY!"

Silence. His eyes take a moment to settle on the complete darkness of the room, but once they do, he sees three figures pressed together in the corner. The harpy sits in the center, wings wrapped around them. A siren on his left, finned ears and scales smattered on her cheeks. And on his right—

Micro-Peter Spankoffski!?

"What the fuck?" he says, voice still incredibly loud from all the adrenaline.

"Hey, Max—" Stephanie Lauter is standing close to the door. What the fuck is she doing here, with these monsters who he is realizing are Shit-lips and Flemwad? She could be in danger!

"Steph!" He jumps in front of her. "Get back, I'll protect you!"

Shit-lips actually starts laughing. Then all the others are too, even Steph, who nudges him out of the way and sits down beside them. Her form shifts, bones audibly cracking, and then she's a wolf, eyeing him very carefully.

"What!" says Max. The wolf that was Steph bonks her face into Flemwad's and then pads over to Max, who crouches down, confused. "Blink once if you need help," he says, extremely serious, and she bites his hand. Not hard, or anything, just like she'd do when she whacks him upside the head and calls him an idiot. It's affectionate. He gasps as dramatically as he can.

Then she bonks his hand and rushes back over to Spankoffski, who sighs. "Steph, Richie's already tried to nest on me twice today, I cannot deal with you, too— oof!"

Yeah, okay, she's laying on top of him. New developments for Micro-Peter, okay. Cool. Cool. Cool cool cool. Pete doesn't even seem phased, which is wild, because Steph could definitely maul him if she felt like it and instead she's got her eyes shut while he pets her head. Kinda badass, honestly.

Peter sighs, fixing his glasses. Max can see the massive bruise over his eye, and stamps down a strange gross feeling. "Max, what do you want ?"

"I— I—"

He looks between them all. How fucking... cozy they all look, squished together and, and... happy. Like they're friends. If these nerdy monsters are Steph's friends, it would really put a damper on their own friendship if he sliced off Shit-lip's head.