Destined Fur More

Fuck Ladders, They're As Bad As Celery

The first thing I noticed was that my alarm clock was not ringing out RENT. After that, the comforting squeak of my bed that usually greeted me in the morning was absent. Instead, I heard . I sat up so fast that my head slammed against the low ceiling that seemed to grow over night and gave it a rude greeting.

Rubbing my head, I examined my surroundings, perplexed. "What the Hell?" I muttered, carefully rising from the bed. Then I remembered that I was out of Sleemute.

Freedom.

A smile broke out across my face like the zits that covered it. I wanted to exclaim my joy with a scream that could be heard in the Himalayas, but I resisted. There were still other people in this house, probably still asleep. I pranced my way through the dense fog of shit that covered the room, making a mental note to go through it like the nosy fuck I was.

After a few minutes of searching for the trapdoor, eventfully tripping over it in discovery, I pulled on the string to free the staircase. It still didn't open, so I tugged it once more. And again. Maybe you push it out?

I stood up pressing a foot to the folded stairs, but still to no avail. This is the part where my eyebrows lowered in anger. So much for freedom. I kicked at the stupid wooden steps, again, again, and again. You've got to be kidding me. With one gulp of stale courage and narrowed eyes, I leapt upon the door. Granted, I probably over-estimated the real amount of force needed. Well, actually, I did over-estimate it. By a lot.

"FUCK ME—" My lips blurted as it gave way under my heaving weight, snapping open and allowing me to free-fall. My head slammed into the stairs as the unfolded themselves, but thank God Graham was under me to break my fall. Well, more like three inches from breaking my fall. Teague, on the other hand, seemed to have arrived early, just in time for the ladder to whack him on his gorgeous head.

"Muuuurph..." Was all I utter as my head swarmed with bumble bees and talking candy bars.

"What… the… fuck…." Teague groaned, trying to steady himself as he wobbled all over the place. He ended up on the floor, despite his efforts. Graham could only laugh. And when I say laugh, I mean the guttural, hysterical laugh that only someone as cynical as me –or Graham, I guess- could do just perfectly to make someone feel absolutely moronic.

"Oh, dear Lord, I do believe that this moment has just made my life worth living." With another bleat of laughter, he swaggered off to his 'kitchen'. Apparently two, nigh unconscious teenagers groaning and falling over themselves in his hallway was of no concern. Well, what else should I have expected from human beings? Compassion? Ha, like they care about anyone but themselves. I know I don't. But why was I complaining? This is nothing new.

I snorted, rising to a sit, afraid in any attempt at standing. Despite the fact that I'm sure this never happened to him, Teague was up in another minute, holding out a hand to help me up. I rejected it. "Come on, Fisher." I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. He glared back, but it was a sad excuse for a glare. "Really? Are you always this hopeless? Your life's fucked and that's it?"

I threw my hands in the air, "FINALLY! SOMEONE understands. Whatever would I do without you, dearest Schneague?" Teague rolled his eyes, stomping into the 'kitchen' to eat 'food'. Bah. Like heate.

Wait. Did I just think of food? I think I did.

My stomach grumbled on cue, and I cradled it neglected rolls. This gave me the energy to orient my legs to a stand and hobble into the 'kitchen'. I examined the small room for any sightings of edible substances, but my eyes flew directly to that bear. Its beady eyes were glaring at me, claws at full extension and ready to rip out my throat. I glared right back. I think I will name him Quentin, because nobody could be afraid of someone named Quentin. That was just ridiculous.

"Hey, Graham?" I asked, eyes never leaving the black beads that were giving me a look.

Like, omigawd, was he still laughing? "Yes, Fishy Wishy Dishy?"

For the love of all that was Holy: WHY? I allowed my eyes to leave Quentin's to give a Your-Name-Spells-Dead look to Teague, who just winked in a flirty manner unknown to the socially retarded people like me, sipping the coffee that seemed to magically appeared in his strong hands. Well, and strong arms, and strong shoulders, and strong legs, and even more than strong, sexy—No, Fisher. STOP. You're being stupid. Just look away and ask—

"Where's breakfast?" My eyes slid casually and uneventfully away from Teague's, no thoughts escaping to where they could be read on my face, and to Graham.

At that, Graham laughed. I wanted to slap that smile off. "You missed it, Dirty Disher."

"Um… What?" I said, watching Quentin in my peripherals, though I doubted he would try anything with other people here, "It's only, like, eight."

Graham stopped laughing, slurping down the rest of his coffee in the most unattractive way possible. "Exactly."

My eyes flickered between the two guys in confusion, actually acknowledging Teague's presence. "What is he doing here? Don't you ever go to school?"

He snorted into his ugly mug covered in a wood camouflage and portraits of deer, "Well, my strange Fish," Graham laughed. I did not. "That is the precise question I was going to ask you,"

Right there, at that moment in time, my mood made that farting noise all air-filled things did when they released their contained air into the free world. "I'm suspended and my parents kicked me out of the house." Raising an eyebrow, I challenged Teague to make a better excuse than that.

After another obnoxious slurp of coffee, he responded, "I have no future, therefore, I deem it unnecessary to—"

I cut him off, looking back to Graham. "Seriously. Where's breakfast?"

Graham gave me an eye roll, "If you don't get up in time for breakfast, that's your fault. But since you obviously expect me to house you, I'll either need rent or hard labor in return."

Whoa. Was he serious? "Do I look like I'm into physical labor? Do I even remotely seem like I am capable of climbing a flight of stairs? I don't have any money," I did, but it had probably already been kidnapped by Steven when I disappeared. Eh, fuck him.

Graham shrugged. "Then you can go sit in the middle of a lake for an hour and catch fish or spend an entire day in freezing your ass off in a tree for deer."

I wrinkled my nose. "That argument is invalid: I have no ass to freeze off and unless you're Jesus, you can't sit in the middle of a lack without drowning." Teague snorted, but he received nothing in return for giving me credit. These hate-waves I was letting stank up the air around me were meant specifically for Graham, Schneague would get his own soon-enough.

The grizzled old man narrowed his eyes, "Well, you're kind of fucked then, aren't ya?" Suddenly, he took long strides over to the fridge, pulling something out from behind it. "And if you can't do anything for me, then you'd best get going."

Then I saw what he'd grabbed.

An axe covered in dried blood, held in the steady hand of Graham, coming right towards me.

A/M: Ehh... another totally pointless chapter. I feel bad about making you guys wait so long for this crap, but to be honest, I have no clue what's going to happen from here on until the main plot of the story. That sounds terrible, doesn't it? I haven't even figured out the big conflict in here, yet. I promise to get going on that, soon. :S On the bright side, I have tons of details and little things on Fisher's... condition... well, kind of... :/

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