Crossing Over: Part I
This is going to be a little bit of a peculiar story for me. It's a fanfiction for College Roomies from Hell!!!. Now I don't usually write fanfiction: I prefer to work in my own world. However, every once in a while I'm inspired by the possibilities I see in someone else's characters. And for once, I decided that if the author wasn't going to explore those possibilities, I would.
The problem with working in someone else's world is that it doesn't make sense to people who aren't familiar with the comic. Even those who are will probably miss some of what I refer to if they don't read the forums. So the question, then, is why am I posting the story here? Well, the first reason is because I think it turned out fairly nicely. The second is that, because of a forum upgrade, the version that I posted there has apparently disappeared. And since I want to preserve this story, I decided to post it on my blog.
So, first the legal stuff. All the characters, the world(s), and the events referenced belong to Maritza Campos, copyright 1999-2008. Only the events of this story belong to me.
Crossing Over
Chapter 1
When Dover dismissed the class, Dave was the first one out the door. Not that long ago he would have lingered, waiting to see which way Margaret would go, perhaps following her if a good enough excuse came to mind. Not this time. He wasn't avoiding her, not exactly, but it seemed that they'd said all there was to say, and he was just tired of trying to convince her. She would listen patiently and nod in the right places, but nothing ever seemed to get through. She just had no faith, and what was worse, she had no hope. Dave didn't know how much faith he himself had. For a guy who'd seen as many miracles as he had, he still wasn't sure what he believed about God and the Devil, what rules they were supposed to follow, or whether he could trust either of them to do so, but hope was the one thing he held onto no matter how hard the world tried to snatch it from his fingers.
Dave took a right and headed for the back of the building, past the classrooms being renovated to the rear stairwell. Inside was a little used back door, which he went through, intending to take an out-of-the-way route back to the apartment. It was longer this way, but he could be reasonably certain that he wouldn't run into Margaret or anyone else he knew. In fact, once he reached the grassy alley where the biology and physics buildings stood back-to-back, there wasn't anyone at all. The sun was blocked by the Ryan S. Majison Building, where all the physics students were spending their afternoon in labs, leaving the alley cool and shadowed. A few dandelions nodded tiredly as Dave walked past. By the time he got home, she would either be in her apartment or perhaps in the library, and he wouldn't need to talk to her unless she came looking for him, a thought that made him nervous rather than excited these days. His feet left a trail in the tall grass which no one bothered to keep trimmed.
"Yow!" Something had just stung the back of his neck. What if it's a bee?! Trying to quell the rising panic, he slapped at it. That was a mistake, and he winced as the stinger went deeper. His fingers fumbled with the oddly still insect, which seemed about the right size for a very large bee. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," he said as brought it before his eyes, trying to focus his blurry sight on its feathery red-and-black body. If it was a bee, it was a giant mutant one. He needed to find help before he choked to death. He started to run, but he only made it a few lurching steps before he fell, his face planted in the soft grass and his nose in the dirt. He tried to push himself back up, but his arms were weak and useless. Darkness filled his eyes.
Roger shifted Fluffy to his other arm as he opened the front door to the apartment building. He hadn't had a chance to take Fluffy for a walk this morning before class, and it was getting antsy. Fluffy wasn't the only one who had needed a walk. Chester had been freaking out over something, and he'd darted out the apartment door the moment Roger opened it upon arriving home. Roger hadn't even seen which way he'd gone. Well, Dave would find him when he got home. Hopefully, Chester wouldn't be caught by Satan again, or worse, the hot dog man. There were in fact a few things worse than having your soul torn out, and the hot dog man knew them all. Roger whistled as he headed down the street, Fluffy cradled in his arm. The tune died out once he recognized it as something his mother used to sing. He still hadn't told his father and sister that she was dead. Margaret had actually volunteered to come with him when he did, which was just the sort of honorable and stupid thing she would do. His family didn't know that his mother used to hunt humans, and they certainly didn't need to meet the prey who had fought back. Roger's animal instinct considered Margaret part of his pack, but he still had to be careful to keep his anger control when he was around her. He had no desire to test how good Lily's self-control was by introducing her to the complete stranger who had killed her mother.
Roger tried to move his mind to other things, such as his alphabetized popcorn collection. He had just found one that looked exactly like Mike, or would have if he'd had a more normal sized nose and longer hair. He'd show it to him, only Mike'd probably eat it.
"H'astur, this is heavy!" The voice came from the alley by the apartment. It sounded like that idiot, Steve.
"Well, we'll lose the weight soon. Heheheh." And that would be Waldo, the idiot-in-training.
Roger looked down the alley as he passed, but all he saw was the rear door swinging shut. Whatever they were doing, they were certainly up to no good, but that pretty much accounted for their every waking moment. "We'll just have to watch out for them, won't we, Fluffy? That and make sure they don't get a hold of Satan's Fruit Basket. That would be bad."
Roger continued on his walk, but between thoughts of his mother and of Waldo and Steve, he'd lost interest in enjoying the admiring stares he received whenever he carried Fluffy around, so he returned home after only half-an-hour. Dave still wasn't home, nor was Chester. Mike was gone too, but he was probably with Marsha, so Roger wasn't worried about him. But he was beginning to worry about Chester. The way he ran off could be nothing, or it could indicate that Dave was in trouble. Well, if anyone knew where Dave was… Roger screwed up his courage and went across the hall to knock on the girls' door.
Margaret answered right away. When she saw him, she tried a smile that failed miserably. "What do you need, Roger?" she said. Every time she spoke to him he heard the implied I'm sorry I killed your mother.
Roger tried not to grit his teeth. He hadn't fully forgiven her, even though he was determined not to hold it against her, but what he really wanted to do was wipe that look of pity from her face. Instead, he said as neutrally as possible, "Have you seen Dave? I'm worried about Chester."
"No, I haven't seen him since Calculus. I was looking for him too. Why, what's wrong with Chester?" All things considered, Margaret had taken the news of Dave's soul-cat pretty well, but that might have been the drugs at the time. She had taken to avoiding Chester since then.
"I have no idea, but he ran off like a bat out of Heaven. I think Dave might be in trouble."
"Don't you mean a bat out of Hell?"
"No, Hell's dark and warm. I'm pretty sure bats like it. Heaven's all bright and airy, so--"
"All right, I believe you. Let me get my .45s," she said.
While Margaret got her weapons from her gun closet, Roger came just inside the door. If they were going to look for Dave, maybe he should bring Fluffy, but he didn't want to risk something happening to it. Besides, if they could find Chester, they'd find Dave quickly enough. Finding Chester would be easy if Roger went were, but he was avoiding that these days. Even more than before. Roger wasn't completely certain, but he thought he was more vulnerable when were. They had enough problems without tempting Satanic possession.
"You want something, Rog?" Margaret called from the closet. "The shotgun, maybe?"
"No, I'm fine," Roger said. "Let's go."
Margaret had tucked her guns underneath her leather jacket, where she had specially designed holsters to keep them inconspicuous. She and Roger went out the door and nearly stepped on Chester, who had returned while they weren't looking. He mewed at them, then headed toward the stairs, where he paused to look back at them.
"What is it, boy? Is Davey trapped in a well?" Roger asked.
"Roger…" Margaret growled.
"What? Chester's at least as smart as Lassie."
"Chester's at least as smart as Dave, but do you really think he wants us to follow him?"
"Well, duh! Let's see where he wants us to go."
Chester stopped at the door to the stairway, where he waited patiently until they opened the door. Then he darted down a flight and stopped at the door at that level, mewing for them to hurry. At least that's what Roger assumed he wanted. He trotted down the stairs, Margaret right behind, and pulled the door open quickly enough that Chester had to dodge in order to avoid being hit in the nose with it. After an angry snort—a sound Roger was pretty sure that normal cats couldn't make—he shot down the hallway, Margaret and Roger close behind. Chester stopped at a familiar door, back arched and hissing. Roger felt his stomach flip. He might have to go werecoyote after all.
"Why am I not surprised?" Margaret asked as she stared at Steve's and Waldo's door. "The only question is whether we break down the door, or knock first, then break it down."
Roger said, reaching for the doorknob. "Well, I guess we should check…" The knob turned easily. "…first. Never mind." Roger pushed the door open.
The light from the hallway stretched across the darkened dining area to the living room, falling upon a pentagram. Within, Dave lay spread-eagle, unconscious and unmoving. Black candles were arranged around him at odd intervals, some lit and some unlit. The lit ones were the only source of light, as heavy black garbage bags were blocking the windows. Two figures in dark robes stood on either side of the pentagram, both staring at the door.
"You idiot!" Steve yelled. "I told you to lock the door."
"You never said that," Waldo replied. "You only told me to shut it."
"It was implied!"
"It's not my fault I'm not psychic. Who's the one who said they wouldn't miss him for a couple of hours? It looks like you're no psychochic either."
"All right, you two morons," Margaret said, drawing her guns and aiming one at each of them. "Both of you shut up and freeze. We're taking Dave and we're going now."
"You're too late," Steve said. "We're done."
Roger had been watching Dave, and he realized that the area inside the pentagram was getting darker. The candles that he had thought were unlit were actually giving off a smoky black substance which was filling the pentagram, hiding Dave in the mist.
Margaret saw this as well. "What's going on? Roger, stop it!"
"I'm really not sure how," Roger said, slowly approaching the pentagram. Now he really wished he had brought Fluffy. He had no idea what was happening or how to stop it, but he knew better than to interrupt a spell in progress; the results could be disastrous both for Dave and everyone in the vicinity. Chester had no such compunctions, though, and he ran into the pentagram, knocking over one of the candles lit with actual fire. It rolled into the pentagram, and both Chester and candle disappeared inside the black mist.
"Roger!" Margaret said, keeping her guns trained on the two Satanists who had started this.
Well, now that Chester had already begun it, it couldn't hurt to finish the job. Roger began grabbing candles, lit with both fire and darkness, and tossing them aside. One of them hit Steve in the nose.
"Ouch! Are you crazy?" Steve shouted. "You could cause the spell to blow up!"
"Yes, you and that cat are going to cause a cat-astrophe," Waldo said.
With all the candles gone, the darkness began to clear, revealing the figures hidden by it. When Margaret saw what was there, she strode across the room and placed one of her pistols under Steve's chin, all the while keeping the other one trained on Waldo. "What the Hell did you do!" she said through gritted teeth.
"That wasn't supposed to happen! I swear!" Steve said.
"Aboobsolutely not!" agreed Waldo.
Lying in the pentagram spread-eagled was a girl. Where Dave had been wearing jeans and a light blue shirt, she wore a short denim skirt and a light blue sweater, both exactly the same shade as what Dave had worn. Worse, she looked like Dave—the same hair color, the same general shape to the face. But the hair was too long, with two small braids at the shoulders, and the rest of the body was obviously female. Chester sat near her head, licking her face, but she didn't respond.
"Oh boy," Roger said. "Well, maybe not."
This is the first 2,171 words of a 17.472 word story.
The problem with working in someone else's world is that it doesn't make sense to people who aren't familiar with the comic. Even those who are will probably miss some of what I refer to if they don't read the forums. So the question, then, is why am I posting the story here? Well, the first reason is because I think it turned out fairly nicely. The second is that, because of a forum upgrade, the version that I posted there has apparently disappeared. And since I want to preserve this story, I decided to post it on my blog.
So, first the legal stuff. All the characters, the world(s), and the events referenced belong to Maritza Campos, copyright 1999-2008. Only the events of this story belong to me.
Crossing Over
Chapter 1
When Dover dismissed the class, Dave was the first one out the door. Not that long ago he would have lingered, waiting to see which way Margaret would go, perhaps following her if a good enough excuse came to mind. Not this time. He wasn't avoiding her, not exactly, but it seemed that they'd said all there was to say, and he was just tired of trying to convince her. She would listen patiently and nod in the right places, but nothing ever seemed to get through. She just had no faith, and what was worse, she had no hope. Dave didn't know how much faith he himself had. For a guy who'd seen as many miracles as he had, he still wasn't sure what he believed about God and the Devil, what rules they were supposed to follow, or whether he could trust either of them to do so, but hope was the one thing he held onto no matter how hard the world tried to snatch it from his fingers.
Dave took a right and headed for the back of the building, past the classrooms being renovated to the rear stairwell. Inside was a little used back door, which he went through, intending to take an out-of-the-way route back to the apartment. It was longer this way, but he could be reasonably certain that he wouldn't run into Margaret or anyone else he knew. In fact, once he reached the grassy alley where the biology and physics buildings stood back-to-back, there wasn't anyone at all. The sun was blocked by the Ryan S. Majison Building, where all the physics students were spending their afternoon in labs, leaving the alley cool and shadowed. A few dandelions nodded tiredly as Dave walked past. By the time he got home, she would either be in her apartment or perhaps in the library, and he wouldn't need to talk to her unless she came looking for him, a thought that made him nervous rather than excited these days. His feet left a trail in the tall grass which no one bothered to keep trimmed.
"Yow!" Something had just stung the back of his neck. What if it's a bee?! Trying to quell the rising panic, he slapped at it. That was a mistake, and he winced as the stinger went deeper. His fingers fumbled with the oddly still insect, which seemed about the right size for a very large bee. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," he said as brought it before his eyes, trying to focus his blurry sight on its feathery red-and-black body. If it was a bee, it was a giant mutant one. He needed to find help before he choked to death. He started to run, but he only made it a few lurching steps before he fell, his face planted in the soft grass and his nose in the dirt. He tried to push himself back up, but his arms were weak and useless. Darkness filled his eyes.
Roger shifted Fluffy to his other arm as he opened the front door to the apartment building. He hadn't had a chance to take Fluffy for a walk this morning before class, and it was getting antsy. Fluffy wasn't the only one who had needed a walk. Chester had been freaking out over something, and he'd darted out the apartment door the moment Roger opened it upon arriving home. Roger hadn't even seen which way he'd gone. Well, Dave would find him when he got home. Hopefully, Chester wouldn't be caught by Satan again, or worse, the hot dog man. There were in fact a few things worse than having your soul torn out, and the hot dog man knew them all. Roger whistled as he headed down the street, Fluffy cradled in his arm. The tune died out once he recognized it as something his mother used to sing. He still hadn't told his father and sister that she was dead. Margaret had actually volunteered to come with him when he did, which was just the sort of honorable and stupid thing she would do. His family didn't know that his mother used to hunt humans, and they certainly didn't need to meet the prey who had fought back. Roger's animal instinct considered Margaret part of his pack, but he still had to be careful to keep his anger control when he was around her. He had no desire to test how good Lily's self-control was by introducing her to the complete stranger who had killed her mother.
Roger tried to move his mind to other things, such as his alphabetized popcorn collection. He had just found one that looked exactly like Mike, or would have if he'd had a more normal sized nose and longer hair. He'd show it to him, only Mike'd probably eat it.
"H'astur, this is heavy!" The voice came from the alley by the apartment. It sounded like that idiot, Steve.
"Well, we'll lose the weight soon. Heheheh." And that would be Waldo, the idiot-in-training.
Roger looked down the alley as he passed, but all he saw was the rear door swinging shut. Whatever they were doing, they were certainly up to no good, but that pretty much accounted for their every waking moment. "We'll just have to watch out for them, won't we, Fluffy? That and make sure they don't get a hold of Satan's Fruit Basket. That would be bad."
Roger continued on his walk, but between thoughts of his mother and of Waldo and Steve, he'd lost interest in enjoying the admiring stares he received whenever he carried Fluffy around, so he returned home after only half-an-hour. Dave still wasn't home, nor was Chester. Mike was gone too, but he was probably with Marsha, so Roger wasn't worried about him. But he was beginning to worry about Chester. The way he ran off could be nothing, or it could indicate that Dave was in trouble. Well, if anyone knew where Dave was… Roger screwed up his courage and went across the hall to knock on the girls' door.
Margaret answered right away. When she saw him, she tried a smile that failed miserably. "What do you need, Roger?" she said. Every time she spoke to him he heard the implied I'm sorry I killed your mother.
Roger tried not to grit his teeth. He hadn't fully forgiven her, even though he was determined not to hold it against her, but what he really wanted to do was wipe that look of pity from her face. Instead, he said as neutrally as possible, "Have you seen Dave? I'm worried about Chester."
"No, I haven't seen him since Calculus. I was looking for him too. Why, what's wrong with Chester?" All things considered, Margaret had taken the news of Dave's soul-cat pretty well, but that might have been the drugs at the time. She had taken to avoiding Chester since then.
"I have no idea, but he ran off like a bat out of Heaven. I think Dave might be in trouble."
"Don't you mean a bat out of Hell?"
"No, Hell's dark and warm. I'm pretty sure bats like it. Heaven's all bright and airy, so--"
"All right, I believe you. Let me get my .45s," she said.
While Margaret got her weapons from her gun closet, Roger came just inside the door. If they were going to look for Dave, maybe he should bring Fluffy, but he didn't want to risk something happening to it. Besides, if they could find Chester, they'd find Dave quickly enough. Finding Chester would be easy if Roger went were, but he was avoiding that these days. Even more than before. Roger wasn't completely certain, but he thought he was more vulnerable when were. They had enough problems without tempting Satanic possession.
"You want something, Rog?" Margaret called from the closet. "The shotgun, maybe?"
"No, I'm fine," Roger said. "Let's go."
Margaret had tucked her guns underneath her leather jacket, where she had specially designed holsters to keep them inconspicuous. She and Roger went out the door and nearly stepped on Chester, who had returned while they weren't looking. He mewed at them, then headed toward the stairs, where he paused to look back at them.
"What is it, boy? Is Davey trapped in a well?" Roger asked.
"Roger…" Margaret growled.
"What? Chester's at least as smart as Lassie."
"Chester's at least as smart as Dave, but do you really think he wants us to follow him?"
"Well, duh! Let's see where he wants us to go."
Chester stopped at the door to the stairway, where he waited patiently until they opened the door. Then he darted down a flight and stopped at the door at that level, mewing for them to hurry. At least that's what Roger assumed he wanted. He trotted down the stairs, Margaret right behind, and pulled the door open quickly enough that Chester had to dodge in order to avoid being hit in the nose with it. After an angry snort—a sound Roger was pretty sure that normal cats couldn't make—he shot down the hallway, Margaret and Roger close behind. Chester stopped at a familiar door, back arched and hissing. Roger felt his stomach flip. He might have to go werecoyote after all.
"Why am I not surprised?" Margaret asked as she stared at Steve's and Waldo's door. "The only question is whether we break down the door, or knock first, then break it down."
Roger said, reaching for the doorknob. "Well, I guess we should check…" The knob turned easily. "…first. Never mind." Roger pushed the door open.
The light from the hallway stretched across the darkened dining area to the living room, falling upon a pentagram. Within, Dave lay spread-eagle, unconscious and unmoving. Black candles were arranged around him at odd intervals, some lit and some unlit. The lit ones were the only source of light, as heavy black garbage bags were blocking the windows. Two figures in dark robes stood on either side of the pentagram, both staring at the door.
"You idiot!" Steve yelled. "I told you to lock the door."
"You never said that," Waldo replied. "You only told me to shut it."
"It was implied!"
"It's not my fault I'm not psychic. Who's the one who said they wouldn't miss him for a couple of hours? It looks like you're no psychochic either."
"All right, you two morons," Margaret said, drawing her guns and aiming one at each of them. "Both of you shut up and freeze. We're taking Dave and we're going now."
"You're too late," Steve said. "We're done."
Roger had been watching Dave, and he realized that the area inside the pentagram was getting darker. The candles that he had thought were unlit were actually giving off a smoky black substance which was filling the pentagram, hiding Dave in the mist.
Margaret saw this as well. "What's going on? Roger, stop it!"
"I'm really not sure how," Roger said, slowly approaching the pentagram. Now he really wished he had brought Fluffy. He had no idea what was happening or how to stop it, but he knew better than to interrupt a spell in progress; the results could be disastrous both for Dave and everyone in the vicinity. Chester had no such compunctions, though, and he ran into the pentagram, knocking over one of the candles lit with actual fire. It rolled into the pentagram, and both Chester and candle disappeared inside the black mist.
"Roger!" Margaret said, keeping her guns trained on the two Satanists who had started this.
Well, now that Chester had already begun it, it couldn't hurt to finish the job. Roger began grabbing candles, lit with both fire and darkness, and tossing them aside. One of them hit Steve in the nose.
"Ouch! Are you crazy?" Steve shouted. "You could cause the spell to blow up!"
"Yes, you and that cat are going to cause a cat-astrophe," Waldo said.
With all the candles gone, the darkness began to clear, revealing the figures hidden by it. When Margaret saw what was there, she strode across the room and placed one of her pistols under Steve's chin, all the while keeping the other one trained on Waldo. "What the Hell did you do!" she said through gritted teeth.
"That wasn't supposed to happen! I swear!" Steve said.
"Aboobsolutely not!" agreed Waldo.
Lying in the pentagram spread-eagled was a girl. Where Dave had been wearing jeans and a light blue shirt, she wore a short denim skirt and a light blue sweater, both exactly the same shade as what Dave had worn. Worse, she looked like Dave—the same hair color, the same general shape to the face. But the hair was too long, with two small braids at the shoulders, and the rest of the body was obviously female. Chester sat near her head, licking her face, but she didn't respond.
"Oh boy," Roger said. "Well, maybe not."
This is the first 2,171 words of a 17.472 word story.
Related Posts (on one page):
- Crossing Over: Part IV
- Crossing Over: Part III
- Crossing Over: Part II
- Crossing Over: Part I
