Week Fourteen: Sunday - Narrative Who: Danny When: Sunday Night Where: Around the School Why: Danny's mood = shit-tastic
Danny had a history with a temper that had a habit of flying off the wall, ricocheting, and annihilating every movable object within arm's reach. Yeah. But he was getting better at controlling it, he hadn't lashed out since he found out he was no longer human (but that doesn't count, obviously everyone would have the same reaction as him and completely demolish their house). And before that, he couldn't remember the last time he had a fit.
For the most part, Danny was a pretty laid back guy (which is what made his temper all the more scary). He accepted most things and got over them quickly. He even accepted the likeness he now shared to a mosquito, how about that? Pretty good, he'd say.
But being a blood-sucking lifeless..sucker, was one thing. Having his best friend, who was more his brother, being a complete bitch to him was a completely different, entirely unacceptable, here-comes-my-fucking-temper, kind of situation. Things were fine and dandy when Danny arrived, but somewhere along the way Charlie began to distance himself and get all pissy whenever Danny decided to confront him. Fuck that.
..it was bro's before ho's and if there were a list of ho's, Val would be right on top of it. Even though Danny was trying really really hard not to pass judgement on her, it was really really really hard to sit back and not do anything when she was messing up his friendship. Even still, it was Charlie's idea to do whatever he was doing. That was Danny's main motivation as he sauntered the halls of Halcyon.
His first stop was an empty common room. He had a staple gun, staples, and white paint. The paint was for the staples...so they'd stand out. But as he let the staples dry, he let his mind wander and it took all of his strength not to start throwing things in frustration. "I mean...for fuck's sake. If he feels all guilt ridden about me being turned..he could fucking pick up a motherfucking phone. Fucker." he grumbled under his breath.
Danny could kind of understand the guilt thing, but not really. He sure as hell wouldn't feel guilty if any of the dipshit's he knew were blessed with eternal life. His stripper mother would be thrilled with eternal youth and his drug-dealing dad would be in heaven before he ever went to hell. If he had exchanged places with Charlie...he'd be giving himself the smack upside the head and spitting "deal with it" in his own face.
As the staples dried, he loaded them into the gun and lurked back up to his floor. Yeah, so what. He was pissed off, and that's what they normally did as friends. Things were fine and when one of them was being a douche, the other called them out on it. Only, Charlie wasn't quite hearing Danny, so maybe if it was staples into his door he'd get the point.
Quickly, with the hands of an artist at work, Danny pressed the gun to the dark wooden door half a dozen times. When his work was finished, he almost skipped back to his room, whistling a happy tune. What he left behind was scrawled on Charlie's door, bright, white, and in readable block letters it read "STOP BEING A FUCKIN DOUCHE YA CUNT FACE - DT"