MS: "Disco Inferno" 1/2

[karra]

Title: "Disco Inferno"
Authors: Magnes and EA Karras
Notes: Arc 6, blah blah doesn't belong to us, but the original characters do.

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Vecchio stared at the floor, dumbfounded. There was no way. There was just no way that he was doing this. "No."

D'Hoffryn smirked at him. "Come now, Sir Knight! Afraid of a little competition?"

"Dance Dance Revolution is not competition. It's just...stupid. It's like Twister with /music/, for crying out loud!"

"Oh, he's just upset because he lost at Twister," he heard a Viking mutter to a British marine in 18th century dress as they walked by.

"I am /not/ upset! And I didn't /lose/, /he/ bit me!" Vecchio gestured wildly at D'Hoffryn, annoyed at feeling compelled to defend himself.

"All in fair play," D'Hoffryn smirked.

Vecchio glared. "Biting me is fair?"

"In No Holds Barred Twister? Of course."

Seething, Vecchio whirled on Tom. "I really am in Hell, aren't I?"

Tom grinned. "Yep." He grabbed Vecchio's hand, leading him to their part of the floor while they waited for Sammael to return from the endless lines at the bar.

"This is because of Fraser, right? This is because I bitch about not wanting to wade knee-deep in trash. Right?" He sighed. There was no way he was going to win this one either. The karaoke contest had been a fluke, and now he was going to spend the rest of his life - or rather his death - here in disco hell.

Wonderful.

Tom looked thoughtful, his hands continually worrying that black Sam Browne. "Could be. Don't worry. Ereshkigal always keeps her promises. Meanwhile, I have an idea."

Vecchio raised an eyebrow. "An idea." /Wonderful/. God save him from a Tom idea.

"We're going to cheat."

"Cheat. At this. Can we do that?"

Tom's grin got wider. "You really don't get how this works, do you?"

“Apparently not.”

“Well then, the class is Cheating 101 and I’m you instructor, Professor Grissom.”

***

“I understand where you’re coming from, Dead Man, but isn’t it a bit foolish to burn this particular bridge?”

James was completing a record amount of busy work today and Ray had followed him around for most of it, nagging him. The honey-do list was running short, as evidenced by James sharpening the blades on the lawnmower. Ray knew by the time Calhoun was done with these blades they’d be sharp enough to slice down one of the big old maples in the back yard, and with that thought in mind he kept his distance.

“He used me, Ray,” Calhoun replied quietly. “He could have told me from the start. The same day he came and got me and the Gangrel out of Hell. I only let them take us because I thought I could trust him. I’d met a few Seekers in the past, though only one actually identified himself to me. That was back in the 80's. I trusted that man and based on his conduct, I trusted Turnbull. He clearly didn’t return the sentiment. Five minutes. It would have taken him five bloody minutes and he could have sworn me to secrecy and I would taken it to my grave if I ever happen to die again.”

“His bosses wouldn’t let him tell!”

“Please!” snapped the vampire. “When the hell have we EVER followed any of the rules? Any of us? On any level?”

“Can’t argue.” He pursed his lips. “So that’s it? He’s in exile? Verboten?”

Calhoun smiled at Ray’s use of German. It just didn’t work with a Chicago accent. “I don’t want him in my house. I don’t want him near me. I don't want him near my family. He hasn’t given me any reason to trust him again.”

“You have no idea how sorry he is.”

“Sure I do.” He went back to sharpening the blades. “He’s not the first person to be sorry for doing something. I’m sorry I teased my sister when she was five. I’m sorry I killed my first family. I’m sorry I couldn’t save my commanding officer in the Somme. I’m sorry I slaughtered over ten thousand people in three days in Chelmno. You think Turnbull’s /that/ sorry?" He waved off any possible answer to that. "Even if he is, it doesn’t change a fucking thing, Ray. That’s a little lesson I learned a long time ago. Turnbull used me. I’m not ready to forgive that anytime soon.”

The detective sighed. “Well, just so you know, he says if we ever need him, he’s there for us.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

***

“Faster!” Tom shook his head. “Ray, you’re too nice. Your life is literally riding on this. Hit, bite, scratch, noogie your way to get your foot on that circle first. Try it again. Right foot green!”

He sighed, lowering the whistle from his lips. It was going to take a miracle. Ray was glaring. Too bad they couldn’t somehow convert that glare into a physical blow. He would have kicked D’Hoffryn’s arrogant, suit-clad, blue ass straight into the Abyss.

"Ok. Let's try this. Think of Fraser."

Vecchio glared at him again, an incredulous look on his face. "Right. I really want to be thinking of /Fraser/ during this crap."

Tom tried to maintain his patience. It was a failing experiment. He let himself get mad. "Think of /Fraser/. Everytime you see the guy next to you about to make your move, think of Fraser. Think about how Fraser would be so much better than /you/ at this. Think about how clean Fraser would be during this. How he wouldn't even break a sweat. It wouldn’t even be a challenge. He’d talk all the way through it. And then..."

Sammael grunted as Vecchio stomped on his hand. "I think he's got the point now!"

Tom grinned as Vecchio swept Sammael’s foot from beneath him with one sharp, clean maneuver. “Better.”

***

“You’re kidding me.”

Ray stared at the television in the basement game room. This territory was acknowledged as Tom’s personal space because not only was it closest to the laundry room housing his vast collection of detergents, but it held the fish tank of tropical fish James had bought him and the Playstation he’d received last Christmas. Right now the couch was occupied by two young men, one a red head, the other brunet, both enjoying themselves immensely as they devoured Doritos and pretzels. Ray Kowalski was stunned as he stared at the huge, state-of-the-arts television set showing the Power Rangers in high definition.

“They have their own STATION?”

Michael laughed. “The show is over twenty-five years old! They have enough seasons and movies to show them twenty-four/seven!”

“And he LIKES this?”

“He LOVES it, Ray!”

Ray turned his gaze on Abel, who was completely mesmerized by the images of spandex-clad ninjas leaping around the screen in a martial arts frenzy of choreography.

“Billy!” Abel yelled, pointing at the Blue Ranger. He clapped his hands, bouncing in his seat. “Blue Ranger! Dino power! Megazoid!”

“And thus is born another fanboy,” mourned the Caanite Prince, turning away.

***

Vecchio hunched over the gameboard, his hand poised millimeters over the lever. He was going to win this one. He'd won the last two, and he was going to win this game too. Like the man had said, his life depended on it.

Though, he was really starting to wonder and, to be honest, worry. Would Ereshkigal still honor her bargain with Fraser if he lost? What would happen then? A nice sojourn to heaven or hell? Eternity in Disco Inferno? It was a horrifying and unsettling thought and he really didn’t want to find out what would happen. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted to get back to Irene and Stella, his son and his daughter and anything else that came in the future. He just wanted to get back to his life. He wanted his life /back/. Was that so much to ask?

He'd never asked for this. He'd never asked to be put in the middle of squabbles between gods and goddesses, demons and humans, wyrms and higher powers. He'd never asked to be sent to Hell or on quests for intangible emotions. He'd sure as hell never asked to be given glimpses into the innermost thoughts of the kinkiest Moloch he'd ever known. He tried to remember how long it had been from that fateful day a vision in red tunic and broad-brimmed hat had bullied and pestered him to start doing his job for real. God, what would have happened if he’d blown Fraser off? No Benny, no Irene, no Stanley, no Stella, no Ray-J or Alison, no Tom, no Nikko. No vampires respecting him, no demons calling him ‘Sir’ and meaning it.

But at this point in his life, he wasn't sure he'd give any of it up. Knew he wouldn't change any of it.

Okay. Maybe this part. If he could change it, he would have beaten D’Hoffryn at Dance Dance Revolution that first time.

"Gentlemen," someone in the front of the disco hall, who sounded suspiciously like Joe Dick, intoned, "start your hippos."

Vecchio grinned across the table at his competition, one very annoyed Joseph Stalin, and slammed his hand down even as he lashed out and kicked the dictator squarely in the shins.

***

“Hey! Dick!”

With a sneering smile and an arrogant tilt to his head, the punk rocker turned as Vecchio descended on him.

“Jealous are we?”

Resolving not to be baited, Vecchio kept his tone even. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“My home away from home, Raymond.”

“Where’s Nikko?” She'd better not be down here. If he ever got out of here, and the Sabbat found out, Calhoun would have his hide.

Joe checked his watch as if time meant anything here in the underworld. “Right now, she should be arriving at stately Wayne Manor in time for your viewing.”

“Huh?”

Joe Dick shook his head, pulling off his baseball cap to run a hand through his Mohawk. “What part of this being dead bit aren’t you getting? You’re dead, your family holds a funeral to bury your ass. It’s not that complex. I went to my own funeral. I looked damned good, too.” He smirked.

“So what are you doing here?”

“I’m announcing at the arena tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“The soggy Tom Cat didn’t tell you? You’re on tonight.”

“On what?”

He sneered. “The line.”

***

They had a special viewing for the handful of vampires that wanted to pay their respects to the Knight of the City, late at night and before any blessings were said. Stella, Frannie, and Maria were holding a quiet vigil in the funeral home, waiting for them beside the casket. Fraser and Ray, accompanied by Lord Caine and Calhoun, were the first to arrive. Stella immediately went to her ex-husband and just leaned against him, letting him hold her long and tight. He rocked her slowly, knowing she wasn’t crying. She had already cried herself out.

Frannie hadn’t, and seeing her chance she indulged in a hug with her one-time crush in a Stetson. Surprised at the contact, Fraser held her properly but with none of the intimacy Stella and Ray shared.

“Sorry, Fraser,” said Frannie after a long pause. She sniffed and Fraser immediately proffered a handkerchief to dry her eyes. “Thanks. I’m just...how do you deal with this kind of thing?”

“I’ve dealt with it too often, Francesca,” he replied. “There’s no easy way.”

Stella pulled away from Ray with a grateful smile then looked at the rest of the men. “Thank you. James, are you alright? I heard what the Golgothan did. How are Tom and the new baby?”

As always when talking to the Vengeance Queen, James’ speech became formal and correct. “Both are fine, Madam Vecchio, as am I. Gabrielle went home the same day Tom did. Thank you for asking. Tom will be here tomorrow. How are you and Irene?”

“We’re both glad of the other right now, to be perfectly honest,” she said. As she spoke the door was opened by the funeral director and Frank Zuko and about a dozen of his cousins entered. The Giovanni were as cautious as wild animals as their senses were assailed by the smell of flowers, candles, formaldehyde, and Sabbat. After a moment Zuko nodded to Marco and the vampire left.

“Lord Caine.” He bowed to his king, then faced Stella. “Irene.”

It was his sister, not the Vengeance Queen, that stepped into his embrace and much as Ray had done for his ex-wife, Frank held Irene and mourned her loss.

Von slunk in a moment later, Willow, Spike, and Xander on his heels. As the others paid their respects to the three women, Spike joined Calhoun as the Sabbat quietly contemplated the still figure in the coffin.

“Looks pretty good,” commented Spike, lighting a cigarette with his usual nonchalance and disregard for all the posted no-smoking signs.

“It’s the make-up. And the uniform.”

“Guess so. That watch is ripper. Too bad it’s getting planted.”

Calhoun just rolled his eyes, then turned as the Prince of the City entered with a few more Giovanni torpedoes in his wake. As Warfield addressed Stella and Frannie, Spike gaped.

“I thought he’d turn into a pumpkin if he left the bar! A big, fat, lumpy pumpkin.”

“It happens. It’s never pretty.”

“He must’ve liked Vecchio!”

“More than he likes us, I can guarantee. Don’t forget they’re cousins by marriage.”

“You’re gonna be, too. Queen Cass set a date?”

“Yes, so don’t fucking remind me. Besides, TOM will be related to them, not ME.”

“Nyuh-uh,” protested the Anarch. “Wait’ll Sophia marries Ray-J.”

Calhoun twitched. “Shut up, Billy.”

“Is it Vecchio or the whole Italian thing?”

“Yes,” Calhoun snapped.

Ray joined them to escape the suits. He flinched at the sight of his dead friend, turning to Calhoun to avoid looking at Vecchio.

“This sucks,” he muttered.

“Yup,” agreed Calhoun. “It’s worse that it’s pointless. It wasn’t even in the line of duty.” Clearly he could not think of a worse fate. Attacked in his own home...

“I really wish E-gal would push the paperwork through for us. What the hell is she waiting for?”

“No clue. Personally I’d like to avoid what you all had to go through at Arlington.”

Remembering standing in the cemetery as Calhoun’s coffin was hastily exhumed, Ray had to agree. “At least you had the virtue of already being resurrected. I mean, crap! He’s been formaldehyded and all that yuck-o undertaker stuff!”

“Hopefully she takes that into account.” Calhoun sighed, inwardly shuddering at any and all ideas of what would happen if she /didn't/.

“What?”

“Oh, I’m just glad Dief didn’t let me kill him in Fortitude Pass.”

“Yeah. Glad you didn’t kill me, either.”

Calhoun smiled in agreement. “Me, too.”

Ray was about to say more when suddenly he was standing in Ereshkigal’s throne room.

“Oh. Shit.”