Chapter Text
Eltingville was always a bit nicer on summer days. The leaves on the trees seemed more vibrant, the sun was bright enough to dry up the potholes, and the heat wasn’t so bad with the cool ocean breeze coming in from the lower bay. All seemed tranquil and perfect, but with school finally out for summer vacation, something wicked this way came.
The streets were finally open all week to the Eltingville Comic Book, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Horror & Role-Playing Club.
Bill Dickey, club president, was planning their next venture. In actuality, the president role was assigned to whoever was hosting the meetings at their house. However, over the years, as the club was subsequently banned from each other's houses, Bill just stayed leader. Good luck to anybody who wanted to challenge that role, since it’d be an ugly fight to kick him out of it at this point.
“Okay, so! Since ‘Toys “R” Us’ was a bust, we should swing by Joe's and see if he has any restock on those Kamacuras lunch boxes. Those pathetic low-lives who got there before us took the whole stock!”
Pete tutted. “Man, how'd we miss it?”
“They skipped the last day of school and got there first.”
“We should've thought of that!” Josh lamented
The club entered Joe's in a line reminiscent of a Scooby-Doo walk cycle. They paid no attention to the new group of strangers eyeing up the shelves of comic books.
Four guys, around college age. They dressed lighter than they usually would because of the warmer weather, and still they seemed overdressed.
James Prolongo, if that was his real name, checked the ‘new comics’ shelf to gauge the current state of the comics scene. “Literal hot garbage on print.”
Rodney Crabbe, probably one of the better artists of the group, since James always ripped him off, pointed over at the vast collection of figurines and toys scattered along the wall. “Hey James, don't look now, but there's a treasure trove of nerd-cult-landfill behind you.”
“Fuuuuck! Why do they bother putting something so meaningless and contrived on display while REAL art goes under appreciated and left in the gutter! This is why there's starving artists!”
“Jaybird isn't that starved.”
Jay ‘Jaybird’ Haynes, a guy who’d say splatterpunk was too subtle, twisted around and throttled Rodney’s neck. “Watch your mouth, Rodney, before I knock your beard off!”
“URK! Watch your mouth, Jaybird, before your cholesterol gets too high!”
A thin-framed figure cut in between them. Aaron Winkleman, the poster child for the starving artist. Begrudgingly, he was the glue that held their entire magazine together, the man in charge of the Northwest Comix Collective. “Guys. We're not all the way out here just to shop and argue.” He rattled a box filled with homemade comic books they printed out on campus. “Unless you want a solid week's work- that took you guys four months to finish, to get wasted.”
Grateful to be broken away from Jaybird’s behemoth grip, Rodney took a few steps back and surveyed the store. “Yeah you do that, I gotta find a place to take a leak actually...”
“It’s all around you, Rod.” James snickered.
“Ha! No, but seriously.”
“Ah! No! They don't have it anymore!” Bill quickly re-checked the shelves where he had just done a once over. His Kamacuras limited edition tin lunch box, gone for good!
Jerry checked the highest shelf, shaking his head at the item not turning up. “You should go ask Joe if he has any in back, maybe he was too lazy to unpack it, isn't unlike him.”
Bill was ready to, but looking over his shoulder he saw some weird guy that kinda resembled an alternative pilgrim chatting up Joe. He really didn't want to approach whatever that was.
“Nah… Joe never leaves stuff in back anymore, not since his greasy chicken mcnugget self made an eBay account.”
“I fucking hate Ironjaw for teaching him how to use a computer.” Jerry grumbled.
Josh quickly interjected. “Second that notion.”
“C'mon, let's go. There's nothing here for us.”
Josh suddenly pointed, his hand smacking Bill’s head.
“Josh! Watch where you-”
“Pete's already leaving!”
A figure with a red hat and light blue hoodie exited the store.
Meanwhile, too enveloped in the latest issue of Battle Broad, Pete didn't notice his three friends rush out and leave him behind.
“You don't want our comics?!?”
Aaron was above himself. He was creating a whole show in Joe’s for the rest of the people who had stuck around. Joe dealt with a lot of artsy douchebags who think they're above it all, so he kept a level head. Usually it wasn't a shouting match for him, he was too lazy to care most of the time.
“I’m not sellin’ alternative comics, ‘specially the kind that look like they were made in some guy’s basement. Maybe if you wanted me to give ‘em out as one of those mini indie comic samples for free comic book day? But no, I’m not buyin’ that junk off you for resale.”
“Junk?! You're talking about comics written and illustrated by THE Northwest Comix Collective! It’s new talent and creativity, and it's opening opportunities for artists outside of the industry! This is groundbreaking!”
“The only thing that's breaking are my balls. Now quit loiterin’ around-- AND QUIT YELLIN’ IN MY STORE!”
Aaron sneered and collected his crew for a secret discussion.
“Alright, this place isn't going to sell our comics either.”
“I told you we should've just made a phone call. What a waste of fuck’n time.”
“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Aaron clicked his tongue, giving a mean look towards Jay. “Huh. Maybe if people didn’t keep hanging up saying they “never heard of us”, then yeah, calling stores would save a whole lot of time.”
James gritted his teeth, the passionate hate he felt for places like these was showing. “I swear, I wish we could steal something, at least! Steal it, then burn it!”
Jaybird’s sunglasses reflected the fluorescent light above them, it gave a dangerous glint to his eyes. “We should actually burn the whole thing down.”
“We should! I’m sick and tired of places like these lining the pockets of soulless companies shilling out spinoff after spinoff. It's like they're vomiting back and forth in each other's mouths!”
“That's a good visual, James, I'm using that in my next comic.”
Aaron finally spoke up again to try and keep everything grounded. “Guys, c’mon, stop assing around.”
Jay grabbed Aaron by his shirt collar. “We’re not assing around! I’m fucking serious! Let’s light this place up!”
“I like that plan.”
Aaron piped up again. “No. We already got thrown in for assault with a deadly weapon back at home, we do NOT need to be arrested for arson charges in a Staten Island prison of all places!”
“So what if we get caught! Think about the exposure it'd give us! What's a better way to shove it to the industry! Show the world we don't need comic shops! Then they'll be selling our stuff!”
James slowly nodded. “I'm doing it.”
“Yeah. With or without you, Winkleman.”
“Fine, fine.” He pulled Jaybird’s sweaty fingers off his now wrinkled shirt. “Let's plan it out first. Rodney, you've been awfully quiet, you have something to say?”
All eyes were drawn to the person wearing a red cap and light blue hoodie, face blocked by the comic book in hand.
James creased his nose slightly when he took in the sight before him. “‘Battle Broad’? I didn't know you liked that mainstream shit!”
The comic was slapped away with disgust.
James, Aaron, and Jaybird slowly processed that the person in front of them was NOT their collaborant and was in fact just some small pimply faced mainstream comic geek.
After the confusion wore off, the realization set in.
“...Get him! He knows our plan!”
Pete shoved through the narrow gap between Aaron and the rest and darted out the door.