Fic: Costume Clash (Teen Wolf)
Oct. 31st, 2023 03:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
argentum_lsWritten for tptigger as part of the Fic or Treat Event.
Characters: Scott & Isaac
Word Count: 1481
Rating: G
Summary: It's Halloween, and Scott and Isaac are eager to check out the college party scene. What they find is a little too high school, in the worst possible way.
Link to AO3: Costume Clash
Isaac’s fangs glowed in the dark.
The dull green infused his attitude with extra swagger, which he had no qualms about displaying. He bared his fangs at the Ninja who opened the door. Music blasted out of the house, followed by a slow wave of heavy smoke-filled air that reeked of body odor and weed.
“Noice!” the ninja said. “That’s gonna be sweet.” He stepped back and held the door for them while Isaac and Scott entered.
The step across the threshold magnified both the volume of the music and the potency of the smells, forcing Isaac and Scott to both need a moment to collect themselves before they continued in.
A guy veered toward them, a look of concern on his face. He was dressed as Thor, from the movies, with plastic shoulder guards and chest plate and a terrible blonde wig that looked worse set off against his scrawny body and freckled skin.
Isaac barred his teeth again and the green glow lit up his lower face.
Thor had a finger held up, as is to question them. He dropped it. “Never mind. I was wrong.” With that, he slid back among the other party goes, leaving Scott frowning.
“You know him?” Scott asked. The guy didn't look familiar, but everyone was here in costume.
“What?” Isaac shouted back. Even with his enhanced hearing, he was going to struggle to hear anything meaningful over the volume of the music.
Scott shook his head. The question wasn’t important enough to bother repeating. Besides, they were here to broaden their college experience, not just hang with the first person they recognized. College had been a tough transition for both of them, and when Isaac came back to the dorm one day with a flyer announcing the Costume Clash, they both jumped on the opportunity to break out of the rut of classes and homework.
Lots of other kids had the same idea.
While the only light came from a few strands of string lights that dangled from the walls, filtered and dispersed through a thin fog, Scott’s night vision revealed a broad cross-section of costume choices. A girl in a billowing Cinderella gown danced next to another girl in fantasy-style chain mail. James Bonds mingled with pirates and all manner of superheros, MCU and otherwise. Scott even spotted a handful of other people sporting the fangs, tall pointed hats, or paled skin that marked supernatural creatures.
“Duuuude, awesome teeth!” someone shouted over the thumping music that filled the house. He had a Scream mask pulled over his head and had to twist his whole body at the last second to keep from spilling his cup of beer on Isaac as he pushed past, not even pausing long enough for Isaac to thank him for the compliment.
Isaac had chosen them specifically for that purpose, dragging Scott through two different Big Box stores and three different pharmacies in search of finding a set. It didn’t matter to him that they barely fit in his mouth or that one fang was visibly longer than the other, and neither were in a canine position.
“If only he knew,” Scott muttered. The chemical scent of the fog fluid burned Scott’s nose. He rubbed it, disguising the action in resettling the glasses that constituted his costume on his face.
While Isaac probably couldn’t make out Scott’s exact words, that didn’t stop him from slugging Scott on the upper arm.
They’d barely made it another full step into the room before Isaac’s teeth drew more attention.
“Yoooo!” The complimenter was a black guy, dressed in a dark suit and sunglasses. “Vampire. Classic. You’re gonna like that!” He thrust out his hand for a bump, then swung his attention to Scott and frowned. “What’re you?”
Scott waggled his bushy eyebrows as broadly as possible and gestured with the fake cigar he’d brought for this purpose. “Why, the most classic of them all,” he stated.
They stared at each other for a long beat. Scott waited for the flash of recognition while the Man in Black seemed to be waiting for a stronger clue.
“Sure.” The guy finally shrugged. “Whatever. Keg’s that way.” Like the ghostface, he too vanished back into the crowd.
“Told ya. Coulda been a matched set,” Isaac pointed out.
The fangs had turned out to be a BOGO with other costume items. Scott had elected—against Isaac’s insistence—to use the discount on a pair of Groucho Marx glasses with attached nose and mustache. He’d always enjoyed watching the movies with his mom when he was younger and still had to spend a lot of time indoors because of his asthma.
Besides, the flyer had specified that everyone needed to come in costume; it hadn’t set any rules in place about as what, and Scott didn’t see any reason to waste his money on something he was only going to use once. Not until his encounter with the Man in Black did it occur to him that he might be one of the few people in his generation who knew who Groucho Marx was.
He resigned himself to an evening of people questioning him and stepped out the back door of the house he’d only just entered. The air felt positively chilled after the suffocating warmth inside, and Scott sucked in a deep, cool breath. The glasses bobbled on his face.
Despite being nighttime, the outside was better lit than the inside. Torches mounted along the railing of the deck flickered their fake-flames on the handful of cowboys, SWAT members, and Secret Agents who milled around, sipping from their red Solo cups.
The girl working the keg raised an eyebrow when she spotted Scott and Isaac. “Freshman?” She was dressed as a punk rocker: ripped jeans, ripped t-shirt, and spiked out hair dyed green. The strap of the guitar slung across her back cut across her chest.
“Uh, yeah,” Scott replied. How did she know?
She nodded knowingly. “Figured. Got some extra kit over there—“ She gestured off into the darkness. “Go put on something more … transformative. I’ll hold your drinks until you’re ready.” With a small smile, she sipped from her own drink.
Isaac and Scott exchanged questioning looks. They’d expected to be carded — or assured that they wouldn’t be – not have their costume choice questioned.
“What do you mean?” Isaac lisped around the plastic teeth.
“Not you,” she told him. “You’re fine. Vampires are popular.” She shrugged. “Boring and cliche, but popular.” She sipped again, then set her cup down, as if anticipating that she’d soon need to use both hands.
The other people on the deck had all stopped what they were doing and were watching them. Their hearts all collectively pounded harder. A normal person wouldn’t have been able to hear them. Even with the music thumping from the house, Scott still couldn’t miss it. His hackles rose. He knew the warning of a supernatural threat when he heard it.
“Isaac,” Scott said. He hoped that Isaac sensed the same danger he did.
Isaac took a step closer to the Punk. His long shadow flickered over her. “No, I wanna know what she’s talking about.” He snapped his plastic teeth. “What are you talking about?”
She tsked. “Costume Clash,” she answered. “It’s a tradition here.”
As much as that answer didn’t say anything, it told Scott all he needed to know: If he and Isaac stayed, there was going to be trouble. He threw an arm around Isaac’s shoulders and let his claws slip out just enough to prick through the black cotton of Isaac’s t-shirt. “Let’s go. This isn’t the right party for us.”
Issac tensed against him, then reached up and popped the glow-in-the-dark fangs from his mouth. A thin line of spit dangled from one of the greenish canines. “Yeah, I think you’re right. It’s too much like one we went to in high school..” He tossed the fangs off into the darkness, and let Scott finish turning him around.
The Punk held out two overflowing cups. “At least have a quick one, first, so you can’t say you came all the way out here for nothing,” the Punk offered. “You might find you have more of a taste for it than you realize.”
She couldn’t know that beer didn’t affect them in the typical way, and Scott had no desire to find out if it affected him in the way she’d suggested. He shook his head, and erred on the side of packing all his thoughts into a polite, “No thanks.”
Isaac, per usual, didn’t see a similar need. “Nah. The party’s not our scene, but tonight is already our kind of night.” His eyes flicked toward the full moon peeking up over the edge of the roofline. “We don’t need to drink … beer.” He grinned, and in the torch’s fake fire, his regular, human teeth gleamed.
tptigger as part of the Fic or Treat Event.Characters: Scott & Isaac
Word Count: 1481
Rating: G
Summary: It's Halloween, and Scott and Isaac are eager to check out the college party scene. What they find is a little too high school, in the worst possible way.
Link to AO3: Costume Clash
Isaac’s fangs glowed in the dark.
The dull green infused his attitude with extra swagger, which he had no qualms about displaying. He bared his fangs at the Ninja who opened the door. Music blasted out of the house, followed by a slow wave of heavy smoke-filled air that reeked of body odor and weed.
“Noice!” the ninja said. “That’s gonna be sweet.” He stepped back and held the door for them while Isaac and Scott entered.
The step across the threshold magnified both the volume of the music and the potency of the smells, forcing Isaac and Scott to both need a moment to collect themselves before they continued in.
A guy veered toward them, a look of concern on his face. He was dressed as Thor, from the movies, with plastic shoulder guards and chest plate and a terrible blonde wig that looked worse set off against his scrawny body and freckled skin.
Isaac barred his teeth again and the green glow lit up his lower face.
Thor had a finger held up, as is to question them. He dropped it. “Never mind. I was wrong.” With that, he slid back among the other party goes, leaving Scott frowning.
“You know him?” Scott asked. The guy didn't look familiar, but everyone was here in costume.
“What?” Isaac shouted back. Even with his enhanced hearing, he was going to struggle to hear anything meaningful over the volume of the music.
Scott shook his head. The question wasn’t important enough to bother repeating. Besides, they were here to broaden their college experience, not just hang with the first person they recognized. College had been a tough transition for both of them, and when Isaac came back to the dorm one day with a flyer announcing the Costume Clash, they both jumped on the opportunity to break out of the rut of classes and homework.
Lots of other kids had the same idea.
While the only light came from a few strands of string lights that dangled from the walls, filtered and dispersed through a thin fog, Scott’s night vision revealed a broad cross-section of costume choices. A girl in a billowing Cinderella gown danced next to another girl in fantasy-style chain mail. James Bonds mingled with pirates and all manner of superheros, MCU and otherwise. Scott even spotted a handful of other people sporting the fangs, tall pointed hats, or paled skin that marked supernatural creatures.
“Duuuude, awesome teeth!” someone shouted over the thumping music that filled the house. He had a Scream mask pulled over his head and had to twist his whole body at the last second to keep from spilling his cup of beer on Isaac as he pushed past, not even pausing long enough for Isaac to thank him for the compliment.
Isaac had chosen them specifically for that purpose, dragging Scott through two different Big Box stores and three different pharmacies in search of finding a set. It didn’t matter to him that they barely fit in his mouth or that one fang was visibly longer than the other, and neither were in a canine position.
“If only he knew,” Scott muttered. The chemical scent of the fog fluid burned Scott’s nose. He rubbed it, disguising the action in resettling the glasses that constituted his costume on his face.
While Isaac probably couldn’t make out Scott’s exact words, that didn’t stop him from slugging Scott on the upper arm.
They’d barely made it another full step into the room before Isaac’s teeth drew more attention.
“Yoooo!” The complimenter was a black guy, dressed in a dark suit and sunglasses. “Vampire. Classic. You’re gonna like that!” He thrust out his hand for a bump, then swung his attention to Scott and frowned. “What’re you?”
Scott waggled his bushy eyebrows as broadly as possible and gestured with the fake cigar he’d brought for this purpose. “Why, the most classic of them all,” he stated.
They stared at each other for a long beat. Scott waited for the flash of recognition while the Man in Black seemed to be waiting for a stronger clue.
“Sure.” The guy finally shrugged. “Whatever. Keg’s that way.” Like the ghostface, he too vanished back into the crowd.
“Told ya. Coulda been a matched set,” Isaac pointed out.
The fangs had turned out to be a BOGO with other costume items. Scott had elected—against Isaac’s insistence—to use the discount on a pair of Groucho Marx glasses with attached nose and mustache. He’d always enjoyed watching the movies with his mom when he was younger and still had to spend a lot of time indoors because of his asthma.
Besides, the flyer had specified that everyone needed to come in costume; it hadn’t set any rules in place about as what, and Scott didn’t see any reason to waste his money on something he was only going to use once. Not until his encounter with the Man in Black did it occur to him that he might be one of the few people in his generation who knew who Groucho Marx was.
He resigned himself to an evening of people questioning him and stepped out the back door of the house he’d only just entered. The air felt positively chilled after the suffocating warmth inside, and Scott sucked in a deep, cool breath. The glasses bobbled on his face.
Despite being nighttime, the outside was better lit than the inside. Torches mounted along the railing of the deck flickered their fake-flames on the handful of cowboys, SWAT members, and Secret Agents who milled around, sipping from their red Solo cups.
The girl working the keg raised an eyebrow when she spotted Scott and Isaac. “Freshman?” She was dressed as a punk rocker: ripped jeans, ripped t-shirt, and spiked out hair dyed green. The strap of the guitar slung across her back cut across her chest.
“Uh, yeah,” Scott replied. How did she know?
She nodded knowingly. “Figured. Got some extra kit over there—“ She gestured off into the darkness. “Go put on something more … transformative. I’ll hold your drinks until you’re ready.” With a small smile, she sipped from her own drink.
Isaac and Scott exchanged questioning looks. They’d expected to be carded — or assured that they wouldn’t be – not have their costume choice questioned.
“What do you mean?” Isaac lisped around the plastic teeth.
“Not you,” she told him. “You’re fine. Vampires are popular.” She shrugged. “Boring and cliche, but popular.” She sipped again, then set her cup down, as if anticipating that she’d soon need to use both hands.
The other people on the deck had all stopped what they were doing and were watching them. Their hearts all collectively pounded harder. A normal person wouldn’t have been able to hear them. Even with the music thumping from the house, Scott still couldn’t miss it. His hackles rose. He knew the warning of a supernatural threat when he heard it.
“Isaac,” Scott said. He hoped that Isaac sensed the same danger he did.
Isaac took a step closer to the Punk. His long shadow flickered over her. “No, I wanna know what she’s talking about.” He snapped his plastic teeth. “What are you talking about?”
She tsked. “Costume Clash,” she answered. “It’s a tradition here.”
As much as that answer didn’t say anything, it told Scott all he needed to know: If he and Isaac stayed, there was going to be trouble. He threw an arm around Isaac’s shoulders and let his claws slip out just enough to prick through the black cotton of Isaac’s t-shirt. “Let’s go. This isn’t the right party for us.”
Issac tensed against him, then reached up and popped the glow-in-the-dark fangs from his mouth. A thin line of spit dangled from one of the greenish canines. “Yeah, I think you’re right. It’s too much like one we went to in high school..” He tossed the fangs off into the darkness, and let Scott finish turning him around.
The Punk held out two overflowing cups. “At least have a quick one, first, so you can’t say you came all the way out here for nothing,” the Punk offered. “You might find you have more of a taste for it than you realize.”
She couldn’t know that beer didn’t affect them in the typical way, and Scott had no desire to find out if it affected him in the way she’d suggested. He shook his head, and erred on the side of packing all his thoughts into a polite, “No thanks.”
Isaac, per usual, didn’t see a similar need. “Nah. The party’s not our scene, but tonight is already our kind of night.” His eyes flicked toward the full moon peeking up over the edge of the roofline. “We don’t need to drink … beer.” He grinned, and in the torch’s fake fire, his regular, human teeth gleamed.
