Title: Shower Scum and Rotting Corpses: The Secret Life Of Adam Lazzara
Pairing: Adam Lazzara (Taking Back Sunday)/John Nolan (Straylight Run), featuring Jesse Lacey as the sarcastic best friend.
Rating: PG-13 for some language.
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Adam is not just any underpaid, overworked hotel maid. No. Secretly, he's Adam Lazzara, Protector of the Living, Sworn to Destroy Any and All Supernatural Forces That Threaten the Health and Safety of the Human Race. At least, that’s his official title...
Disclaimer: I don't own Adam Lazzara and, sadly, I don't think he works as a hotel maid. The rest, however is mine. And as for the zombies, well, I'll let you decide...
Warnings: Smiths fans: Adam whines about Morrissey and ringback tones in this chapter. You have been warned.
This is for the fanfic100 prompt sound
Staring down at the lifeless body sticking out from under the hopelessly cracked TV, you wonder just what you did in your past life to deserve this.
With a lot more effort than you’d like to admit, you lift the TV off of the formerly undead body and deposit it unceremoniously onto the dresser, then turn to survey the room. What with the dead body, broken TV, and flame retardant powder that’s created a thin film over everything, you’re going to have a hell of a time explaining this to your boss. You take a deep breath as you pick up the phone and dial “0,” planning out just what you’re going to say.
Unfortunately, you’re drawing a blank. Because, really, what can you say? ‘Um, hi, I think I’m going to need some extra cleaning supplies in room 410. There’s been an accident.’ Somehow, you don’t think that would fly.
You hear a click as someone lifts the receiver on the other end. Bracing yourself for your impending unemployment, you open your mouth to speak. However, before the first syllable of one of your feeble excuses can leave your lips, the person at the front desk grunts a greeting.
“Hi,” you start, but they cut you off with another grunt.
“Look, I’m sorry to bother you if you’re busy, but I need some more clea—”
You’re cut off again, but this time the grunt has a menacing edge to it. In fact, it’s more like a growl than a grunt.
Suddenly, in the background you hear a familiar crunching noise; it’s the sound of a human skull being cracked open in order to get to the poor victim’s brains inside. Groaning to yourself as the sounds of the zombie behind the front desk gorging itself on some unsuspecting guest come floating out from the phone, you slam the receiver down. What is this, an infestation?
You reach into the pocket of your tacky pants, pull out your cell phone, and press send twice. Of course, instead of ringing, a saccharine sweet voice croons “please enjoy the music while your party is reached,” and then Morrissey’s voice comes blasting out of the receiver. You rue the day Jesse discovered ringback tones. You love The Smiths just as much as the next person, but after hearing the same verse of “This Charming Man” every single time you call him, you’re just about ready to take his copy of The Smiths and hit it with your sledgehammer.
“Hello?” your Britpop obsessed best friend answers. He sounds slightly out of breath, and you can hear faint strains of Mario Kart playing in the background and the sound of John, doing a victory dance and crashing into a table.
“Hey, Jess, I need you to—“
“Oh, it’s you. Hey, listen, can I call you back? I’m just about to kick John’s ass in the beach level, and you’re distracting me…SHIT, where’d that fucking turtle shell come from? Look, Laz, I gotta go.” He hangs up.
Typical. So freaking typical. You’ve been deserted for Mario and friends. Again. You swear to god, one of these days you’re going to have to pay to get their hands surgically removed from those stupid controllers.
You punch send twice again, this time a little more violently, and fight back an exasperated scream when the woman’s perpetually cheerful voice comes blasting into your ear followed by that all too familiar melancholy male voice whining about a charming car and a charming boy and why in God’s name did you have to pick a best friend who’s so arrogant that he feels its necessary to advertise his (questionable) charm to everyone who calls him?
Jesse takes longer to pick up this time. Morrissey’s in the middle of his second round of whining about having nothing to wear when he answers, snapping, “Adam, this better be good. You just made me lose to John again, and I swear to God, if this isn’t important, I’m gonna hide your copy of Mean Girls.”
He would, too. He knows full well that you need to watch that movie at least once a week to function, but when it comes to video games, he’s ruthless.
“I need you to bring me my bag of weapons. It’s kind of an emergency. I’ve got a dead body on the floor, and I think the receptionist’s eating some guests in the lobby.”
He’s silent for a moment, and you can hear John’s shouts of victory in the background.
“Wait, what? Can you repeat that?” he asks.
“Which part? The dead body or the eating?”
You sigh and repeat very slowly, “I found a zombie under the bed and now there’s a formerly undead body lying on the floor. When I called the front desk, the receptionist was clearly eating someone’s brains. Now, will you please bring me my baseball bat?”
“Uh, yeah, sure, um, we’ll be right there…” he says, sounding kind of dazed.
“Thanks. See you in a few,” you say and hang up before he can ask you any questions.
You briefly contemplate going downstairs to survey just how much damage has been done already but opt against it. You may be able to take on one zombie without any real weapons, but a whole lobby full? That’s beyond even your stunning abilities. So you do the only logical thing: clean.
When your phone rings again, you’re in the middle of stuffing the sheets into your laundry hamper. As soon as you answer, Jesse shouts, “What room are you in? You wouldn’t believe what it’s like down here. John’s trying to clear a path to the elevator with your sledgehammer, but it’s a fucking zoo. WATCH OUT, JOHN, THERE’S ONE BEHIND YOU…”
“I’m in room 401,” you say as calmly as possible.
“Okay, 401. Gotcha. Be right there,” he says before hanging up.
You’ve just finished stuffing the last pillowcase into the bag when there’s a knock on the door. You rush over and open it, revealing a sweaty, brain speckled John, and a very pissed-off Jesse.
He pushes past you and flops down on one of the bare mattresses, staring at the ceiling. John enters less violently, pressing a swift kiss to your lips. You smile at him and pick a little piece of skull out of his dark hair, tossing it aside, and gently wipe a smear of blood off his glasses. He laughs and kisses you again before sitting down on the bed next to your grumpy best friend, and rests his chin in his hands as he lets out a long sigh.
“That bad, huh?” you ask sympathetically.
“You have no idea,” Jesse groans, and John nods in agreement.
“I mean, what are we looking at here? Five? Ten? Twenty?”
“At least,” John sighs. “Seriously, Laz, you should see it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Great. Just freaking peachy. All you wanted was a peaceful, zombie-free day. All you wanted was to go home and take a long bath and curl up in front of a movie with John. You’re tired, you’re sore, and all you want is a break from liquor (store employee)-guzzling zombies. Instead, you’re facing not just one very naked zombie, but a fucking infestation. Sometimes you’re tempted to say ‘fuck the human race’ and just take a nap.
You’re seriously contemplating the benefits of leaving the rest of your species to fend for themselves, when Jesse’s voice brings you back to reality.
“So, are we going to do this or what?” he asks, sitting up and rummaging in your bag of weapons.
“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh wearily and lean over to choose one for yourself.
After selecting your weapons (you take the baseball bat while John keeps the sledgehammer and Jesse opts for an axe) you file out into the hall and into the elevator. As the door closes you lean against the wall and wonder just what you’re going to find downstairs.