2211: Howl – Chapter 2

Title: Howl
Author: naturally morbid
Media: Film
Topic: Die Hard
Genre: Supernatural / Romance / Author’s Note / Holiday Cheer
URL: Chapter 2
Critiqued by BatJamags and GoodJamags

WARNING: Hey, you know what’s more fun than sticking suicide trivialization in the first chapter of your fic? Sticking it in the first two chapters of your fic.

WARNING 2: RAGE-INDUCING BOOGALOO: And our protagonist casually considers raping somebody. This fucking fic, man.

Beware, patrons! There’s sensuality in this chapter! And drinking! When will the debauchery end?! Yes, this is the part our dear author sees fit to warn us about.

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 18

On the fourth day of Sithmas, the Library gave to me…
Four key lime pies,
The third moon of Jupiter,
Two talking raptors,
And porno music on the intercom!

On the fifth day of Sithmas, the Library gave to me…
FIVE! IGUANODON! COOKIES!
Four key lime pies,
The third moon of Jupiter,
Two talking raptors,
And porno music on the intercom!

On the sixth day of Sithmas, the Library gave to me…
Six tranquilizings,
FIVE! IGUANODON! COOKIES!
Four key lime pies,
The third moon of Jupiter,
Two talking raptors,
And porno music on the intercom!

Hello once again, and happy holidays, patrons! I’m your host, BatJamags…

GoodJamags: … And I’m your guest host, GoodJamags…

… And we’re back with another thrilling chapter of Howl. GJ, tell them what happened last chapter.

GoodJamags: Absolutely nothing.

Bingo! To elaborate, there was an unnecessarily long author’s note. Then there was a pretentious and somewhat confusing journal thing. Then Hans Gruber from Die Hard survived getting shot out of a skyscraper because he was a werewolf. He killed some teenagers and decided to leave the country to go talk to the Sue.

GoodJamags: All of this was muddled by a multitude of incoherent tangents.

Indeed. The lack of proofreading is strong with this one.

 

Author’s Note: Welcome to chapter two. Thank you for the attention, fav, alert, and review :) This chapter is going to explain more how he became what he is and a bit of background story. I guess it would be more of a filler then. This is where I have taken the liberties I mentioned in the first author’s note. Once more I ask, no flames please.

Next chapter will be more action packed, I promise.

Not one word of that was at all necessary.

Content rating: M for scenes of sensuality and drinking.

GoodJamags: I’m really not sure that calls for an M rating.

Disclaimer: I do not own Die Hard or its associated characters.

This is obvious and stating it helps you not in the slightest.

I do own any characters that appear as marked (which I forgot to mention Redell’s guidebook too, Adelaide later in this chapter).

GoodJamags: Pretty sure you don’t have any legal grounds to claim ownership of characters or concepts created for an unlicensed derivative work.

In layman’s terms, you probably don’t own shit.

Florence + The Machine recieve credit for the title of the fic.

And nobody owns the word “howl.”

The plot is from my own twisted mind.

GoodJamags: Badfic authors always say things like this, and I really don’t understand why. It’s like they’re deliberately trying to drive off readers.

Enjoy!

I refuse outright.

GoodJamags: Hey, Bats?

Yeah?

GoodJamags: I got distracted by this line break and forgot what the title of the story is.

Not surprising, whatever it was, I’m pretty sure it was generic as hell. If only we had something to remind us…

Howl

GoodJamags: Oh, that’s it. Thanks, author!

Chapter Two: Woman

Redell’s Guidebook:

Still sounds like a D&D sourcebook.

GoodJamags: I can go get Kane if necessary.

So you’ve just become a lycan.

GoodJamags: Dakari-King Lycan?

Fuck no.

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 19

Congrats.

thx bro

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 20

Shoot yourself now.

GoodJamags: Didn’t you say that wouldn’t work last time?

Fucking suicide trivialization. Now I have to put an actual warning over top of the joke-warning.

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 21

Okay, so I’m kidding, but not really. You could, if you wanted to piss off the beast, but that’s about the extent of it. No scarring, no wound, the bullet even spits itself out (which would be cool if it wasn’t happening to you.) I’ve tried that song and dance believe me. Or don’t.

You made all this clear last chapter.

But since you believe you’re probably going crazy, it might be best to listen to me until you get a grip. Think of me as your guardian angel, er… werewolf.

GoodJamags: That would almost be clever if there were anything whatsoever that was even remotely clever about it in the slightest.

All that new stuff you’re dealing with, I’ve been there, still there actually. So it might be more like the blind leading the blind, but at least I understand.

Get to the fucking point, you insufferable goddamn windbag.

You’re probably wondering how you ended up contracting lycanthropy now.

GoodJamags: I’m wondering if you’re going to provide any useful information before Bats jumps into the fic to try to throttle you, but maybe that’s just me.

Well, it can be passed through wounds caused by someone who is a werewolf. They don’t even have to be in werewolf form when it happens. Hell, it can be the first of the month, just after the moon cycle, or the middle during the waxing cycle, or if you’re lucky enough to survive being dinner (though few are) then you’ll probably join our ranks.

Or from screwing, apparently.

Once contracted, there is no cure. Or at least, not one that anyone has written down. I’ve spoken to some others over the years and some speculate there are cures or at least controllers. There has to be some way to kill us. We can’t live forever can we? Or can we? I’m thinking explosives, but no one’s taken me up on it yet. I keep waiting.

GoodJamags: What, nobody’s even tried explosives?

You could always try drowning. Or fire. How about lava? Asphyxiation? What I’m saying is you’ve got options here. Options that have no logical reason not to work.

So where do you go from here?

Nowhere fast, apparently.

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 22

Top of the food chain pal.

GoodJamags: … Huh? What does that have to do with anything?

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 23

You’re such a cannibal.

Am I? Since when?

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 24

Preying on your own kind. You sick freak.

GoodJamags: By my own kind, do you mean other humans or other werewolves?

But it can’t really be helped. The beast won’t let you, at least willingly. I’m sure you’ve felt its instincts and urges right along with your mind. It’s rather unnerving isn’t it?

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!

And believe me, the first few days you won’t remember anything right away. And trust me your clothes will disappear a lot. Get used to finding yourself naked in weird places now.

GoodJamags: What does this have to do with cannibalism?

Think of your change as a menstrual cycle. That little time of the month, whatever, but it pretty much is. You will change every night for seven days, prior to the full moon and after, though it varies from person to person, it’s always only seven days. Like PMS, only more violent.

Except instead of your genitals bleeding, you turn into a wolf monster. You know, basically the same thing.

You’ll want to avoid any loved ones during this time. You might eat them. Actually, you will eat them, if they’re around when you happen to change. I can’t tell you the number of stories I’ve heard about people eating their grandmothers…

“Why, Little Red Riding Hood, what long teeth you have!”

GoodJamags: Why specifically grandmothers? Do werewolves just have something against old ladies?

The exact moment of change is different for everyone too. Some people it starts when the sun goes down, for some it’s only a few hours, and others it’s randomly between dark and light.

So basically whenever it’s convenient for the author.

Locking yourself up is a good idea, but it usually doesn’t work, even with the best of intentions. Just face it you’re going to eat someone. The sooner you realize that, the easier it will be.

GoodJamags: So far this guidebook hasn’t really offered any useful advice.

It might as well just say “Guess what? You’re fucked. kthxbye.”

XXX

Aw, shit, we just stumbled into a porn fic again.

GoodJamags: “Again?”

Oh, whoops. That’s still in the Backlog of Doom, isn’t it?

The first of the month everything had been fairly planned out and it was more a matter of timing.

GoodJamags: You call that a sentence?

I call it a mess.

Hans had been so consumed with every detail he had not had time for many personal interests.

Details of what?

Taking a night off from his busy schedule, he had called up a girl that he had been acquainted with a great many years back, just for a night on the town and maybe a little intercourse later if she was willing, or even if she wasn’t. He wasn’t fond of rape, but if the ends justified the means, then he would use it. And it had been a very long time since he was with a woman…

GoodJamags: …

GoodJamags: Our hero, ladies and gentlemen.

Author, how many fucking warnings are you going to make me put at the top of this goddamn thing? And this is the dipshit the author is lusting after? Really?

Surprisingly, she was free and in the country visiting nearby. Over the phone she had sounded delighted to have his company again. He couldn’t disguise his surprise at how youthful her voice remained.

I realize he couldn’t disguise his surprise.

GoodJamags: The fact that you realize he couldn’t disguise his surprise has really opened my eyes.

Lies!

While he wasn’t quite over the hill, he knew he was more mature. They had gotten along rather well; she had been an intern with him in business. She wasn’t as chilly as the other handful of girls she had started with.

GoodJamags: The business business, of business-ing the business.

Oh, so they worked for the PCC too?

He had been surprised with her interest in classic literature, history, and politics. When they conversed over lunch about the various subjects they had in common, he was often swept away by her manner of speaking as if she had actually lived through the events.

Well, that’s an oddly specific line of thought. Gee, I wonder if she did live through the events.

To tell the truth, he had been rather taken with her, secretly. Over the years he had tried to keep in touch with her, though she seemed to disappear from time to time with no warning.

GoodJamags: Much like this fic’s sense of pacing.

You say that like it ever has a sense of pacing.

Hans had found he was nervous and excited to be meeting with her once again; two things he never was at the same time. It had been a great deal of years.

How many?

GoodJamags: You know, more than a little but not as much as a whole bunch.

He had seen her only one time since their internship had ended. But she had still been beautiful and young-looking then.

GoodJamags: … but now she was hideous and ancient?

They had agreed to meet at a small pub not far from his home that they had liked to frequent after work to swap stories. While he waited, he tossed down a drink quickly to calm himself, though it never registered on his face.

The calmness? Or the lack of calmness? And are we doing a flashback or is this after he did [ERR: DETAILS NOT FOUND] to get out of the country?

It had not been a crowded night, the snow keeping quite a few people at bay. With a gust of wind, the door banged open, revealing a sight for sore eyes. Adelaide was striding through the doorway, a vision in her heavy maroon coat and leather boots.

What are you doing stealing people’s clothes, man?

To his surprise, she still looked exactly the same as she had all those years ago. She had not aged a day. Her weighty coffee colored hair hung like a curtain down her back, offsetting her fair complexion and ice blue eyes. The smile she bestowed upon him brightened the room, showing her genuine delight in meeting him.

*Hauls out a PCC-Brand Subtlety Sledgehammer™ with “SHE DOESN’T AGE” engraved on it and starts whaling on Patrons*

DO YOU GET IT YET?! DO YOU GET IT YET?!

“Hans,” she laughed as she began to pull off her coat and join him at the bar. He found no words would form in his dry mouth. He felt so old compared to her. People would think something was amiss wouldn’t they?

GoodJamags: Oh, something’s amiss, alright.

It’s the fic.

“Adelaide,” he whispered, reaching a hand to touch her face, to be sure she was real. Just like he remembered; he tried to shake himself back to composure. She laughed lightly once more, taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. Heat, like sun on a chilly spring morning, seemed to radiate off of her in waves.

You should probably get that checked out.

Just as if no time had passed, she started up a conversation with him about how his life had been going since they had last crossed paths, contented to listen to him speak. More drinks were tossed down, though she never seemed to be drunk, just classy as usual.

GoodJamags: Is anything classy in this fic?

Not as far as I can tell.

Had the alcohol not loosened him up so much, he would have noted how she carefully avoided answering detailed questions about her life thus far. Instead, she regaled him with her knowledge, bringing a smile to his lips.

But he didn’t note it, even though the (third-person limited) narration does.

He wasn’t sure who actually proposed the idea, but soon they were leaving the pub, hand in hand and heading for his house. His excitement was reaching a boiling point as he unlocked the door and allowed her pass before him.

GoodJamags: The idea of… what? Leaving the pub? Holding hands? Going to a house?

Sex. I… think. This narration is so insufferably vague and disjointed it’s hard to tell.

There was a small tour that concluded in the bedroom, most specifically his bed and her arms. Her skin was so hot, like trying to hold a flame, as he tightly gripped her to him as they consummated their longing again and again. She looked delicate without her heavy clothing.

That’s an… odd place for that observation.

Ah, such soft skin! His lips brushed every inch of it she would allow him without laughing too much at the way his facial hair tickled her or being so impatient. All parts of her seemed to fit together perfectly, so precise and exquisite. He was a stickler for those things, having loved building models as a child.

GoodJamags: Author, we get the general idea. Either go all-out on the smut or move along.

The bizarre scars he kissed in odd places on her body did not detract from her appearance, though he was curious to know how they got there. He stored the thought away for later. If she was self-conscious about them, she didn’t show it.

Odd places. Not any specific places, mind you, just odd ones. And the scars were totally bizarre, in a nonspecific sort of way.

He had never known that she was so primal in some ways with the way she seemed to need him, like oxygen;

she had left before they reached this stage. He was only happy to oblige, even if she got a little rough. He remembered there was a moment of pain while her nails raked his back, drawing blood.

GoodJamags: All I caught there is another author thinking clawing somebody’s back open is hot.

The next morning, as he cleaned up in the bathroom, he had noted them, along with a bite to his collarbone.

Noted what? For fuck’s sake, author, fucking communicate.

He treated them gently while she slept the night off, tangled in his sheets. As he watched her chest rising and falling, he realized how much he wanted her more than just a one night stand, more than just a woman of convenience.

There had been women before her that would have been handy to keep, but there was something growing inside of him, some instinct he didn’t understand, that said he needed her. Just as quickly as the feeling rose, he chalked it up to age, and brushed it aside. It was natural to want to settle down.

GoodJamags: Author, how are you making werewolves boring?

Werewolves and sex. That’s like two great tastes that taste only marginally worse together, and you’re still making it boring.

His older brother, Simon, wasn’t leading a normal lifestyle either though.

The fuck does that have to do with anything?

Simon Gruber, by the way, is the antagonist of Die Hard with a Vengeance, the third film in the series. Though I thought Simon was the younger brother.

His lifestyle would never allow it though and it seemed neither would hers. He didn’t even know what she did for a living now. She had steered clear of questions about herself the night before. But that wasn’t terribly unusual was it? Somehow, it felt it.

GoodJamags: What felt what?

OK, this was going to be a short-ish riff anyway, but it’s about to get even shorter. Basically, Suedelaide gets worried about something – presumably wolfing out – and leaves in a hurry. They agree to meet back up at the pub.

Hans sighed, wondering if he had done something wrong. They had shared more than a few drinks, but he hadn’t really felt drunk. Had it been something more? The topic had never come up of her having anyone else in her life.

Again with the fucking non-sequiturs. Author, I can’t read your mind. Explain how you make these logical leaps.

He spied a book on the floor beside the bed, unmarked and rather worn. Probably just a romance novel or the like she had in her pocket that slipped out. He would give it back that night he decided, setting on his dresser.

But he never had the chance.

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 25

Adelaide never showed up at the pub once work was over. He waited, drinking only club soda until well after midnight. Something must have come up, he mused, fingering the book before setting his collar and heading home.

He tried calling several times, but no one answered. He grew worried, but kept it well hidden, allowing his work to consume him until it didn’t hurt anymore.

GoodJamags: You know, his work of doing work stuff at work.

He always did the leaving in relationships to maintain control.

What a prick.

It irritated him thoroughly that she had left him twice now, with no real reason.

GoodJamags: Man, this is badfic-land. A lot of things happen with no real reason. Some would say most things do.

As he headed down the sidewalk in the business section of L.A. he realized that maybe there was a reason.

Ah, yes, the business section of LA, where the businesses are. Now, you could figure out that the building that stood in for Nakatomi Plaza is in Century City and have him there, but that sounds like research, and research takes effort.

His coat was still at his home in Germany, because he never wore it again after that.

GoodJamags: … Why not?

He needed to see that book, if just to find important clues. Maybe she would answer his calls now, if she didn’t expect him to be calling.

Uh… Sure. Whatever you say.

In the early winter light streaming through the buildings, he realized why she might have left in such a hurry. Why she might have not bothered to contact him, why she had not aged since he had met her all those years ago, why he might be doing the things he was doing.

But there was the problem of getting out of the country, once again, bringing him back to square one.

GoodJamags: So basically we’ve accomplished nothing.

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 26

He needed Theo, at least for advice. He figured he would be able to track him down. The paper had given details of the county that arrested him so Hans would have to track him by scent if he absolutely had to; but he would rather use his cunning and logic first.

… Huh?

XXX

Yeah, author, I caught that part. Didn’t really live up to the rating, though.

Author’s Note: So what did you think? Please let me know!

Alright: I can’t ever tell what the fuck is going on or where the goddamn hell your bizarre leaps in logic come from. This story is almost unreadably vague and if I weren’t determined to make fun of it, I’d have stopped reading about a paragraph into your first author’s note. And worst of all, we are two chapters into a five chapter story and precisely jack shit has happened.

GoodJamags: … And that’s that for Chapter Two! Happy holidays, patrons!

Yeah, see you next time.

*SLAM!*

Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN! count: 26

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