"Oh boy, again?" Peter groaned, watching the starry night in dismay. "That's the third revengeful spirit this week!"

"Actually the fourth, if you count the frustrated hypnotist who summoned the imps."

"Yes, Ray, but let’s not forget that he merely unleashed them into our realm whereas the other three-"

"Time out!" Peter snapped, covering Egon's mouth with his hand. "I don't wanna hear it. Every time you start talking like that a part of my patience dies crying and withering."

Egon looked at him stoically. "What patience?"

"The one that's just about to pack things and go."

( ... )

Muse: Peter Venkman
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters
Words: 466

His head hurt. Big time.

Peter opened his eyes, slowly, shifting, he couldn't lie still even if it was the only thing his mind wanted. His body seemed to be so busy telling him that something wasn't right that lying there and just waiting until it passed wasn't possible. Also, his head hurt. Still.

It wasn't bright in the room but it wasn't dark either and that was irritating because on the one hand he couldn't be annoyed, on the other he couldn't be unoriented and still his head hurt and this was Egon's couch.

In most cases Egon's couch meant Egon's place and that Egon was around. Was Egon around? "Good morning. I take it your extraordinary deep slumber has finally ended." Yep. Egon was around.

"Whaha?" was what happened when Peter opened his mouth. Egon looked sullen, annoyed and that wasn't a good sign. Not when your head hurt and not when you were healthy and shiny. "Whaha? Pnnd?"

"I was hoping you might be able to tell me, considering that you were the one drumming against my door at an impossible hour, apparently too inebriated to make your way back over to the frat house."

So that was why his head hurt. "Slee'over?"

"If you wish to use a more positive term, yes."

His head fell back and he let his eyes slip shut again. "Good. Slee'over's always wit coff'."


Muse: Peter Venkman
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters
Words: 233

A magic potion? No thanks, I'm good. I'm done with magic potions.

Well, not really. I mean, I wish I would be done with 'em! You know how much trouble they cost us because every other day some wannabe magician thinks it's a great idea to get himself some silly old books, bottles and steaming substances?

Okay, this goes to all of you dreaming people who'd probably swallow everything to get their dreams come true and all that troublemaking stuff. Newsflash, people: It is not a good idea. Really, trust me on this. In case you haven't noticed, the funny thing with potions is, something always goes wrong. At least in this city. I don't know, maybe it's all those exhaust fumes.

Still, if you gotta decide between a magic potion and summoning a demon because the love of your life left you or you're short on self-confidence... take the potion. Thank you.


Muse: Peter Venkman
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters
Words: 153

"There's enough sorrow in the world, isn't there, without trying to invent it."
E.M.Forster, A Room With A View.


The yawn Peter stifled was drowned by the sound of hammers and blowtorches. "Egon. Egon, Eeeegon, hel-loo!" He stepped into his friend's field of vision and waved himself to attention, almost stumbling over Ray who was crouching on the floor next to that... thing of metal they were obviously torturing. "Not that I really wanna know but just what exactly is this? And speaking of it, can you stop building it?"

"Certainly not," Egon replied after putting away his tools and pushing up the safety glasses. "It is vital to be prepared, should this Feeder of Nightmares return."

"Yeaaah, that guy definitely made it onto the "me most cranky" list." Peter scowled at the memory and yawned again. "Still feel like I haven't slept in weeks. So could you please have mercy and at least tone it down a little? Because, just in case you haven't noticed, it's loud! And I'm trying to get some sleep."

Both of his colleagues nodded absently, already forgetting he was standing there and Peter sighed in defeat, slumping onto the lab's couch and watching them shaping a complex machine out of nowhere. "So what does it do?"

( ... )


Muse: Dr. Peter Venkman
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters
Words: 876

Cockroaches!

Ugh!

Those ugly little bastards. I know they just reproduce to annoy me. I bet they will be created by some insane scientist, then invent some time machine in the future and travel back to the past so they even start to exist and they do that simply to annoy me! And no, I am not overreacting.

Really, I can handle anything. Give me a pissed off Class Ten Demon Overlord? Whatever. That, I can deal with.

Cockroaches? No. Can! Do!

[locked]

Dying alone, like Mom. I still wonder what it must have been like for her with noone around. I don't want to, because it fucking hurts that I wasn't there for her. I don’t want it to happen again, ever. If something bad happens I just want the guys to be around, the same way I want to be around for them. It’s stupid to think like this and I know I shouldn’t but when can man ever stop wondering?

I don't think I could face death without them.

[/locked]


Muse: Dr. Peter Venkman
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters
Words: 170

What do I live for?

I live for the world. And the ladies World, I am a Ghostbuster. We will keep you safe. I live to protect you if you can pay the fee, to clean your attic, to make your home poltergeist-free. I ain't afraid of no ghosts. Where's the camera? There is no camera? Well, whatever then. 's my free day anyway.

I live for myself. I know the others don't want to hear it (especially Egon). They think I’m some kind of hidden hero. You know, the whole ‘if you dive beneath the surface’ and ‘if you just dig deeper you will find a decent guy’ stuff. But I’m not. That's the truth and they are wrong.

I'm risking my life fighting those nasty goopers because there is no other way. If we don't do it nobody will and then we're all screwed big time anyway, right? So. Being slimed, tossed through the air, scarred and beaten up by ghosts and demons and their foul-breathed minions, really, this is just for myself, folks.


[locked]

I live for the guys.

[/locked]



Muse: Dr. Peter Venkman
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters
Words: 181

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it's so hard to get on




"What I say is that there are no new words. Too many movies, too many novels, too many attempts to find a different way of saying 'It fucking hurts like hell', y'know. I don't even wanna try. ... No, I’m not drunk. Oh, come on, Spengler, I do sound like nothin'. ... Yeah, Dad was there. ... Yeah, we talked. ... Sorta. ... What do you mean, exasperating? Am not."

Headache. Something cold to rest forehead against. Oh yeah, there. Phone box's pane. Nice. Wait. Pane is sticky. Not nice.

"Yah, comin’ home tomorrowmaybe. ... Huh? Yah, I said tomorrow. No, I definitely said tomorrow. Huh. Must be the line. I bought her flowers, Spengs. Dad said they look nice. Niiiice, Egon, they look nice, fuck this, why do you fucking care about the flowers, you son of a bitch, you were more interested in conning the cemetary custodian into buying... huh? What? What? Egon? Wasn't yellin'. 'Mokay. Serious. ... Ly. Hah! See, Mr. Grammar I so tricked you! Can't believe a year ago she was still 'round. 'malright. No. You guys doin' okay? No. You don’t have to come all the way down here. I’m fine, Spengs."

Dark outside. Been a while now, mouth's so dry from talking. Where did all the quarters come from?

"Looks like 'm drownin'. ... No, 'gon, am not drowning. Just looks like it. Started raining outside. And darkness here's kinda blue so looks like sea and waves and yeah that, right, might, yeah, also because box is old and pane's kinda milky so where was I? ... I said I was fine? Oh yeah. I am. No change in the weather pattern. ... Yeah, it started raining, why? ... Jeez, Spengs, why don't you just shut-... yes. There is a change in the weather pattern but I meant, like, in my pattern, like, weather as a synonym for emotions and... I'm not crying, for fuck's sake!!"

Lightning outside? Nah, just headlights. Close to the road. Vrrrrom. Vrrrromm. Oh yeah. Nothing matters but Vrrrroom.

"... ... ... wha' ...? Hi 'gon. What're you doin' on the phone? ... I called you? Serious? Ly? Oh yeah. I remember. Just, why d'you keep sayin' my name? I know my name? ... Didn't answer you? Can't be. Always answer you. You're too nosy. Won't leave me alone otherwise, learned that in college. Visited my mum's grave today. 'Cause it's been a year and... I already said that? You know? How? You've been a nosy pain in the ass again? ... You drove me here? ... Oh."

Really is an old box. Voice is so faint and static. Unreal. Nothing's real. Nothing's there. Everything is empty.

"... Am not. Promise. Neither drunk neither cryin'. ... Nor? Nor what? You okay, Spengs? You talk funny tonight. You don't make any sense. You never make any sense to me. You are waaay to clever for me to make sense. No wait. I wanted to say... other way around... you know. The way that makes me look good 'n stuff."

Not looking good.

"Not looking good. ... Nothin'. Nothin' here is lookin' good, Spengs. Everything's so ugly, grave is ugly, flowers are ugly, Dad is ugly. I feel so ugly. Can you come here and tell me I'm handsome? ... Okay. ... ... 'gon...? ... maybe Ima little drunk."



Muse: Peter Venkman
Fandom: The Real Ghostbusters
Words: 557