#Anyways ignore how messy the doodles are. Also drawing things low quality is really funny

[flightyrock]

Ectober Day 6: Ghost Hunger

I owe everyone a bit of an explanation before we dive into this fever dream.  Yes, I know exactly what ghost hunger refers to, but it just isn’t my thing.  It’s a neat concept, but I don’t really find it fun to write for, or even read, except in the rarest of cases.  I can stand it if it advances an innovative plotline, but just for its own sake…meh.

So I didn’t have any idea what I was going to do for day 6.  I considered skipping it, but that felt like admitting defeat.  With this in the back of my mind, I was scrolling through tumblr, as one does, and found this lovely piece by @schnivel.

One of my favorite things about schnivel’s style is the dynamic quality all of his characters have. I don’t know how to explain it, but it draws the viewer in, and sells that these characters are real.  Complex emotions are portrayed and conveyed with such ease, I get that creative itch every time.  I love everything in your art tag, it makes me so happy.  Thank you for sharing!

But anyway.  In this particular piece, I love the angle of the external light and the ambient light radiating from the suspiciously viscous fluid clinging to his hands.  I think it was the combination of the fluid consistency, color choice, and blood connection that did it.

So as my mind tends to do when I’m tired and see something emotionally charged, it took a running nosedive off the deep end into absurdist territory.

So here is a fic inspired by color choice, texture, and my traumatic experiences with product promotion as a child of the 90s and early 2000s.  I am so sorry but also kind of not.  Please forgive me, schnivel.  Thank you so much for letting me ruin the mood.  And seriously, check out schnivel’s blog!

 (Sorry for all the notes.  Commentary at the end.)

Summary:  When a popular variety of novelty ketchup is discontinued, the ghost population of Amity Park clashes over who will claim the last box.

Warnings:  Customer service feels, light innuendo

Word Count: ~1700

“You do realize that’s disgusting,” Sam deadpanned, looking on with a mixture of mild horror and disgust as Danny smothered his hotdog in a quantity of green slime that could only be defined as excessive.  Somehow it was impossible to turn away.  Tucker didn’t seem to share the sentiment, busying himself with his PDA.

Spurred on by the attention, Danny looked Sam dead in the eyes, staring unflinchingly into their icy, amethyst depths while cramming as much of the sandwich into his mouth as possible.

Only to aim a tad low, bumping into his lower lip.  Time seemed to slow down as blue eyes widened comically in surprise, hand contracting around the bun reflexively, coaxing gobs of the novelty ketchup to ooze out the back and coat the front of his favorite t-shirt, soaking into white fabric with karmatic vengeance.

Sam and Tucker witnessed the following shift from shock to sudden horror at the state of his shirt became clear.  They glanced at each other, unprompted, then lost it completely, howling with laughter as Danny dropped his ‘dog to scrub frantically at his chest with a wad of the worse-than-useless paper napkins the school provided that screamed government subsidy. His response time was impressive, but the damage was done: a prominent, verdant dribble trail clearly illustrated the tragedy that unfolded at lunch that day.

“Are you kidding me? I still have half the day to go,” Danny moaned, hands running anxiously through already messy hair.

“Just phase it off!” Tucker pointed out helpfully, returning to his PDA as chuckles died down into amused sympathy.

“Tuck, intangibility doesn’t remove stains.  It’s set too far in the fabric.  Otherwise laundry would be so much easier.  Hmm.” Danny took a moment to consider the potential, wondering if that was how Vlad managed to keep his ghostwear so pristine. Maybe if he could concentrate his focus…

“You had it coming.  I don’t understand why you insist on consuming that promotional garbage.” Sam rolled her eyes derisively.

“Because it’s the best!” Danny insisted.  Sam and Tucker shared a look, resigned to their friend’s strange obsession.

Danny didn’t know what it was, but ever since that popular condiment brand out of Pittsburgh developed a line of novelty ketchup, he was hooked.  It came in all sorts of unappetizing colors, like green and purple, and the cringe-worthy ad campaign made Danny wonder if the whole thing was an elaborate prank.  But it eventually showed up at the discount food distributer his family frequented, and he bought it himself, despite Jazz’s teasing.  Funny.  He swears he’s caught her using it more than once when she thought he wasn’t around.

While Jazz was exasperated by the blatant exploitation of the mindset of the lower middle working class, Sam objected to the artificial dyes and preservatives, and Tucker insisted it was nothing less than an insult to the integrity of meat, whatever that was supposed to mean. Maybe the dye makes it taste a bit different.  Maybe he just gets a kick out of eating food in weird colors and watching his friends squirm.  Heck, maybe he’s just been desensitized by enough mutant, home-cooked meals that something so harmless but strange fills him with nostalgia.  Whatever the case, Danny couldn’t seem to get enough of the stuff.  He even started taking it to school with him as a fun way to avoid looking too closely at what was on his tray.  

“Uh oh, dude,” Tucker chuckled, bringing up a specific news article on his PDA.  “Looks like your days of ruining hot dogs are numbered.”

“You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding,” Danny begged.

“Afraid not,” Tucker grinned, sliding his tech across the table to deliver the news firsthand.

Blue eyes widened in horror, before the teenager collapsed onto the table dramatically with a moan. “Why is it that as soon as I discover something awesome, it’s gone?”

“Honestly, that’s probably why it appeared on the shelves at Hubert’s in the first place,” Sam remarked flippantly, preferring to pick at chipping nail polish than acknowledge the lump of pouting teenager currently occupying half the table.

“Yeah, brand names are always too good to be true in places like that,” Tucker nodded sagely, patting Danny on the shoulder in mock sympathy.

Danny hauled himself upright with a sigh.  “Nothing else for it.  I’ll just have to go after school and stockpile all the bottles I can.  They can’t be out yet.”

“How are you out?!  It was just here less than a week ago!”

But the dramatics of a ketchup-crazed teenager were no match for the practiced apathy projected by the young but seasoned customer service guru manning the register, six hours into a ten hour shift.  

“Look, man, I just work here.  There’s plenty of purple,” she sighed, glazed eyes carelessly roaming to glace at the condiments section, poking at her monitor screen.

“It doesn’t taste the same,” Danny moaned, prompting a significant look to pass between the duo accompanying him. They had no idea why they thought it would be a good to tag along on this juvenile side quest.  This was just embarrassing.

“Huh,” the cashier remarked offhandedly.  “Looks like we might have one more box in the back.  I’ll go check, if you want…” she trailed off unenthusiastically, distracted by the hopefully bobbing shock of black hair that wouldn’t leave her alone unless she made a show of effort.  With a long-suffering sigh, the underpaid civil servant shuffled off to the back, teenagers at her heels until she ducked behind a wildly swinging door, a scuffed sheet of plastic shoved haphazardly into the gateway in a pathetic effort to separate customer-friendly space from the chaos of the warehouse.

The friends waited attentively, then with growing annoyance, Sam scuffing the chipping tile with heavy boots as the minutes ticked by.  Around fifteen minutes in, Tucker decided to call it.

“I think she just blew you off, dude.”

“No way,” Danny insisted. “She’s just being thorough.”

At that moment, a familiar figure slouched out from behind the off-white mockery of a barrier. Danny drooped visibly at the lack of bottles in her arms.

“Welp, I found it.”  Danny perked up.  “Where is it?”

“In the back.”  She continued to amble through the aisles, not even bothering to glance at the irritating customer as she returned to the front.  Danny followed her, confused.

“And?” he ventured.

“What?” she asked, uncapping a company pen to doodle on a scrap of receipt paper, pointedly ignoring the nuisance in the vain hope it would leave her in peace.

Danny barely restrained himself in time to prevent throwing his arms up in exasperation.  “Can I have some?” he dared to ask.  The girl acted like she didn’t hear him, outlining a cartoonish face with care, allowing him to stew for a while.

She finally raised hazel orbs full of resignation to meet his.  “You somehow manage to get it down, you can just have it.”  The just leave me alone was implied.  Heavily.

Danny lit up.  “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved him away, returning to her receipt sketch.

“Thanks!” Danny called over his shoulder, already on his way to claim his prize.

“That was kind of weird,” Sam observed.

“Oh, come on Sam, why do you have to be so pessimistic all the time?  She probably couldn’t reach it.  All Danny has to do is float up to the shelf, and we’re out of here,” Tucker said, confidently leading the way into the dark space, the main light coming from a desk equipped with a dated microwave and littered with the remains of hurried lunches.

It was kind of weird being behind the scenes.  The air felt heavy, stale.  It was difficult to shake the uneasy feeling that they dismissed, at first, with being in a restricted area, but that quickly faded into the background.

A puff of cold air suddenly expanded, forcing its way up a certain ghostly throat and expelling in a bluish cloud as it forced vapor in the surrounding air to condense.

“Nice going, Tuck,” Sam punched him lightly in the shoulder.

Danny ignored the exchange, quickly “going ghost” and floating up to investigate.  And was not at all surprised to find the Lunch Lady and the Box Ghost playing a less-than-friendly game of tug-of-war with the box of sauce.  Okay, maybe he was surprised; he didn’t know either of them had a subtle bone in their bodies…if they had bones.  Or bodies. Gah.

He was honestly kind of impressed that they had avoided detection for so long, and wondered if the cashier’s composure spoke to her merit, or to the horrors of customer service. Danny resolved to be nicer to customer service associates.

From there, it was “doom” this and “beware” that.  Danny threw some ectoblasts, repelled some processed meat products, brushed off some boxes.  It was amazing how much more annoying the two of them were working together.  But, still, not even really a challenge, so the half ghost made short work of the duo, while trying not to think too hard about the implications of this team up.  A certain young ghost from an alternate future came to mind…

Danny chased the pair off, trying not to think about the two of them sharing a thermos.  He was all too glad to claim his prize and head home. It had been an interesting afternoon.

Despite the strange start, the pair of friends thought that the day was pretty successful.  As a result, neither Tucker nor Sam were expecting the caricature of despair that greeted them on the front steps of Fenton Works come morning.  

“Dare we ask?” Sam muttered.

Tucker sighed, shaking his head.  “He’ll let us know soon enough.”

Somewhere in Wisconsin, a certain blue-skinned half ghost emerged from his portal, shiftily checking the entrance before ducking through with his prize.

What am I doing?  I live alone.

Still, one could never be too careful.  It wouldn’t do to have Daniel catch wind of this.  He certainly would never admit it, but he couldn’t help the strange nostalgia it inspired; the off-putting color instilled him with a strange longing for cheap meals of questionable quality cooked with a certain pair of paranormal science students.  He still had his dignity after all.

A/N:  Anyone who’s ever worked retail knows the best way to get rid of a persistent customer and score an extra break in the process is to “check” the back.  Seriously, most places know what they have in the back due to the magic of inventory, but for some reason, that middle-aged woman with too much makeup will not leave us alone, insisting we check the back because she thinks we’re idiots (you know the type). And how dare we come back without checking thoroughly.  The cashier probably found the ketchup in less than a minute, determined retrieval was impossible, then spent the rest of the time on her phone.  Of course, like 10% of the time, there really is extra in the back so I can’t exactly fault them, but we could do without the condescension.

So…yeah.  I think my mind kind of mashed together the fact that the show took place in the 2000s with the fact that ketchup looks vaguely like blood, and the drawing used the two major colors of Heinz’s horrendous EZ Squirt line.  As a child who begged for this ketchup, then refused to eat it, I can understand the initial appeal, but it got gross fast, and I didn’t finish the bottle. What can I say, it tasted off to me. I feel like I read about some human instinct regarding food safety contributing to that at some point.  But I still remember this product, especially the commercials, with horror.

Thank you so much to @schnivel for the inspiration!  Hope everyone enjoyed it!