Flight School: Hunter

Adventures of Flight Crew #2.1

A/N: How do I even have time to write this? I'm so confused. Why did I even do it when I could be sleeping when I'm currently lacking so much sleep?? I don't know either.

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'A night of scares does not end', or so Dmitri Ford should like to think, having casually invited his class of predators to the wildest after-party ever-before held—horror movie night at Vaughn Alekseyev's. Indeed, the true horror of it all could very well be attributed to the latter half of the description, more so than the former. After all, Vaughn himself had zero knowledge of Dmitri's self-invitation (which the falcon had so generously extended to everyone else in their class) and had no idea what to expect when he heard the shrill ring of his doorbell at midnight.

The vulture, dressed rather appropriately for the occasion as Count Dracula, was in the middle of removing his false set of fangs when he had to stop all that he was doing and address the person at the door.

"Yes, yes, yes," muttered Count Dracula under his breath (hold on, vampires do not breathe, do they?) as he crossed the living room towards the hallway to his front door, lavish cloak trailing behind like a true, blood-thirsty vampire. "I'm coming! Are you intending to break the bell?" He unlocked and hauled the door open to see this ridiculous-looking thing with horns on his head and a forked tail dangling between its legs. Well, supposedly.

"Ford!" Vaughn frowned at once. "What are you doing here? Everyone's returned to their rooms after the party."

Dmitri, with a suspicious box under his arm, pushed past Count Dracula with a grin, claiming that for Halloween, the night was still unbearably young. "That's what after parties are for, Vaughn. Where's your Halloween spirit? The decorations? The creepy music? Your coffin? I thought vampires slept in coffins."

Before the vulture could stop the overenthusiastic boy from wandering further into his apartment-style room (courtesy of being the ex-Headmistress' son), yet another oddly-dressed person came into view right before his doorstep. Fortunately—or rather in Vaughn's case, unfortunately—Dmitri had left the door wide open.

Jing the banshee invited herself right in, stopping at the entrance to remove her shoes before realizing, albeit adorably, that banshees didn't wear shoes in the first place. Then, she realized that Vaughn and Dmitri were wearing shoes indoors. Then, she became a confused banshee. A confused banshee hugging the spiciest bowl of Chinese cup ramen in her arms.

"Heeeyyy, Jane!" Dmitri was beaming. "Love the wig! It's a mess!"

"It's not a wig," said Jing very calmly, floating down the hallway towards the pair. She didn't seem very offended by his comment.

Dmitri on the other hand, had paused awkwardly. "Oh. Oh... uh, I meant it like, as in. It's a good mess, sort of thing." She nodded for the sake of comforting the falcon's fragile heart. Neither seemed to notice the look of absolute horror on Count Dracula's face.

After all, what greater horror than having guests over at his place? Let alone uninvited guests? Vaughn was not afraid, no—he was terrified beyond belief.

"Excuse me," he cut between the two, who were about to examine the contents of Dmitri's mysterious box. "I do not recall inviting you or you inside or at any specific time of the day, week, month, or year and so will you please kindly send yourselves out yes the door is that way." He pointed down the hallway towards the entrance.

At the entrance however, stood a human and his friendly zombie. The tiny human waved pleasantly; the zombie stared at the waving human; in his arms were bags of sunflower seeds.

Vaughn was beginning to discover the various ways in which his jaw could turn dysfunctional. It dropped at distances immeasurable by the human eye and refused to return to its original state.

"What! W-who—I did not—" Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to finish. "Leave!"

Io's shoulders fell promptly. "Aw. I thought we were watching a movie together! I've never really watched a movie before."

The human was not wrong. Back in the village, people used to entertain themselves with other ways of passing time, such as swimming in lakes, playing by rivers, fishing at creaks and riding horses. Ah, and of course, playing the flute. Which Io was particular good at doing.

"Nonsense!" Vaughn was even more outraged upon hearing this. He'd never heard of anyone who'd never watched a movie. Ever. "What about the classics? Hitchcock, Kubrick, Chaplin—what about Kurosawa? Burton? Unbelievable!"

Behind, Dmitri was nodding away and giving Io at the door a double thumbs-up for provoking all-time order-seeker, professional aesthetic and artistic critic, self-proclaimed literary expert Vaughn Alekseyev. Horror movie night was a go.

*

How everyone else seemed to know that there was an after-party at Vaughn's, Vaughn did not know. He did not know that Dmitri had sent an Avian out to every single predator in their class and that Iolani Tori had accidentally invited several of his prey companions to join the horror movie night in the vulture's enviously huge living room.

Bags of chips—courtesy of Pipa the other banshee and Shri the Medusa—and jars of tukdi—spicy Indian biscuits courtesy of Vijay the spikeball—were passed around the couch where everyone was seated; some squished up in the corner and others perching precariously on the sides. Several had settled on the carpet, and some right before the television screen. Dmitri took part in the latter.

"Okay, so," the thing that his author had yet to identify rubbed his hands together as he opened his box of mystery. "What should we watch? I'm thinking, The Ring. Classic shit."

Vaughn, who was sifting through his own collection of what he termed 'classics', disapproved at once. "Classic? Yes, but if that's what you're going for, wouldn't 'The Shining' or 'Psycho' be a better choice? We have movie beginners among us! We cannot possibly jump straight to the 90s."

Lucienne the Malificent, who had been passing out cushions and inflatable pillows for welfare, suggested that they watch both for a compromised conclusion. One after the other.

Everyone else seemed to agree, but then again, everyone else, too, had brought their very own versions of horror favourites. Even Jeremiah the very-hot-pirate ensured the representation of Asian titles. Jing had approved.

"Alright, I suppose that would do," Count Dracula gave in soon after, resuming his original position of extreme-right corner frame, where insignificant characters were often placed by directors on screen. He hugged his knees, waiting for Dmitri to get the DVD up and running. Nash was kind enough to pass him a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

*

To be continued if you want it to be