Life With A Werewolf

Revenge Is A Dish Best Served...

          Thing about prank wars is that around here you never know how they’ll start or how they’ll end. It could be something as simple as Zack spraying “cologne” on my towel in the shower so it smells horrible. Someone putting saran wrap on the toilet bowl. This time the prank war started with a simple shopping trip. But, holy crap did I pay for it.

          Prank wars isn’t something that should be attempted by everyone. You have to know your friends, how far you should take it, and when you should call it quits. I’ve seen simple barracks pranks turn into fist fights because people didn’t know each other as well as they thought they did. You never know when a small prank is too far for a stranger or someone you barely know.

          We’ve known each other for some time now, and although you’d think I’d have brought these small pranks in with me, they were doing it far before I ever came to live here. Crash never does anything mean. He doesn’t make calls to make you think your mom is dead or anything like that. He doesn’t do anything that will damage your stuff or your equipment. He has done the whip cream in the hand while sleeping thing though.

          So, you spray a little whip cream in someone’s hand while they’re deep asleep, then you tickle their nose with something, like a feather. They’ll swipe at their face and smear the cream all over themselves. It’s a small prank but it’s funny, especially when that person is an old broke veteran who can only curse at you while you run away giggling.

          I did remember that prank, but it’d been some time ago. Maybe I was just feeling mean, but I had a bolt of inspiration in the grocery store in the shape of poppers. Those white papery little things that pop when you throw them on the ground was perfect for the mischief I had cooked up. My idea was this: you take a bunch while he’s out and line them up underneath the feet of his toilet seat. When he sits down, they’ll pop. He’ll jump, shout and I’ll laugh. Perfect innocent prank, right? That’s not exactly what happened.

          By the time Crash came in that morning, it was far later than his normal hour. The sun had already risen and the birds were chirping out their morning songs of territory. He looked exhausted. Was still ‘in the fur’ so to speak, his ears splayed down like a whipped dog. He growled a ‘hello’ at me as he walked right on by and headed to his bedroom, with his bathroom and toilet seat that I had just booby trapped.

          He closed his door. Then I knew he went to sit on the toilet. Cause I heard a muffled pop, a not-so muffled yipe, a thump, then a crash!

          I raced into his bedroom to see what had happened. His bathroom was a mess. I won’t say what had happened, but I will say, being a good sport I helped him clean it up later, and that I, quite literally, scared the crap out of him.

          A several hundred pound werewolf is covered in their own filth, has dented the roof in their bathroom and knocked several things over from your prank. Do you, A) apologize quickly B) move as fast as you can to a different zip code and change your identity or C) give them a quick witted sarcastic line, then try to run, giggling the entire way? Any guesses on which one I chose?

          He glared up at me from the floor, wet, smeared with some of his own filth, and covered in toilet paper, potpourri and various other chemicals and cleaning stuffs that he knocked over. I gave Crash a quick glance, gave him my best glare and said “I thought you were house broken. Bad dog!”

          He grabbed me, slammed me into the wall and snarled, “Very funny!” Then he stormed off to the other bathroom with the shower as I giggled the entire time. I knew retribution would be coming. But I never thought he’d get help.

          All of that happened the week prior. It was independence day this week. My guard was down. Besides, I never figured Elouise would be in on the gag. We had been invited over to her place for holiday festivities. Kris and Sean stopped by said hello, grabbed a plate then headed back to their place, talking the whole time. They was in the middle of a streaming thing with another friend of theirs who was playing some new game. Zack had a shift, so Crash volunteered to bring him a plate. That left me and her alone for a moment.

          Elouise’s house looked better than it did during the whole rougarou real estate fiasco. She had a new TV set up on a new stand. The stand was cheap, the television wasn’t. Cause, you know, priorities. There was red, white and blue ribbons lining the kitchen and living room. She was in her human form wearing a tang top that said “MILF” and beneath it “Man I Love Fireworks” with cutoff jeans.

          “I’d rather be barbecuin, but you know with the weather and all.” She was right about the weather that day. It had been raining off and on since the day prior.

          “How long do you prep for a barbecue,” I asked. This was my version of a southern test question. Which of course she aced.

          She arched an eyebrow and said, “honey, I start prepping the day prior. I get the coals going a good fourteen hours or so before we eat, get the meat on at least twelve hours prior and cook it low and slow.” Yup. That’s the right answer.

          “Now, the only thing I got that’s any fancy are these spicy corn breads.” She brought the plate over let me take one. I wasn’t paying much attention to them, being more concerned with the movie she had started. It was some Michael Bay, big explosion actiony thing, with lots of lens flares, American Flags and slow motion shots of people standing up or standing in place.

          “Now careful,” she warned. “They’re hot.”

          “Yeah, thanks,” I said, and popped it into my mouth. I’ve had spicy cornbread before. Usually it’s made with jalapenos. For real spiciness, occasionally they’ll pop a habanero in there. She went a step or two above that little pepper.

          There was diced jalapenos. There was habaneros. Seeded and diced, prepped properly. There was also a slightly small, pepper that was genetically modified to be a bit hotter than either of those two. The pepper she had chosen to bless her spicy cornbread with had taken a man from South Carolina about ten years to develop. It has a sickle like tail at the end of said pepper which was used to give the little bastard it’s name: the Carolina Reaper.

          The moment I put the cornbread in my mouth, I recognized my mistake. Someone had taken a coal from the very depths of hell and shoved it into my mouth. “Now,” Elouise said, without a hint of sarcasm in her voice, “you ain’t going to insult the cook by spitting that out, are you?”

          I wanted to so bad. But my pride forced me to shake my head in a no fashion, chew and swallow as quick as I could. Then, with tears streaming down my eyes, I swallowed hard, and gasped “water!”

          She brought me a tall glass of ice tea as I tried to ignore the burning sensation in my stomach. A sensation that I knew was going burn it’s entire way through, and perhaps was going to burn it’s very way out of my body and through my very soul. I guzzled down the tea to the sound of her giggles, and then the sound of Crash coming through the back door laughing the entire way. “Hot enough, I hope,” he laughed.

          I tried to yell “You sneaky bastard,” but it only came out as a gasp before I took more tea. “Sneaky werewolves got tricks,” I eventually growled to the sound of both their laughter.

          “Now, we’re even,” Crash said as he laughed and patted me hard on the back.

          “Of course we are,” I said. “But you do realize, I’m going to get you back.” And I will, too. Though, it will take me a while to come up with something to top that spicy cornbread. But as they say, revenge is a dish best served with pimento beans and onions.