Who You Gonna Call? pt.1

- 6.30 P.M. -

"Give me a f*cking break!" Pride yelled as the doorbell rang continuously.

*DING DONG * DING DONG * DING DONG *

Pride rushed his shower and got dressed in a long john and layered it with his old baseball jersey, there was a tiny rip on the left knee of his jeans from a petty fight he had with Lust. He angrily answered the door with his hair still dripping wet and dangling on his forehead. The cheerful face of his guest shifted into concern.

"Have you eaten? I thought you died from starvation. There's no way that amount of food would suffice. You know… with your robust muscular upper body," she teased.

"Robust? I don't know if that's even a compliment. And fyi, I do leg days," he huffed and straightened his back to appear bigger.

"Good to know. Do you take steroids or something? Let me cook you something. I'm sure Lust has plenty of food. I haven't had my dinner yet either," she peered inside the house.

"No thanks, I'd appreciate it very much if you just mind your own business. I barely know you, I'm not gonna let a stranger in his house. And stop ringing, you're gonna break it," he attempted to close the door on her face.

She stopped the door with her hand, "Fine, but I bet you we will be friends before Lust comes back. You smell like a beautiful lady by the way. Night! I'll still take the dinner offer any time!" her voice faded as Pride forced the door close.

"Phew! What a pain," he smelled himself, "Beautiful lady indeed."

His stomach grumbled as a surge of post-workout hunger hit him. The fridge had kept his food fresh in its container. The smudged ink of what was Famine's phone number now resembled ripples of squiggly lines. He unwrapped his food on a plate and microwaved it for one minute.

Pride disposed of the note and waited patiently as he viewed the fridge door. About a quarter of its surface was covered with pictures, fridge magnets, and one chalkboard on each door. One of them was of the fridge's content and a shopping list and the other seemed to be an idea board where Lust would write song of the day and Wrath doodled some mushrooms.

*BEEP * BEEP * BEEP *

A steaming hot burrito and a glass of lemonade from the fridge and dinner was served. Pride turned the speakers on and played his Spotify playlist on full blast. He washed the plate and dried it on the rack. The liquor cabinet tempted him as its content glistened under the kitchen light.

"Maybe just one shot. Or I can mix a cocktail with the cheapest alcohol, I'm sure they wouldn't mind right? I mean I deserved it. I'm looking after their house," he convinced himself.

Pride found a box of Frenzia at the back of the cabinet and a small container of merlot in the freezer. Being a mad mixologist, he whipped out the blender, a cup of ice, a handful of blueberries and the leftover lemonade. Within a couple of pulses, he had made a lilac-colored alcoholic slushie. Though it had never been done before, the result was surprisingly pleasant and passable as an authentic signature cocktail.

"Humans really never cease to amaze me," Simbi hissed before retiring to her corner in the kitchen.

The blender's capacity was equivalent to 5 bowls worth of liquid. After five gulps of the drink, sipping alcohol from a bowl on the kitchen floor would be the least of his worry. He staggered to the couch to reach for his pack of Marlborough when he heard a knock on the front door. His heart sank.

"I'm busted!" he thought a neighbor had called the police for noise complaint.

He tried his best to act sober, though he reeked of a fermented vineyard. Pride took a deep breath and turned the handle when his assaulter lunged at him. The door flung open in such force that it caused him to lose balance and fell to the floor. Famine slammed the door behind her as if someone had been chasing her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly before she noticed that she had startled and knocked her host to the ground.

"Sorry, I just needed to hide for a while. I didn't think you would open the door. I thought I'd be dead meat. You see, my brother just ca– "her speech was cut short.

"What the f*ck?" his words slurred as he struggled to get back on his feet.

"Are you drunk? Man, what have you been drinking?" she caught a whiff, "You're f* cked. Let's get you to the sofa. Don't die on me," she dragged him up.

"Hey! You're dinner girl! I threw your number in the recycling bin, I don't like people's help you see," he drunkenly pointed to her face.

She grabbed her heart poetically, "Ah, how cruel of you!"

"Pfft… c'mon now. Drink some with me as truce!"

"First of all, I'm underaged. Second of all, I don't drink on an empty stomach. Third of a– "

"Waddya mean empty stomach? It's like," he looked at his wristwatch, "Half past ninety-nine? Whatever. Grab some food! I'm sure the owner wouldn't mine."

Famine sat next to him, "well, I haven't had any food since breakfast."

"Breakfast was ages ago!" his face showed repulse at the new information.

"Technically yesterday morning, but it was breakfast," she lowered her voice.

"Geez! Were your parents trying to starve you or something? Lemme cook you some eggs," he tried to stand up.