Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Gang ❯ Lunch ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter One - Lunch

 

As he lifted the set of weights, thoughts kept rushing through John's mind.

When are you ever gonna give up Johnny? Fifty-seven years old and you still insist on trying to look good for all those ladies who will probably never take a man of your advanced age.

Though, once again, he ignored himself. He sat the weights down and headed down the hallway for the bathroom. His salt-n-pepper hair was grown out very wild and wavy from his skinny head. For a man of his age, he had a nice tall at 6'4'', lean, and muscular build.

 

“Hey Johnny, been pumping iron again?” Ashley nudged him as they passed each other.

“Gotta stay in shape ya know. These guns don't build themselves!” He chuckled as he opened the bathroom door. Ashley shook her head and kept on walking.

 

The man is an insane old fart, but he's cool. It's too bad he hasn't got anybody.

She was a simple young woman of twenty-five. Her hair was a golden blond and went down just beyond her delicate shoulders. As usual, she had on a tight tank top and cut-off blue jeans. Though every shirt seemed tight, since she was blessed with a rather large pair of breasts.

 

Fridrik had always noticed this the most, out of all her attributes—but who didn't?

As she walked down the stairs, he jutted up from the sofa.

“Ashley, how are you doing today?” He spoke in his Icelandic accent.

“What do you want now Fridrik?” She rolled her eyes.

“I do not want nothing! Is it a crime if I want to talk to a pretty lady?” He had an innocent look on his face.

“Oh please!” She walked into the kitchen to cook some lunch.

 

He lowered his head an accepted defeat. His crystal blue eyes had tears forming in their corners. Like John, he was quite muscular—only, he was only 5'8'' and was merely thirty-five years of age.

“How shall I ever get her to like me?” He sighed, then muttered some Icelandic as he seated himself back on the sofa. The thin black mustache on his face caught a tear.

“Don't cry Fridrik, that shall only make it hurt more,” His hands rested in his hair. It was black, with the tips bleached blond and was always short and a bit messy.

 

Ashley entered the kitchen to find Jamie making something. For a moment, she stood there and watched knead some dough. He was muscular, but not nearly as much as his older cousin John. At age 41, his also had wild hair, only his still retained it's full, striking red color. If you looked closely though, you could see some gray at his temples. To make him even more unlike his cousin, he had very queer mannerisms.

 

Jamie's nails were always clean and very well groomed. All of him was very well groomed actually. He couldn't tame his family's trademark wild hair, but he used it to his advantage. He always sported flamboyant tight shirts and trashy looking relaxed fit jeans with black leather cowboy boots.

He felt her presence and swung around. His complex hazel eyes caught her by surprise.

“A guy tries to make pies in peace and people must come in here spying on him? Tsk tsk!” He waved his hands around and laughed.

“I'm sorry, I was just about to make some lunch for everyone and got caught up in wonder what you were making,” She blushed a little.

“Well, if you must know, I'm making a nice big blueberry pie!” He smiled, showing off his slightly crooked teeth—another family trait he learned to live with. He could always fix them, but he believes cosmetic surgery was a way of giving up on being yourself.

“Can't wait until it's done!” Ashley smiled and walked to the refrigerator to see what they had.

 

The other two occupant of the house were out on the deck sitting in the swing. Angel looked up at Damien, a skinny, 29 year old man with a bony face and long dark brown hair that went down past his shoulders about four inches and curled slightly at the ends.

“Why does Johnny work-out all the time?” She asked in all her innocence. He looked down at her and smiled. She was only nine and always asked him so many questions—often about John as she seemed to get older.

“He wants to stay attractive. He's afraid getting older will make people not like him as much,”

“But he's already attractive! Besides, I don't care how old he is or anything. He's the nicest guy I know,” She sighed and stared off at bird flying around.

“Someone needs to show him that,” He tapped on her knee and got up from the swing, smelling a sweet aroma coming from inside the house.

Someone needs to show him? Dang Damien, you don't know how hard I try! I've picked him flowers, drawn him pictures…and he still goes on not noticing my everlasting love for him! I know he and I are meant to be together…I just know it…

She soon caught a whiff of what was cooking and ran into the house.

 

A few hours prior to all this, Heather, the fourteen year-old spoiled brat with short boyish-cut black, had taken a bubble bath and was just now putting her clothes on. Purposely, she pulled out a super-short black mini-skirt, a silky black thong, a skimpy black bra, and a tight blue bellybutton shirt that said “JAILBAIT” in bold bubble letters on it. She always dressed in such a scandalous way for her age—it was who she was.

 

She wondered down the hall and barged into the bathroom to spook John. Quickly she pulled back the shower curtain and he jumped.

“What the fuck girl?!” He grabbed the curtain from her and covered up his private parts.

“You've been in here forever old man! Besides, lunch is ready! So get your clothes on an eat before I break out the camera and make a calendar out of your goods!” She laughed maniacally and left for the kitchen.

 

John groaned as he turned the shower off and grabbed a towel. He got dressed and went downstairs.

 

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