Flameborn

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You have the JUICE I have the IDEAS

MHW

Make the angry ghost in my apt go away cash reward $$$

With all the gravity of a man scraping mold off his last piece of bread before begrudgingly eating it, Shane calls one of the numbers. He’s never gotten rid of ants before, but the creepy little assholes can’t be much worse than Inferna, and will probably be less likely to retaliate.

Public transportation in Sunrise City is less than adequate at the best of times. When it’s unseasonably hot and half of the city’s bus lines are shut down due to the “mysterious fires” of the past several days, using it is pretty much hell on earth, or as close to it as Shane ever wants to get. Counting nickels into the bus conductor’s box earns him a few dirty looks from fellow passengers, though he’s never sure if it might be because of the tight pants, or possibly his hair that changes color every so often when he isn’t paying too much attention to it.

He arrives at the address he’d jotted down and a man answers the door in a pair of boxers, apparently unconcerned by the fact that it’s just going on four in the afternoon. “You the wizard?”

“Sure. You the guy with ants?”

The guy scratches his belly, then nods. “In the kitchen.”

One step inside reminds Shane just how much he likes his apartment. It’s clean, if a little shabby, and full of nothing but books and their few major appliances, courtesy of all his own belongings being frozen in blasted-apart ice somewhere. More importantly, it smells good, unlike the apartment he currently stands in. He also feels uncomfortably tall, shoving his hands into his pockets and unconsciously hunching, as if worried he’ll smack his head on a door frame when he’s just over six feet himself. Maybe everything just feels slouched in the apartment, he reasons.

It doesn’t take long to spot the ants, mostly because there are probably thousands, maybe millions, of them swarming over every conceivable surface of the kitchen. “Wow. You weren’t kidding, Philb.”

“What’d you call me?”

Shane hands over the newspaper bit. “Philb?”

“They messed it up. It’s Phil B. Exterminator wanted seven hundred to do the whole place.”

“Maybe he wanted you to pay per ant,” Shane suggests, fighting the urge to start scratching and slapping at his arms, even as his brain insists that the ants are definitely all over him.

“What’ll you do it for? Gimme your estimate.”

Shane squats down near one of the outlying areas of infestation, and prods a trail with just a hint of magic. If there is such a thing as extermination magic, he’s never heard of it, but maybe simple energy will work just as well. He invests it with a hint of force, and that’s the easy part. Briefly, he remembers how easy something like this would have been back when he’d had a boost from the Ice King. He’d remade his own hand, once, and hardly blinked at the power it had taken.

The trail of ants recoils slightly from his prod, and Shane takes that as a good sign. “Uh…” Mentally, he tallies up the utility bill and a few bucks for food. “Two hundred.” He’ll just hope Father Aaron doesn’t skim off the collection plate or they won’t make rent.

“Do I have to move out for a week?”

“You can stay on the couch for all I care.”

That seems to satisfy the man, and he flops immediately down onto the couch, turning his attention back to the TV. “Go for it.”

Shane raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna pay me first, Philb.”

The man looks like he’s about to argue, but Shane’s hand is already tingling with power and that usually goes a long way towards convincing people to do as he says. Knowing he’s got the cash for the bill in hand is a nice motivation, and it takes an hour, maybe two, before the kitchen is, if not spotless, at least ant-free.