(no subject)

Wednesday, February 13, 2008
14 North Moore Street
Afternoon

"Janine!" shouted Peter as he hopped out of Ecto's front seat. "We're gonna need a new first aid kit for the car!"

Janine, who had been peering at the perpetually angry Siamese fighting fish on her desk, blinked and sat up straight. "What happened, Doctor V?"

"Genius boy here answered the question wrong, again." Winston jerked his thumb towards the other side of the car, where Ray was extracting himself from the back seat with Egon's help. Ray's face was liberally dotted with adhesive bandages. "I told you, man, when somebody asks you if you're a god-"

"Psychotic anarchist cinnamon buns aren't somebody, Winston," Ray said. "Ow."

Janine blinked. The fish left off trying to spell out vulgar words by tapping against the glass in Morse code and swam to the front of his tank. "Wait, wait, wait," said Janine. "A cinnamon bun did this."

"Yep," said Venkman. "This is from the Queequeg's in Red Hook."

"What, did the bun have fangs or something?"

"No, but the Class Five possessing the bun had sufficient psychokinetic ability to pick up and wield plastic cutlery at least as well as your average human patron," said Egon. "Ray, you should really lie down."

"I'll be fine, Egon. Ecto, stop laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing, Daddy."

"Then you're doing a very bad job of covering it up."

Janine put her hands up. "Okay, okay, wait, hold on here," she said. "I knew about the spook at the coffee place. I remember the one in Astoria last year. I even remember all the damage that thing did, so I'm good with that part- but what's this about the question?"

"Well," said Venkman, grinning, "you know how Ray here had a couple of, shall we say, alterations done at his goddaughter's request?"

"Sure," said Janine slowly. "That's why you have to use hair dye and he doesn't."

"I do not dye my hair, Janine. Ten points from Gryffindor for telling lies- anyway, one of the changes? Had to do with his gut."

"I don't-"

"You remember what happened in the kitchen the last time we had Mexican?" said Winston.

"Yeah, it smelled like churros even though you didn't order- oh...."

"Right," said Peter. "So picture us walking into the Queequeg's, and there's a cinnamon bun on the rampage. Tearing up the furniture, throwing the coffee around, pouring the milk on the floor and just generally making an ass of itself. And Ray, here-"

"Peter, I don't think we need to go into this."

"Oh, no, Ray, this is classic stuff. You should be proud. Ray here had falafel for lunch."

Janine covered her mouth with one hand.

"Yeah, you see this coming too, I can tell..." Peter grinned. "The bun jumped off one of the lights and landed on a table right in front of Ray, and that was the moment the falafel decided to make its presence known."

Ray's shoulders hunched up around his ears.

"And that was when the cinnamon bun asked Ray if he was its god."

"It didn't."

"It did," Peter confirmed.

Janine fought down a giggle. "And you said no," she said instead to Ray.

Ray's shoulders hunched even further, if that was possible. "Of course I did! What was I going to do if it asked me for a miracle?" he protested.

"Well, you could've smited it," said Peter. "I mean, we do sort of have boomsticks and all."

"I am not the god of pastry vengeance, Peter."

"Maybe you should consider trying out for the position. I mean, the last one was on a Moses kick-"

"Hang on, back up," said Janine. "What happened from there? I mean-" She indicated Ray's bandages. "How did that happen?"

"Well, that was the point when the bun started screaming about Ray being a blasphemous abomination..."